Chapter 5: The Game Beneath the Surface

  Mira wasn’t sure how she made it through the weekend.

  Every quiet moment stretched with memory. Lena’s hands, her voice, the echo of breath against her skin. Mira repyed it all with heat blooming in her chest—then a flutter of embarrassment that she couldn’t expin away.

  By Monday night, she couldn’t focus on anything else. And when Thursday arrived, she was at the library ten minutes early, pretending she wasn’t pacing.

  Lena didn’t leave a note this time.

  Instead, Mira found her again in the same back reading room—sitting at the head of the long table, reading a thick volume with a calmness that made Mira ache.

  “You came early,” Lena murmured without looking up.

  Mira swallowed. “I wasn’t sure if we were still meeting.”

  Lena closed her book. “You weren’t?”

  Mira hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I hoped we were.”

  That earned her a gnce—Lena’s eyes lifting from the page, studying her without blinking. Mira felt like she was being read again, piece by piece.

  Lena gestured toward the seat beside her. The same one as st time.

  Mira obeyed, heart pounding.

  “Take your hoodie off,” Lena said casually, eyes returning to the book.

  “What?”

  “It’s warm in here. You’ll concentrate better.”

  Mira hesitated—then reached up and peeled it off, revealing the fitted white tank beneath. She folded the hoodie over the chair and sat again, not missing the way Lena’s eyes slid across her colrbone before returning to the page.

  “Good girl,” Lena said quietly.

  Mira flushed so fast it felt like her blood was boiling.

  She sat stiffly for a moment, unsure what to say. But Lena didn’t fill the silence. She let it stretch, let it settle.

  Eventually, Mira took out her notebook.

  “I did the paragraph rewrites,” she mumbled, pushing the paper forward.

  Lena scanned them without comment.

  Then she set the notebook aside and turned slightly in her chair.

  “We’re going to do something different today,” she said, voice low and measured. “I want to test your focus.”

  Mira blinked. “Like... a quiz?”

  Lena’s mouth curved. “No. You’re going to sit here, and you’re going to listen to me.”

  She reached out and pced her hand on Mira’s thigh.

  Mira’s breath hitched.

  Not high up. Not lewd. Just a slow, steady pressure, her palm warm through the denim.

  “I’m going to talk,” Lena said. “About anything. School, books, whatever I feel like. And you’re going to stay still.”

  Mira nodded slowly.

  “And if you move,” Lena added, “I’ll notice.”

  The words weren’t a threat. They weren’t even sharp. But Mira felt them curl down her spine like silk on bare skin.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Lena’s hand remained. Her thumb brushed once—just once—along the inside of Mira’s thigh.

  Then she began to speak.

  She talked about a novel she’d read the week before. Something about a woman who couldn’t decide if she was in love or just obsessed. Her voice was calm, elegant, thoughtful. The kind of voice you wanted to fall asleep to. Or wake up to.

  But all Mira could think about was that hand on her leg. How light it was. How deliberately still.

  The longer Lena talked, the more unbearable it became.

  Mira’s fingers gripped the edge of the seat.

  Lena noticed. Her thumb moved again—just slightly. A reward? A punishment? Mira didn’t know.

  “I said still,” Lena murmured, not even pausing in her story.

  Mira stilled.

  Her skin burned.

  Lena finally fell silent, her gaze drifting back to Mira. Her hand still rested on Mira’s thigh—light, steady, as if it belonged there.

  “Are you distracted?” she asked, voice low.

  Mira nodded, her breath shallow.

  Lena’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Tell me what’s distracting you.”

  Mira’s voice barely made it out. “You.”

  Lena’s lips curled, faint but certain. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

  Mira swallowed. Her eyes darted down, then back up. “I... I don’t know.”

  “You do,” Lena said softly. “But I’ll be kind.”

  Her hand moved—slowly, confidently—up Mira’s thigh. The denim resisted slightly beneath her palm. She pressed down with a firmer glide, fingers spying wide as they dragged up toward the seam of Mira’s jeans.

  Mira’s legs tensed. Her knees pulled inward.

  A quiet sound left her lips, something between a gasp and a plea.

  “I think you want me to touch you,” Lena said, her voice silk-wrapped. “Even if you’re not ready to say it.”

  Mira’s thighs quivered under her touch. Her spine stiffened, trying not to squirm.

  Lena leaned in until her breath ghosted across Mira’s cheek. “But you’ll let me. Because it’s easier that way. Isn’t it?”

  Mira turned to her slightly, face flushed, lips parted. “I can’t—”

  “You can,” Lena murmured, brushing her mouth close to Mira’s ear. “And you will.”

  Her hand shifted then, slipping between Mira’s thighs, palm cupping the heat there over her jeans. The pressure was exact—heavy enough to make Mira jolt in her seat, soft enough to keep her breath hitched in her throat.

  Mira’s fingers cwed at the edge of her seat.

  Lena stilled her with a look. Then she reached across and caught Mira’s wrist, guiding it into her p. She held it there, gently but unyielding.

  With her free hand, she began to move—circling slowly, deliberately over the thick denim. The friction was dull and maddening.

  “You’re soaked,” Lena whispered, her lips brushing the edge of Mira’s jaw. “And I haven’t even kissed you.”

  Mira shuddered. Her thighs clenched around Lena’s hand, but the contact only made it worse—more intense, more inescapable.

  Lena’s fingers moved in small, precise motions. Nothing rushed. Just a steady rhythm that left Mira breathless.

  “You’re going to sit still and take it,” Lena murmured. “Just listen to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

  Mira whimpered softly, her head tipping forward. Her hair fell across her face like a curtain.

  Lena didn’t stop.

  She kept working her palm in slow, careful circles, dragging it up just enough to catch the top seam, then pressing downward again.

  Mira’s hips twitched. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, then closed again, jaw tight with restraint.

  Lena tightened her grip on Mira’s hand, anchoring her.

  “Don’t move,” she said again, voice just above a breath. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

  Mira obeyed. Her shoulders curled inward. Her legs trembled.

  Every second stretched out. The friction between denim and skin was muted but unbearable. Her whole body ached, every nerve pulled taut.

  And Lena didn’t rush her. She just kept going, the pressure shifting ever so slightly—firmer now, more deliberate—until Mira’s breath caught in her throat.

  She came softly. Quietly.

  Her thighs clenched around Lena’s hand. Her head dropped forward, body trembling as heat flooded through her. She gripped Lena’s hand like a lifeline.

  Lena didn’t move. She stayed close, palm still pressing gently between Mira’s legs as her breathing slowed, as the aftershocks faded.

  Only then did she ease her hand back, smoothing it up Mira’s thigh like a parting gesture.

  Mira blinked, dazed and wrecked.

  Lena looked at her calmly, voice smooth and composed.

  “You’ll come earlier next time,” she said. “Won’t you?”

  Mira’s voice was barely audible. “Yes.”

  Lena gave the faintest nod. “Good.”

  She leaned back, brushed a wrinkle from her skirt, and folded her hands on the table like nothing had happened.

  “Session’s over.”