Chapter 46: Mile-High Claim
The steam from the shower clung to them, a warm, damp shroud in the tiled enclosure. Under the spray, Veronica’s large hands were unexpectedly gentle. She guided Stephanie to stand beneath the water, then wrapped her arms around her from behind, pulling her close so Stephanie’s back was against her chest. She just held her, her chin resting on top of Stephanie’s wet head, her body a solid, sheltering wall against the world.
The frantic energy of minutes before had melted into this. Stephanie leaned into it, letting the water sluice over them, feeling Veronica’s heartbeat against her spine.
After a long silence, Veronica’s voice rumbled close to her ear, the Jamaican cadence softened. “I went too far with the choking. The marks… dem gonna be dark tomorrow.”
Stephanie twisted in her arms, turning to face her. Water droplets caught in Veronica’s lashes, making her green eyes look like sea glass. Stephanie touched the side of her own neck, where the tender ache was already a potent memory. She beamed, her dimples cutting deep. “I liked that. I liked when you choked me. It was different. More… intimate. And dirty.”
A slow, reluctant smile broke across Veronica’s face. It was a rare, unguarded thing that transformed her sharp features. She shook her head, droplets flying. “You’re a strange little thing, you know that?”
“Oui,” Stephanie said simply, proudly, and stretched up to kiss her. The water tasted like them.
They washed each other with a mundane tenderness that felt more profound than anything that had happened in the bed. Veronica carefully worked shampoovthrough the impossible length of Stephanie’s hair, fingers massaging her scalp until Stephanie groaned with a different kind of pleasure. Stephanie lathered soap over the powerful planes of Veronica’s back, tracing the ridges of muscle she knew so well now.
After, wrapped in matching towels, they padded back into the bedroom. The room still held the heavy, charged air of what they’d done. Stephanie went to her open suitcase, which sat near the chaotic bookshelf, and bent over to rummage for her silk robe.
The sharp crack of Veronica’s palm connecting with her bare ass cut through the quiet.
Stephanie yelped, more from surprise than pain, straightening up instantly. The sting bloomed into a delicious heat. She looked over her shoulder.
Veronica was leaning against the bedpost, a smirk playing on her lips. “Couldn’t resist. Watching all that juiciness jiggle.” Her eyes were dark with renewed appreciation. “My personal souvenir.”
“You are insatiable,” Stephanie laughed, rubbing the spot, her skin flushing.
“Only for you. Now get dressed. We have a conspiracy to plan.”
They dressed in comfortable clothes for travel—Stephanie in soft jeans and a cream-colored sweater, Veronica in dark tailored sweats and a crisp white t-shirt that contrasted beautifully with her skin. As they packed the last of Stephanie’s things, the conversation turned practical, the fantasy of ‘yes’ hardening into reality.
“My firm’s jet is on standby at Orly,” Veronica said, folding a sweater with military precision. “We can leave tonight. Gets us into JFK by midnight, New York time.”
“Tonight?” Stephanie paused, a pair of socks in her hand. The suddenness was a cold splash.
“The Kensingtons’ pretrial motions start on Thursday. That’s two days. I need to be at my desk, in my office, with my files, tomorrow morning. Not here.” Veronica’s tone was all business, the grumpy lawyer reasserting herself. “If you’re coming, you’re coming now. No romantic weeklong send-off.”
Stephanie nodded, the heiress in her understanding the language of private jets and immediate departures. “D’accord. Tonight.”
“You’ll stay with me. In my apartment.” Veronica stated it as fact, not a question. “It’s a fortress. Doorman, private elevator. Safer than any hotel.”
“I would like that.” Stephanie tried to sound casual, but the thought of living in Veronica’s space, seeing her books, her coffee mugs, her morning routine, made her heart knock against her ribs.
“Good.” Veronica zipped her own bag shut. “It’s not this.” She gestured around the colorful, cluttered room. “It’s… modern. Sterile. I work there. It’s a tool. Just so you know.”
“I do not care if it is a cave. It is yours.”
Veronica stopped, looked at her. “You’re really not scared? Uprooting your life? New York is not the Côte d’Azur. It chews up and spits out sunshiny people.”
Stephanie walked over to her, placing her hands on Veronica’s waist. “I am scared of many things. Taxidermy. Deep water. My mother’s disapproval.” She looked up, her blue eyes clear and steady. “I am not scared of you, or your city. After what we just did… I think I can face anything.”
A low chuckle escaped Veronica. “You’re rewriting my code, you know that? Making me believe in cheesy lines.” She kissed Stephanie’s forehead. “Finish packing. The car will be here in an hour. I need to make a call to my office. Damage control.”
Veronica picked up her phone and walked toward the small balcony, her voice already shifting into a crisp, authoritative tone. “Marlon. It’s Barlowe. Listen, I’m on the jet tonight. Have the Kensington files, all of them, on my desk by 8 AM. And clear my morning. No. Everything.”
Stephanie listened to the sharp, efficient clatter of her words, a soundtrack to her new life. She looked around the vibrant room—the rumpled bed, the scattered records, the indents in the carpet where they’d fallen. This had been a paradise, a secret world. Now they were leaving it to build another one, together, in a concrete jungle.
She finished packing, her movements swift and sure. When she closed the lid of her suitcase, it sounded like a period. The end of a sentence. The start of a new chapter.
Veronica ended her call and came back inside, slipping the phone into her pocket. “Sorted.”
“What do I tell my family?” Stephanie asked, the only real stone of anxiety left in her gut.
“The truth,” Veronica said, shouldering her bag. “Tell them you fell in love with a beautiful, brilliant, terrifying woman who happens to have a private jet. Tell them you’re moving to New York to be her kept woman and learn about American litigation.” A genuine grin, swift and bright. “Or just tell them you’re pursuing independent studies. I’ll write you a letter.”
Stephanie laughed, the sound easing the last knot of tension. She took her suitcase handle in one hand and reached for Veronica’s hand with the other. “Let’s go home.”
Veronica’s fingers closed around hers, tight, an anchor. “Yeah,” she said, her voice rough. “Let’s.”