Page 117 of Harvest of Sighs (Thornchapel 3)
Not quite gold again, not quite honey. But something like it.
I thought about this as she finished the glass as I’d instructed her to—with breaks, but in one sitting.
Was it so aberrant to think of her as a sub? It was no replacement for professional care, of course not, but she would be getting that anyway, so was it so strange to think that maybe here with me, I could give her aftercare or something like it?
This wasn’t maths. It was science.
So I decided to test my hypothesis.
“When you’re finished,” I said, when she had only a little water left in the glass, “you will take a shower. You will wash your hair and you will brush your teeth, and then apply this lip balm after. I’ll set aside clothes for you on my bed. Is this acceptable?”
I watched her face as she nodded and took the offered lip balm in her hand. There was something moving in her eyes again.
“Delphine, while you’re here, I need you to answer me aloud so I know you’re comfortable doing what I’ve asked. When I ask you a question, you can answer with ‘yes, Rebecca’ or ‘no, Rebecca.’ You can even ask me questions yourself or disagree—but it must be out loud. Are you okay with this?”
“Yes, Rebecca,” murmured Delphine.
She finished her water and I held my hand out for the glass, which she handed to me.
“The shower is that way. There is spare shampoo and conditioner for guests in the vanity.” I hoped it wasn’t obvious that my guests were all of the fucking variety, but I supposed she’d deduce that soon enough from the individually wrapped toothbrushes and the half-empty condom box.
“Yes, Rebecca,” said Delphine obediently, and she went to the bathroom as I’d asked. I watched her walk, thinking for a moment.
“May I check on you? While you’re showering?”
She stopped and looked back at me. There was no affront in her eyes, no bristling or defensiveness. I wouldn’t have been offended if she said no. It would be an invasion of privacy, a witness to nakedness. A tacit admission that I didn’t trust her for too long by herself.
But something like relief seemed to pull at her mouth, and there was almost a smile on her lips when she ducked her eyes to the floor and said, “Yes, Rebecca.”
Auden had not done a bad job packing for her. He had taken comfortable clothes, plenty of knickers and comfy socks, plenty of bras, and even her makeup bag and hairbrush. For a man whose life was crumbling, he had maintained an admirable attention to detail. I set out things for her on my bed, and popped my head through the door once, just to make sure she was getting on okay. Then I came back out and waited for her to finish her shower. And waited.
And waited.
It was my first introduction to the Delphine Shower, which is long enough to empty rivers and drain lakes. If I’d known then how much she liked to play in the shower—how delighted she gets when I push her against the tile and seal my mouth over hers—then it would have been much, much harder to wait.
As it was, I was mostly thinking about the water bill and whether or not I’d left her enough towels.
I eventually gave up waiting and went back to my wine and work, finishing up the most urgent of it, and sending out emails to let the office know I’d be working from home for the next few days, due to a personal emergency. My father replied instantly to the one I sent him; I didn’t realize I was clenching my jaw as I read it until I held the wineglass to my lips and had to drink.
As a Quartey, you are part of this company’s essential operations, he had written back. You are not permitted personal emergencies.
The rest of his email was just as brusque, a few more lines indicating that he expected me to produce as much work from home as I would at the office, and that being the daughter of the company’s founder did not mean I was exempt from following company policy regarding leave.
Nothing I did was ever good enough, was it? I could festoon my walls with diplomas, my shelves with professional awards, I could bring in contracts that would make every other London firm salivate, and it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough that I worked constantly, tirelessly, that the only thing I had outside the Workshop was the occasional stolen night of kinky sex—
“Rebecca?” Delphine called from the doorway to the bathroom. “I’m coming out now.”
She was wearing nothing but a towel, her skin flushed and pink, and her hair was in wet waves around her shoulders, clinging to her skin. The towel was short and her hips spread the bottom of it open the tiniest bit. When she walked to the bed, I could see the tempting curves of her backside.
Tempting? Delphine Dansey?
What was wrong with me?
I shook it off, closing my laptop and determined to finish out this day as efficiently as humanly possible. After Delphine emerged from the bathroom a second time—dressed in her fresh clothes—I asked her how she felt.
“The same,” she said after a minute. “I feel the same.”
“Are you hungry?”
