Chapter 56: Faultlines
Aira woke up drenched in her own sweat.
Worse than sweat. The sheets clung to her skin, damp and twisted around her hips like they'd tried to hold her down. Her thighs were slick, and not just from the heat. The ache low in her belly throbbed like it had a pulse of its own, pounding out a rhythm she couldn't control, couldn't even pretend to ignore.
She turned over, groaning into her pillow, fists clenched in the sheets. Her whole body tingled. Every nerve frayed.
Dreams — again.
No, not dreams. Visions. Sensations. Addictions. Vivid, sharp, realer than real.
Selene.
Always Selene.
This time, Selene hadn't just haunted her mind. She had owned it. Taken it apart slowly. With precision. With cruelty.
There hadn't been a kiss. Not even a whisper of warmth. Just Selene's mouth close enough to feel, but never touch. Her voice like frost cutting against fire. Her hand holding a toy against Aira's soaked, desperate body while she refused to meet her eyes.
Aira had cried out.
Selene had only tightened the rhythm.
And then the strap — God, the strap — sliding in, slow and merciless.
Selene had stood over her, hips steady, arms braced on either side of Aira's trembling thighs, the cold press of her body like marble. She hadn't smiled. She hadn't soothed.
"You're the one who wanted to know," she had said.
Aira screamed into her pillow. No words, just raw sound. Her face burned with shame. Her chest ached.
She wasn't like this.
She had never wanted anyone to hurt her like that. Never wanted anyone to break her open and read the cracks. But she couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop needing. The heat under her skin wouldn't go. Her body still pulsed like Selene had just walked away moments ago, leaving her wrecked and ruined and begging.
And it wasn't just the lust. That would've been easier. Simpler.
It was the longing. The grief of touch ungranted. The shame of wanting it again.
Her body was a traitor, and her mind worse.
She sat up slowly, legs heavy with tension. Her tank top clung to her damp skin, thin cotton now translucent where it stretched over her chest. Her underwear was soaked, practically useless, and the sheets beneath her held the same evidence of her surrender.
The air in the room felt thick. Muffled. Charged. Like the remnants of a thunderstorm.
She caught her reflection in the mirror across the room.
Her lips were parted. Eyes glassy. Her collarbone flushed with heat and marked by crescent moons where her nails had dug in. She looked like someone had spent the night using her.
Except no one had.
Selene hadn't even touched her.
Not in the waking world.
Everything had happened in her own head. Her own hands. Her own hunger.
But it didn't feel like hers anymore. It felt… orchestrated.
She threw on shorts — too short, too easy — and the same tank, not bothering with out bra. Her thighs still trembled when she stood. Her chest too tight for breath. She pulled her hair into a half - hearted ponytail and padded down the hall barefoot, still tasting the ghost of Selene's breath against her cheek.
She didn't even make it to the kitchen before she knew.
Selene was already there.
Leaning over the stove. Stirring something.
Aira froze in the doorway. Swallowed hard. Every part of her prickled with awareness.
Selene was barefoot too. Her silver - blonde hair was cropped short, tousled from sleep in a way that made it look effortlessly cool, soft strands falling just over her brow. A tank top clung to her in the most unfair way — simple black, low and loose at the sides. Her sweatpants hung low on her hips.
She turned slightly, glancing back.
And she looked.
Not fast. Not casual.
Her eyes swept down Aira's body. Neck. Chest. Legs. And then back up.
Aira's breath caught.
Selene smiled — slow and maddening.
"Sleep well?" she asked, flipping the eggs in the pan with one hand.
Aira's throat tried to work. "Fine," she croaked.
"Mm." Selene leaned back against the counter. Spatula still in hand. "You were restless."
The word slid through the air like silk.
Aira blinked. "You… heard?"
Selene tilted her head, as if weighing the truth. "You moaned my name again."
Aira nearly choked. "I didn't — That wasn't — I didn't mean —"
Selene pushed off the counter.
Walked forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Predator.
She stopped just close enough to make Aira's heart pound in her throat. Not touching. Never touching. Just the heat of her cool presence like an ice cube dragged down a sunburn.
"You remember what I did to you?" Selene asked softly.
Aira looked up, eyes wide. "It was just a dream."
Selene raised a brow. "Was it?"
Her breath brushed Aira's cheek as she leaned in, barely tilting her head. Her lips ghosted over the corner of Aira's mouth. Not quite a kiss. Not quite mercy.
"You sounded," she whispered, "desperate."
Aira's knees went weak.
Selene pulled back.
Casual. Controlled.
She returned to the pan, flipped the eggs onto a plate, and set it down.
"Eat," she said, like nothing had happened.
Aira stared. The room tilted slightly.
She sat. Mostly because her legs no longer worked.
Selene moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. Poured coffee. Set it beside her. Leaned over just long enough for Aira to catch the scent of her skin — crisp, cold, addictive.
Aira picked at her food. Her hands trembled. Every part of her buzzed.
"You should hydrate," Selene added without looking.
"I'm fine," Aira muttered.
"You're flushed."
"I said I'm fine."
Selene turned, raised a brow. "Suit yourself."
Every sip of coffee tasted like smoke. Every second that passed scraped across her skin.
"I didn't mean to dream about you," Aira blurted.
Selene looked up slowly. "Didn't you?"
"No! I mean — It wasn't supposed to be like that."
Selene set down her mug. Crossed the room. Stopped at Aira's side.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she bent down until her mouth hovered beside Aira's ear.
"But you liked it."
Aira closed her eyes. "You don't know that."
"I do."
She stood. Walked away.
Left Aira staring into her untouched plate, heart hammering like she'd just run ten miles barefoot.
She couldn't eat.
She couldn't think.
Later, she fled back to her room — if only to find a place where she could breathe again.
But the air there was no better. It was still thick with memory. Still haunted by Selene's voice. Her imagined touch. The icy ache she left behind.
Even in her own space, she couldn't escape it.
She lay across her bed, fully clothed now, but it didn't matter.
The tension wouldn't leave her. It clung to her bones.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered.
No answer.
She knew.
Selene had undone something in her. Without laying a finger on her. And now she couldn't go back. Couldn't close the door.
She shifted, legs tightening again.
Her hand dipped beneath her waistband.
Just to breathe. Just to think.
But her fingers were unsteady. Her body too quick to respond.
Selene's name slipped from her lips again, unbidden.
And this time, it didn't feel like surrender.
It felt like begging.
She bit her lip, hard, as her body twisted beneath her own touch. But it wasn't hers she wanted.
It was Selene's.
Her cold hands. Her unrelenting gaze. Her perfect cruelty.
She came fast — too fast. Like her body had been waiting all day.
But there was no release. Only the silence after.
Heavy. Smothering.
She rolled onto her back, panting.
What would it feel like… if Selene really touched her?
Would she fall apart?
Would she finally feel full?
Or would it only make her want more?
She didn't know.
All she knew was this:
She was already broken.
And Selene was the only one who made it feel beautiful.