The morning light sliced through the crooked blinds like a judgmental knife, cutting across the chaos of Dearbhla Quinn’s cramped Sydney bedroom. Empty beer cans glinted in the haze, a graveyard of last night’s debauchery, while discarded pizza boxes lay like fallen soldiers on the sticky hardwood floor. The air was thick with the stale scent of sweat, cheap lager, and regret. Dearbhla groaned, her head pounding like a jackhammer as she rolled over in the tangled mess of sheets, only to collide with a warm, unmistakably human form.
“Fuck me,” she muttered, her thick Irish brogue rough with sleep and too many vodkas.
“Already did, love. Twice, if memory serves,” came the smug, lilting reply. Ami Nakamura’s voice was a velvet blade, sharp and smooth, cutting through Dearbhla’s foggy brain. The petite Japanese-Australian woman propped herself up on one elbow, her dark hair a tousled halo around her sharp, smirking face. Her almond eyes glittered with mischief as she surveyed Dearbhla like a cat toying with a wounded bird. “Though, judging by the state of you, I reckon you’ve forgotten the encore.”
Dearbhla’s face burned as she yanked the sheet up to cover her chest, suddenly hyper-aware of her nakedness—and the softness around her middle that hadn’t been there a year ago. Back in Ireland, she’d been the queen bee of her tiny town, all toned abs and cutting wit, ruling the roost with a crown of peroxide blonde and a sneer that could shrivel souls. Now, here she was, half a world away, sporting a beer belly and a bruised ego, sprawled in a share-house bedroom with the very girl she’d once made cry in the schoolyard.
“Don’t get cocky, Ami,” Dearbhla snapped, her green eyes narrowing as she shoved a hand through her messy, faded blonde hair. “I’m still twice the woman you’ll ever be, even hungover and half-dead.”
Ami laughed, low and throaty, sliding closer until her bare thigh brushed against Dearbhla’s under the sheet. “Oh, darlin’, you’re not half of anything anymore. Look at you—Sydney’s chewed you up and spat you out. What happened to the ice queen who used to make me cry over my bento box? Now you’re just a hot mess with a soft middle.” Her fingers danced teasingly along Dearbhla’s hip, lingering just long enough to make her breath hitch. “Not that I’m complaining. I like a bit of cushion to grab onto.”
Dearbhla swatted her hand away, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “Keep your paws off, Nakamura. I’m not your bloody plaything. And for the record, I never made you cry. You were just... sensitive.”
“Sensitive?” Ami arched a perfect brow, her smirk widening as she leaned in, her lips hovering dangerously close to Dearbhla’s ear. “Is that what you call it when you told the whole class my mum packed me ‘dog food’ for lunch? Or when you ‘accidentally’ tripped me into the mud on sports day? Face it, Dee, you were a right bitch. And now look at us—four weeks of sneaking around, and you’re still pretending you don’t want me to pin you down again.”
Dearbhla’s jaw clenched, her heart thudding traitorously in her chest. Four weeks. Four bloody weeks of stolen nights and heated whispers with the girl she’d once loathed—or at least, convinced herself she loathed. It had started as a drunken mistake after a house party much like last night’s, a clash of tequila and unresolved tension that ended with Dearbhla on her knees, literally and figuratively. She’d told herself it was a one-off, a glitch in her otherwise straight-and-narrow wiring. But Ami had a way of unraveling her, of stripping away the bravado until Dearbhla was nothing but raw, aching want.
“I’m not pretending anything,” Dearbhla shot back, her voice tight as she sat up, clutching the sheet like a shield. “This—whatever this is—it’s just... convenient. You’re here, I’m here, and I’m too skint to go out looking for proper company. That’s all.”
Ami’s laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. “Convenient? Oh, that’s rich. You think I’m just some cheap shag because you’ve blown your last dollar on piss-weak beer? Nah, Dee. You keep coming back because you like it when I take the reins. Admit it—you’re not the queen anymore. I am.” She reached out, her fingers curling around Dearbhla’s wrist with a grip that was both firm and teasing. “And you love bowing to me.”
Dearbhla yanked her hand free, but the heat of Ami’s touch lingered, sending a shiver down her spine. She hated how right Ami was. Back home, she’d been untouchable, the girl who called the shots and broke the hearts. But Sydney had humbled her—crappy bar jobs, a shitty flat, and a body that no longer snapped back after a bender. And Ami, the quiet, nerdy girl she’d once dismissed as nothing, had somehow morphed into this confident, commanding force who could reduce Dearbhla to a trembling mess with a single look.
“Dream on, you little gremlin,” Dearbhla hissed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as if to escape. But her head spun, and she had to grip the mattress to steady herself. “I don’t bow to anyone, least of all you. I’m just... figuring things out, alright? This city’s a feckin’ jungle, and I’m not exactly in peak form.”
Ami slid out of bed with the grace of a panther, completely unbothered by her own nudity as she sauntered around to stand in front of Dearbhla. Her lean, toned frame was a stark contrast to Dearbhla’s softer curves, and the way her gaze raked over her made Dearbhla feel both exposed and inexplicably hungry. “Figuring things out,” Ami echoed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Is that what you call it when you’re moaning my name at three a.m.? Sounds like you’ve figured out plenty, love.”
“Jesus, would you ever shut your gob?” Dearbhla growled, but her voice lacked conviction. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the memory of last night—or what little she could piece together—flashing through her mind in vivid, humiliating detail. Ami’s hands in her hair, Ami’s mouth on her skin, Ami’s voice whispering commands that Dearbhla had obeyed without a second thought.
Ami stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the floor, until she was looming over Dearbhla despite her smaller stature. She tilted Dearbhla’s chin up with two fingers, forcing their eyes to lock. “Make me,” she purred, her voice a challenge wrapped in silk. “Or are you too busy pretending you’re still the big bad wolf when we both know you’re just a lost little lamb?”
Dearbhla’s breath caught, her defiance crumbling under the weight of Ami’s gaze. She wanted to push her away, to spit some cutting retort and reclaim the upper hand. But her body betrayed her, leaning into the touch, her lips parting as if to invite whatever punishment Ami had in store. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, the words barely a whisper.
“And you’re mine,” Ami replied, her thumb brushing over Dearbhla’s lower lip with a possessiveness that made her shiver. “At least for now. So, what’ll it be, Dee? Keep fighting me, or get down on your knees where you belong?”
The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken history and undeniable want. Dearbhla’s mind screamed at her to resist, to claw back some semblance of control. But her body had other ideas, and as Ami’s smirk deepened, she felt herself slipping, surrendering once more to the woman who’d somehow turned her world upside down. With a shaky exhale, Dearbhla lowered her gaze, her shoulders slumping in defeat—and something dangerously close to desire.
“Fine,” she breathed, barely audible. “But don’t think this means you’ve won.”
Ami chuckled, her grip tightening just enough to send a jolt through Dearbhla’s core. “Oh, sweetheart, I already have.”
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