Little Lost Lamb

Dear Reader,

This story began years ago at the request of someone. At the time, I occasionally wrote short stories to post on an erotic fiction site, and she reached out to me. She couldn't write herself but had a very specific idea and asked if I could help.

Her idea was a kind of treasure hunt, a puzzle that would ultimately lead to winning a woman's heart. The rest was entirely up to me. And that became the story of Jasmin.

But it never really felt finished. And when I recently picked up writing again, I came across this story and thought it still had potential, especially if I told it from both sides.

I hope you'll agree with me!

Happy reading,

NightAelf xx

Prologue

She couldn't help it. It was like an addiction.

Jasmin was 27, but it didn't feel that way. She felt older. Not in her prime, despite what her name might suggest. Sometimes burnt out. Often hollow inside.

Her friends called her fun. Witty, quick with a comeback, always up for drinks, a party, and especially for sex. But she knew better. She was playing a part. The real Jasmin was buried deep beneath layers of irony, razor-sharp comments, and a wall no one easily got through.

She often thought no one could ever really love her. Maybe because she'd already given up on that herself. She didn't love herself, at least not the way you're supposed to.

She worked at a debt collection agency. It suited her. Everything black and white, neatly documented. No room for grey. No room for feelings. Her colleagues liked her well enough, but she didn't care. She'd long since stopped believing in real connections.

But there was one thing that kept her going.

One thing that kept her sharp.

Something no one knew about.

Her secret.

Before her first coffee, she'd often be behind her laptop already. The world was slowly waking up, but Jasmin was already on the hunt. She knew the game. Facebook, Instagram, whatever looked easy usually demanded more precision. The real information was in the details. In likes on old photos. In comments from 2017. In faces in the background. In who was just barely in the frame, or just barely not.

The internet was a tangle of wires. But Jasmin read patterns. Where others saw chaos, she saw direction. It had taken her weeks, but she knew where to look now. And what to look for.

She was tracking Sophie.

Not openly, of course. Never under her real name. She had multiple accounts. Sometimes she liked a photo. Sometimes she left nothing. Just her attention. Her patience.

She was hunting.

But the longer it went on, the more she wondered if maybe she was the one trapped.

If Sophie had seen her all along. Maybe the roles had already switched. Without words. Without her noticing.

Jasmin was the hunter.

And the prey.

Jasmin

It had all started a little over a year ago. She'd met Sophie at a birthday party of a mutual acquaintance. No idea anymore whose birthday it actually was. That night was a blur of booze, cigarette smoke, and fragments of conversations that led nowhere. But Sophie stuck. Jasmin had never seen her before and had, without thinking, tried to stay away. There was something about that woman that made her restless. Not threatening, more like a pull that hit her in the gut. Like a punch that just misses but still knocks the air out of your lungs.

Sophie had stood in a corner, glass of white wine in hand, just a little too upright, too composed. Her jacket was cashmere or something pretending to be. Her hair was perfect, her gaze guarded. Jasmin still remembered how she looked away from her, how she instinctively moved to the other side of the room. She didn't know exactly why. Maybe precisely because she felt it: that raw, overwhelming attraction that scared the hell out of her.

As the night went on and the wine flowed freely, the familiar Jasmin-routine kicked in. The party mask slid into place. The laugh just a bit too loud. The jokes just a bit too sharp. Her friends were used to this. They sometimes called her the human cocktail: three parts sarcasm, two parts self-deprecation, a dash of melancholy, and a shot of vodka on top. People often said, "It's not a party unless Jasmin's been there."

And usually that was true. She could resuscitate a dull evening like a trained EMT. With stories no one fully believed and remarks that always skirted the edge, she had an audience. The cruder, the better. And if someone sat across from her with flushed cheeks, bingo!

Sophie had been easy prey. Jasmin could practically hear her swallow with every remark she made. And she enjoyed it. Not like a predator wanting to tear something apart, more like a kid crouched over an anthill with a magnifying glass. Intrigued. Excited. Slightly sadistic.

After about two hours, she'd mentally filed Sophie under uptight prude. Too neat. Too restrained. Too many rules. And yet, every glance Sophie threw her way, brief, caught off guard, with that flicker of discomfort, sent a twist through Jasmin's gut. Not arousal in the usual sense. That rarely did much for her anyway. Sex was routine, convenience, drunkenness, not desire.

She didn't get turned on by a hard cock or a wet pussy. That left her cold. What got to her was deeper. It was in power. In control. In disrupting someone else's mask. She loved it when people started wondering whether she was laughing with them or at them. When they spoke louder from unease or suddenly fell quiet. She read their weakness and touched it with her tongue like a festering wound.

From the very first moment, Sophie had stirred something in her she couldn't reach. Something old. Something she usually kept buried deep. She'd never admit it, not out loud. But beneath every jab at Sophie, beneath every line that made people laugh, there was a flicker of hope. A ridiculous, unspoken longing for Sophie to push back. To look her straight in the eye with fire. To say, "Bring it on."

But she didn't, not really. Sophie blushed, looked away, laughed nervously. She only made a remark once. And Jasmin played her part. The clown. The bitch. The humiliator.

She'd drunk too much to drive home again, but that was routine. Her go-to solution: drink even more. Keep going until someone took her home, or until she passed out on a couch with her coat as a blanket. She often woke up in strange beds. With a hangover, foggy memories, and sometimes traces of sex on her skin or a sting in her butt from anal sex she vaguely remembered consenting to.

She'd done it all. Men. Women. Every shade in between. Usually without arousal, rarely with regret. She was fine with people using her for fun, as long as she could stay on the sidelines. Watch. Feel. Control.

And then Sophie came along. With that straight back and that stupid wine glass. And Jasmin knew, somewhere deep down: this one was going to undo her.

***

It was already late morning when Jasmin woke up. Her head was heavy, her mouth dry. She was in an unfamiliar bed, which was nothing new, but something was different. She was clothed. Her clothes were rumpled, her tights had runs, but she wasn't naked. No smell of sex in the sheets. No stray underwear on the floor. No grimy marks on her skin.

She sat up. The room was bright, spacious, almost calming. Everything tidy, but not sterile. The spot beside her was empty, but still warm. Someone had just been there. She pushed the duvet aside, stood up with a wave of nausea, and started gathering her things. Her bag lay half-open on a side table, her coat draped over a chair. Over the same chair hung a skirt and blouse, too prim to be hers, but vaguely familiar. Slowly, it dawned on her. This had to be Sophie's place.

Like she'd been stung by a wasp, Jasmin grabbed her shoes and tiptoed toward the door. If she was lucky, Sophie was in the shower. She could slip out without having to explain. No drama. No questions.

Her hand was already on the doorknob when the door opened.

There stood Sophie. In sweatpants, her hair in a messy bun, holding a wooden tray. Coffee, orange juice, croissants, even a tiny jar of jam. She smiled.

"Well, sleepyhead. The day's almost over."

Jasmin stood there with her shoes in her hand like a scolded child. She had no idea what to say. Sophie raised one eyebrow. "You were much chattier last night. Cat got your tongue?"

Jasmin sighed, dropped back onto the bed, and tossed her shoes to the floor. "Why'd you take me home?"

Sophie looked at her for a second with that unreadable expression. Wistful? Calculated? Maybe both. "Couldn't leave a lost little lamb wandering around," she said. "Your friends weren't exactly kind when you were slumped on the couch. They drew straws who could fuck you."

Jasmin shrugged. That sounded about right. "But why here?" she repeated.

Sophie set the tray down on the bedside table, still watching her with that unreadable look. "Because people, even the loud and difficult ones, aren't toys." She paused. "And because I felt sorry for you."

That last part hit hard.

"Sorry for me?" Jasmin's voice came out sharper than she meant. "For what?"

Sophie didn't answer. She handed her a plate instead. "Eat something. We'll talk later."

There was no mockery in her voice, no sarcasm. Just that calm, maddening matter-of-factness that always made Jasmin itch. Still, she took the plate. Pulled her legs up under her on the bed like she belonged there and started chewing on a croissant, mechanically.

Sophie moved through the room, picked her clothes off the chair, frowned at them, then walked over to open the window. Fresh air drifted in. She didn't seem to be ignoring Jasmin out of contempt, more like out of habit. As if she didn't feel like anything needed fixing.

Jasmin chewed slowly. She didn't know what to make of this morning. It felt like someone had switched the script without telling her. Eventually, she broke the silence. "Um... about last night..."

Sophie stayed still, didn't turn around, but listened. Jasmin took a breath. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you."

Now Sophie did turn. A faint smile crossed her face. "You think that bothered me?"

Jasmin frowned.

"I thought it was kind of sweet," Sophie said. "The way you tried to impress me."

The words hit like a slap. Jasmin whipped around, glaring. "I wasn't trying to impress you!" she snapped. Angry. Surprised by her own anger.

Sophie laughed. Not mocking. More surprised. She stepped closer, leaned in, and kissed the side of her neck. "You're so beautiful when you're mad," she whispered near her ear. Then she walked out of the room.

Jasmin sat frozen.

A second later, she stood up, shoved on her shoes, and grabbed her things. "I'm leaving!" she shouted into the hallway, not waiting for a reply. The front door clicked shut behind her.

The air outside was cold and clear. Her head buzzed. Not just from the hangover.

What the hell did Sophie want from her? If her goal was to mess with her head, she'd nailed it. Jasmin wasn't stupid. She knew when someone was playing her. Only this didn't feel like a game. No trick. No rulebook. Something between teasing and touching. Between laughing and biting.

And the answer to why Sophie had taken care of her?

She still didn't have it.

Sophie

It had started a little over two years ago. She'd seen her before. Not for long, never up close, and never with words. But enough to know there was something. Something that moved inside her, without her understanding why.

Jasmin.

Claire had dragged her to a party hosted by an old friend, in a bar whose name sounded just as tired as the furniture. Sophie hadn't come for the beer, or the music, or for Claire's friend who talked too loud and laughed at his own jokes. But it was Thursday night, she'd wrapped up work, hung her robe in the closet, and she'd said yes. As she often did with Claire.

She stood leaning against the wall, glass in hand, a half-smile on her face. People were loud, animated, with arms larger than their stories. Sophie listened but barely heard. Her mind was elsewhere. As usual.

She got bored easily. Not because people were stupid, but because they were predictable. Everything that was said, she'd heard before. Everything that was done, she'd seen replayed.

Until her gaze lingered on a woman at the bar. Not striking in the conventional sense, no perfect makeup or curated pose, but a kind of wild, unfiltered presence. She said something to a guy who was clearly impressed. Or overwhelmed. Hard to tell. He laughed too loud, too defensively, and she raised an eyebrow, turned away, took his glass, had a sip, and set it back down like she was agreeing that yes, the beer was weak.

Sophie stared. Longer than she normally allowed herself. The woman at the bar wore her boldness like a dress that was just a bit too short. She moved like the world was a joke only she got.

"Who's that?" Sophie asked Claire casually.

Claire followed her gaze. "Oh, that's Jasmin. A friend of a friend, you know. Works at some debt collection place or something. She's a little... different."

"Different," Sophie echoed. She let the word hang in the air. Jasmin laughed loudly at something no one else found funny. Sophie felt a tingle. Curiosity. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. Like someone had opened a window in a room that hadn't seen fresh air in years.

And in that moment, without Jasmin even glancing her way, Sophie knew. She would remember her.

From that moment on, it was as if Sophie carried her around. She heard stories. Small bits people dropped in conversation. Jasmin had said this, done that, cursed someone out and seduced them in the same breath. Sophie listened, shrugged, but remembered every word. Sometimes she even asked, subtly, for more.

So more and more if there was another party, she went. Not too often. Not too obviously. Just enough.

And every time it was the same. Jasmin was there. And Jasmin didn't see her. Not really.

Sophie started going to more parties and bars, usually with Claire, but never really for Claire. They'd been friends a long time, studied law together in Leiden. But while Claire had thrown herself into student life, Sophie had been focused on finishing her degree as quickly as possible.

She had no love for loudmouths, and the whole fraternity culture struck her as mindless. All about drinking and screwing, with studying postponed and stress piling up. At least, that was how it went for Claire, who graduated two years after her.

She kept seeing the same pattern. Jasmin insulted someone, Jasmin drank too much, Jasmin got picked up or passed out. But no one really cared. Not when it mattered. Not even Jasmin.

And that got to Sophie.

She'd heard enough by then. About how easy Jasmin supposedly was, how she didn't care who she ended up with. There were even photos going around: drunk Jasmin, stained with semen, eyes closed, breasts exposed. Jasmin knew about them, but didn't seem to care.

Even Claire had joined in a few times, she'd confessed to Sophie. It had been exciting, and Jasmin didn't mind.

Sophie felt a deep contempt for her friend. And an even stronger anger at Jasmin's so-called friends. Real friends didn't do that. Not even when the opportunity presented itself.

And all those times Sophie had seen Jasmin at a party or bar, not once had Jasmin noticed her.

Until that one night.

It was late. Everyone was a little too drunk or too tired. Sophie stood at a high table, glass in hand, smiling at nothing. And then she felt it. That look. Sharp. Quick. Like someone had drawn back a curtain.

Jasmin was walking toward her.

She looked lazy. Soaked in wine and confidence. That look that had already decided to disapprove before she'd even arrived.

Sophie felt her heart pick up. Not nerves. Anticipation.

She looked a bit stiff that night. She'd come straight from her grandmother's birthday and hadn't had time to change. Her need to see Jasmin had been stronger. And that was exactly what had made Jasmin notice her at last, her stiff, too-formal outfit.

Jasmin stopped in front of her.

"Are you with the food safety inspectors or something?" she asked.

Sophie blinked. Jasmin tilted her head slightly, that half-drunk, mocking stare.

"Or are you here to check if the beer meets your grandmother's standards?"

Sophie felt her cheeks flush. Her suit was warm, her blouse too buttoned, her longing too visible.

And Jasmin had finally seen her. And misunderstood her completely.

Exactly as she'd expected.

Sophie took a sip, looked at Jasmin, and said calmly: "I thought you'd be more original."

Jasmin was caught off guard, just for a second. But she recovered instantly.

"You look like a fairytale character."

Sophie raised an eyebrow. She felt sweat run down her back. She'd never been this close to Jasmin before. She smelled amazing. Without realizing, Sophie had started breathing heavier. And that's when Jasmin delivered the punchline.

"You look just like Red Riding Hood's grandmother."

Sophie blushed, not from shame but because she was trying not to laugh. Touché, she thought.

But all she said was: "Maybe I'm the big bad wolf."

Just like she'd seen so many times, the night followed its usual pattern. After Jasmin walked away, she kept drinking. But this time, Sophie didn't let someone else take her.

She asked an acquaintance to help carry Jasmin to her car. He laughed and said, with a conspiratorial grin, "In the mood for a threesome?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Sophie shot him a look that could kill.

At her place, she laid Jasmin on the bed. The only thing she took off were her shoes. Then she took a quick shower. Wearing her pajamas, she crawled in beside her. Gently, she kissed Jasmin on the forehead and turned onto her side. She hoped she'd get at least some sleep with this beautiful woman next to her.

Jasmin

At the very next party, she was tipsy way too early.

Jasmin had told herself she just felt like having a drink, but she knew better. She'd been walking around with a restless knot in her stomach all day. Spent longer than usual on her eyeliner, picked a skirt that was a bit too tight, and grabbed a glass of wine the second she walked in like it was her life raft. Within an hour, the room was laughing at her jokes. As always. On the dance floor, she was the one everyone wanted to spin around with. She acted like she was having the time of her life, but inside everything felt flat. Dull. Frayed.

Every time the door opened, she looked up. Too quickly. And every time, that same punch in the gut followed. It wasn't Sophie.

She drank. Another glass. Then another. Anything to drown that feeling. At some point, she lost count. Everything softened, blurred. The music turned into a wall of sound she leaned against. She danced with someone. No idea who. Someone grabbed at her waist. Someone else caught her wrist. She laughed, wriggled free, spun around, and nearly fell.

Then she heard a voice. Right by her ear. Low, cutting, and warm all at once.

"Do I have to rescue this lost little lamb again, or do you want to wait and see which of your friends wins the bet and fucks you half-conscious later?"

Jasmin jerked upright. Her head spun. That voice. That scent.

Sophie.

She stood right there. Calm. One eyebrow slightly raised. Like she was studying her but had no real intention of stepping in.

Everything inside Jasmin started to shake. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She felt like she might pass out or explode, or both. There was something stuck in her throat she couldn't swallow. And she remembered, with perfect clarity, exactly why she kept trying to avoid this woman.

If she hadn't been this drunk, she might've said something clever. Something sharp. Something to regain her balance. But now, she could only stare. Blink. Let herself be led.

Sophie slipped an arm around her. Not tender. Just efficient. She steered her through the crowd, past people who turned, then quickly pretended they saw nothing. Outside, the air was cold and Jasmin shivered as she leaned against the car while Sophie opened the door. She was placed in the passenger seat and handed a plastic bag.

When she looked up questioningly, Sophie said, "I don't want you puking in my car."

Jasmin slumped deeper into the seat. The world was spinning slow, but there was a strange lightness in her chest. Not just from the booze. Something soft had crept in. A stupid sort of happiness that this woman was here again. For her. She let her head fall back, closed her eyes, and smiled without meaning to.

To her surprise, the car didn't stop in front of some random apartment, but at her own front door.

"How do you know where I live?" she asked.

Sophie glanced sideways and smiled. "I just asked your friends."

They got out together. Sophie kept her steady, helped her up to the door. Jasmin wobbled on her heels. She looked at Sophie. Her voice was hoarse. "Are you coming in?"

She didn't know exactly what she was hoping for. Maybe an arm around her. Maybe warmth. Maybe more.

Sophie leaned in. Jasmin felt her breath. Thought she was about to be kissed. Her lips lifted, just a little.

But Sophie whispered, "I'm just making sure you get home safe, little lamb. Sleep well."

She brushed Jasmin's jaw with her lips. Not teasing. Not promising. Just, contact. Then she turned and walked back to the car.

Jasmin stood there, hand still on the doorknob. Her cheeks burned. Her whole body buzzed. She felt desperate. And furious. Like someone had plugged her into a socket.

"Of course! Who the hell do you think you are? You're not my goddamn mother, bitch! You just ruined my entire sex life!" she shouted after her.

Sophie looked over her shoulder, blew her a kiss, and got in without a word.

The car disappeared around the corner.

Jasmin stood there. The street was empty. The cold bit at her ankles. She could hear her own breathing, fast and uneven.

Then she turned and went inside.

She had no idea what had just happened. But no one had ever rejected her before. No one had ever turned her down. And now, with this woman of all people, she wanted nothing more than to be held in her arms.

Sophie

She had already told herself three times she wouldn't go.

It was Friday, it was late, and it had been a long week. She had poured herself half a glass of wine, watched the news without listening, and she tried to ignore the notifications on her phone.

Until Claire texted again.

"Your rescue project's drunk again."

[photo attached]

Sophie clicked.

Jasmin, slumped over a bar table. Lipstick smudged, mouth slack, skirt raised over her ass. Someone had placed a coaster on her head like a crown. The group chat lit up. GIFs, cheap jokes, someone wrote, "What a slut."

Claire sent another photo. This time Jasmin's top was lifted, unclear if she had done it herself or someone else had. In the background, a guy held up his phone, grinning.

Sophie felt her stomach twist. She put on her shoes, grabbed her coat, and got in the car.

She walked in late. Everything in her resisted. The music, the people, the smell of beer and old sweat. She didn't want to be touched. Didn't want to make small talk.

She wanted to see Jasmin. And she didn't. Because she knew it would make her furious. And it did.

Jasmin was in the middle of the dance floor, slurring, dancing, stumbling. Her skirt was crooked, her eyes glassy from the booze. But she looked better than usual. Her eyeliner still intact, her hair done. Like she had actually prepared for tonight.

And that hit Sophie harder than she expected. Because when you make an effort, it means you are hoping for something.

Sophie walked in, headed straight for her, without knowing what she was going to do. She heard someone laugh, saw a hand slide over Jasmin's lower back. Jasmin wobbled, laughed, swatted someone's shoulder with exaggerated playfulness, but her eyes were empty.

And then Sophie knew what to do. She stepped up close behind her, leaned in, and whispered:

"Do I have to rescue this lost little lamb again?"

She was right behind her. Close enough to feel her breath. Jasmin turned around, eyes half-lidded, mascara like a shadow under her eyes.

Sophie slipped an arm around her and led her outside, toward her car. With some effort, she got the drunk Jasmin into the passenger seat and drove her home. Her own home.

When Sophie helped her out of the car, Jasmin looked up in confusion, surprised that she was being dropped at her own front door.

"Are you coming in?" she asked.

The words were soft, but the intent was clear. Not begging, not seductive. Something in between. Like she didn't even know what she wanted, except not to be alone.

Sophie felt her heart pounding. She smelled the alcohol, but also that undertone of skin, perfume, cigarette. Something that always knocked her off balance. Her fingers tingled. She wanted to hold her. She wanted to shake her.

She wanted her.

And that is exactly why she didn't.

She leaned in, closer than necessary, and whispered:

"I'm just making sure you get home safe, little lamb. Sleep well."

She touched Jasmin's jaw with her lips. Not a kiss. Not a promise. Just a full stop.

Then she turned and walked back to her car without looking back.

She sat there for ten minutes, motionless, hands on the wheel. Her heart pounded too loud. Jasmin's scent still clung to her clothes. And her own head felt just as foggy as Jasmin's had an hour earlier.

She had protected herself. She knew that.

But it didn't feel like winning.

Jasmin

The weeks blurred together like damp, grey days in November. Jasmin started turning down party invitations more and more. She said she wasn't in the mood. Too busy. Headache. But the truth was simpler. She didn't want to run into Sophie again. At least not without understanding her. Not standing next to her, once more, without knowing what that woman wanted from her.

Who did Sophie even think she was? Her mother?

Well, if so, she was at least fifteen years too late. Her real mother barely looked her way. She was omewhere in Limburg now, with her third husband. Or was it the fourth? Jasmin had lost count. Even her own mother had never shown that kind of apparent concern. The woman who'd given birth to her had interfered less in her life than Sophie now did. And that made her furious. Or sad. Or something in between that she refused to name.

After turning down yet another party, she collapsed onto the couch. Half under a blanket, half in a hangover from the night before, when her phone buzzed.

An unknown number.

"Does the lost little lamb not want to be rescued anymore?"

Everything in her froze. She didn't need to guess who it was. Only Sophie would send something like that. No emoji. No name. Just that one line. Exactly on point.

Her fingers flew over the screen. "You know where I live. Come rescue me."

She set her phone down, took a deep breath, felt a tension coil through her body. She waited. Stared at the screen like she could will it to react.

Then the reply came.

"Careful, little lamb, or you might get eaten."

She slammed her phone down on the couch like it had personally insulted her.

The words stayed with her. Not as rejection, but as a riddle. Jasmin didn't get it. They barely knew each other. No phone calls, no coffee dates, barely any real conversations. Just those few nights. Those looks. Those touches that weren't quite touches.

Still, she'd felt occupied by her for weeks. In her head. In her body. She had never felt so drawn to someone without even knowing why. And at the same time, she felt dismissed. Like a game you pick up and then put away again, no explanation.

Why had Sophie gone through the trouble of reaching out, picking her up from a party, taking her home, teasing her, only to pull back again? Did she really just see her as a lost lamb? Or was there something else underneath?

Jasmin couldn't stop thinking about it. That night, and the days after.

By Wednesday afternoon, she gave in. She called Peter, supposedly to ask about an upcoming dinner. But slowly, she steered the conversation.

"Hey... how do you know Sophie, anyway?"

"Who, Sophie Nieuwenhuis? Through mutuals. I think she's a friend of Claire's. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious. She was at Max's party too, right?"

"Yeah, she's been showing up more and more. And by the way, she always asks about you."

Jasmin froze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just about you. Like you're the only one she's interested in. I swear she watches you the whole time. Doesn't really talk to anyone else. Just you."

Jasmin felt it immediately. That nerve in her stomach twitching. Something like excitement. Maybe hope. Or something uncomfortably close to it.

Maybe Sophie did want something from her. Maybe she had seen something in her all along that Jasmin hadn't even been able to name.

But then why all the rejection? Why keep pulling back? Why come close and then disappear again?

She didn't know. But she knew it was driving her insane.

She started searching for her. Google first.

At first, there wasn't much. A restaurant review here, a comment under someone's vacation photo. Nothing that told her anything real about the woman who had taken over her thoughts, her days, her nights. No profiles. No interviews. No scandals. Just traces. Too light to hold, too real to ignore.

Luckily, Jasmin had experience. She was good at finding things she wasn't supposed to know. At work, she often looked into people. Clients. Competitors. Shady intermediaries. She didn't need much to break in. And this time, she had at least something. A name. A phone number. A street. A pattern of party appearances.

But everything she found only made her more restless. Sophie stayed just out of reach. Everything lined up, and still there was nothing to hold on to.

Sophie

She hadn't seen Jasmin in weeks.

At first, she told herself it was just coincidence. That they had just missed each other, that maybe Jasmin was busy or going to other parties. But by now it felt different. Jasmin was gone. Out of the bars, out of the conversations, out of sight.

And even though Sophie had promised herself not to go looking, she found herself standing in yet another crowded living room, plastic cup in hand, listening to conversations she wasn't part of. Everything in her said she should go home. But something kept her there.

Or someone.

Claire was there too. Of course. Always. She was talking to a guy with a backwards cap and a laugh too loud for the room. Sophie walked over without knowing exactly why.

"Have you seen Jasmin lately?" she asked casually, like it didn't really matter.

Claire raised her eyebrows. "No, not really."

"Is something going on with her?"

Claire shrugged. "No idea."

"Has anyone even asked how she's doing?"

Claire shrugged again. "No. Why?"

And that was it. That was exactly what Sophie couldn't understand. How could you laugh with someone night after night, drink with her, get lost in her chaos and stories, and then do nothing when she disappears? How could you forward pictures and jokes about her, but not send a simple message to ask if she's okay?

She looked around. Most of the faces were familiar by now. But no one seemed to really miss Jasmin. Not like she did.

So she decided to do something.

Peter was standing by the patio door with a beer. If anyone was still in touch with Jasmin, it was him.

"Hey, Peter," she began. "Have you heard from Jasmin lately?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Not really. A couple of texts maybe."

"Can I have her number?"

He gave her a sideways look. "Sure. But why?"

"Because no one else seems to care. And I actually want to know how she's doing."

He smirked slightly, nodded, and typed something into his phone. A moment later, hers pinged. A number. Nothing else.

She waited until she was home. Still had her coat on, her bag over her shoulder, when she sent the message.

"Does the lost little lamb not want to be rescued anymore?"

She placed her phone on the kitchen table. Stared at it like she was afraid of the reply. Or maybe hoping it wouldn't come.

But deep down she already knew. This wasn't going away. Not like this.

The reply came faster than she expected.

"You know where I live. Come rescue me."

Sophie smiled at her phone and let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. Jasmin was still sharp, at least. That was a relief. But she didn't trust herself to be in a room with her. Not tonight. Not after all the worrying.

"Careful, little lamb, or you might get eaten."

She read her own words back and wasn't sure what she meant. A warning? A promise? A boundary?

Or maybe just a hunger she still didn't dare admit.

Jasmin

Jasmin decided to take action.

There was a party coming up, hosted by a mutual friend, and through the grapevine she knew Sophie might be there. She sent a text, short and loaded.

"The little lamb is on the move."

Half a minute later, her phone pinged.

"Can't shear a sheep without wool."

The words hit her like a slap. The sarcasm, the game, the rejection that was also somehow an invitation. Jasmin felt it instantly, that tight, hungry ache in her lower belly. This woman stirred something in her that she could barely allow herself to feel.

She made a plan. She wouldn't drink too much. Just enough to loosen up, but not so much she'd need rescuing again. And if all went well, she'd pretend to forget her keys. So Sophie wouldn't take her home, but would have to take her back to her own place instead.

At the party, Jasmin tried to be herself. She laughed, danced, snapped back at people like always. But inside, everything was taut. All evening, she felt like a predator lying in wait. No sign of Sophie.

Until the moment she turned toward the bar and suddenly saw her approaching. Sophie was walking in her direction. Jasmin's heart pounded. She forced herself to stay still. Don't run. Don't beg. Stay cool. Stay elegant.

But just as she thought Sophie was coming to her, she walked right past. Jasmin turned slowly and saw her hugging another woman. Jantine. Then starting a loud, animated conversation, completely unfazed.

Jasmin stood there, as if temporarily written out of the scene. She tried to catch pieces of their talk. Somewhere in the background, she heard Sophie worked at a law firm. That she'd be going to Spain soon, to a region where they spoke Catalan, where she had family.

Everything was information. Jasmin soaked it up. Not like a stalker, but like an overheated mind desperate for something to hold onto. She needed to know. Everything.

She didn't realize Sophie was watching her. Not until she felt breath along her neck. Jasmin froze.

Sophie was behind her. Barely visible, but close enough for her warmth to register. Her voice, a whisper.

"You want to be rescued, or are you planning to become another meme again?"

Jasmin tilted her head just enough to let her lips move.

"Go ahead. Save me."

That was all she needed to say. They grabbed their coats. Walked outside. In silence.

Sophie's place turned out to be nearby. She suggested walking. Jasmin nodded. No words on the way. Just the rhythm of their steps and a tension that grew with every one.

Inside, Sophie dropped her coat on a hook and gestured toward the bathroom. "You go first. Then you can get into bed."

Jasmin obeyed. Let herself be sent off to the shower like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if this was routine. As if Sophie had everything under control.

She washed slowly. Deliberately. Every movement charged. Afterward, she dried off with a towel and walked naked into the bedroom. The sheets were cool. Her skin tingled.

She waited.

She could feel everything inside her waking up. Her stomach. Her breasts. Her hunger. Her whole body tuned to a single sound: Sophie entering the room. But the silence remained.

She got up. Crept into the living room.

There was Sophie. On the couch. A glass of wine in her hand. Watching a documentary on Discovery.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, not looking up.

Jasmin gasped. She stood there, naked, warm, trembling. This woman brought out everything in her, but treated her like just another overnight guest.

Muttering, she turned around and walked back to the bedroom. Slipped under the covers. The arousal hadn't gone. It just burned deeper now. Slower.

The next morning, she woke up with an arm draped over her. Sophie lay beside her. In thick pajamas. Her face soft, her breathing slow. Jasmin studied her face. The line of her jaw. The shape of her lips. Gently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Then she moved closer. Just for a moment. Just to hold this.

Later that morning, Sophie stood in the kitchen. Spreading crackers. Making coffee. Jasmin joined her. Her body felt heavy. Confused. Soft.

"Did you sleep well?" Sophie asked.

"Yes. Thank you," Jasmin replied. And it wasn't empty. To her own surprise, she'd actually slept well. Woken up rested.

She drank her coffee. Ate. And before leaving, she gave Sophie a kiss on the cheek.

Sophie smiled.

"Till next time, little lamb."

Jasmin stepped outside. The door clicked softly shut behind her.

Sophie

She got the message while still sitting on the couch, legs folded beneath her, phone beside her.

"The little lamb is on the move."

She read it three times. The first thing she felt was warmth. A foolish flutter low in her belly. Jasmin, reaching out on her own. Jasmin, seeking her out. That was new. And it was exactly what she had wanted. Or was it?

Immediately, a counter-reaction kicked in. She pulled her knees tighter, stared at the screen, and thought, OK, but why now? And for what? What do you expect from me? She felt the urge to test her. To not hand Jasmin that feeling of success too easily. As if she needed to show her there were boundaries. That this wasn't a game you could just step into, turn everything upside down, and vanish again. So she typed back:

"Can't shear a sheep without wool."

She startled herself a little with how harsh it sounded, but didn't delete it. It wasn't meant as rejection. More like a prod. A question in disguise: what do you really have to offer me? Not your body, not your charm. But truth. Who are you when the party's over?

At the party, her whole body was thrown off. She walked in and saw her immediately. Jasmin. Tight dress. Hair done. Eyes already a little glassy from drinking, but not wrecked. Not like before. She had prepared. You could see it in everything. And it cut through Sophie like a jolt. The beauty, the effort, the vulnerability. She wanted to run to her, to hold her, to whisper her name.

But then she saw Jantine.

Jantine stood a few feet behind Jasmin, laughing, glass in hand, her gaze locked on Sophie. Sophie felt her face freeze. She pasted on a smile, walked straight toward Jasmin, and swerved at the last moment. Hugged Jantine a little too warmly.

She heard Jasmin's breath, the small shift of her body, the silence that fell.

Sophie laughed with Jantine, said something about holidays and law firms, but her eyes kept searching. Jasmin stood motionless. Something in her posture wilted.

Later that evening she found her again, near the bar. Jasmin had just turned, their eyes met. Sophie felt the pull to draw her close, but she held back. She stepped in, leaned close, and whispered into her ear:

"You want to be rescued, or are you planning to become another meme again?"

Jasmin answered softly, "Go ahead. Save me."

Sophie felt torn. She wanted to lift her, carry her, protect her. And at the same time, she wanted to shake her awake. She wasn't a counselor, not a savior. She didn't want to make the same mistake everyone else had. Jasmin deserved more. She needed to learn to save herself. But tonight, just tonight, Sophie could hold her one more time.

At home, she pointed her to the shower. Firmly. Almost businesslike. Not out of coldness, but out of care. Out of restraint.

Later, when Jasmin walked into the bedroom naked, beautiful, expectant, Sophie felt her mind reel. She turned on the television, sat on the couch, let the night settle. She knew Jasmin was waiting. But she didn't want to touch her just because she could. She wanted to touch her when Jasmin knew what she was worth.

The next morning she lay beside her. In pajamas. Her arm draped around her. Half asleep, but aware of the woman next to her. A warm body. A rhythm that was almost familiar.

She hoped for one thing.

That Jasmin would ask, "Why didn't you touch me?"

So she could say, "Because you're worth more than that."

Jasmin

Jasmin didn't go out anymore. No parties, no drinks. Months passed. She kept to herself. Dodged every invitation. Her friends didn't even ask why. They just assumed it was normal. Only at the office could she still pretend. There, she was sharp, quick-witted, on point. But the moment she got home, she collapsed. Everything revolved around Sophie. Or no: the idea of Sophie. Because Sophie touched something in her, saw her, yet was as untouchable as a ghost.

Jasmin used everything she'd managed to find about Sophie. Every fragment. Every trace. Her name. Her voice. Her scent, still clinging to the collar of her coat. Sophie wasn't on social media, at least not under her real name. But Jasmin was stubborn. And relentless.

She typed: 'Sophie Nieuwenhuis', 'Catalan', 'Spain.' For hours, she scrolled through forums, travel sites, blurry blog posts with too many filters and too little substance. And then, suddenly, on a forgotten Spanish photo site, she found her. A few pictures. Not many, but enough to know it was Sophie. Her gaze, her posture, her profile, the username 'Sofie_NL1995.' Everything lined up.

Jasmin felt something stir deep in her belly when she read it. She created an account. Username: lost_lamb. She left a comment under one of the photos. Nothing remarkable, just: "Beautiful place."

Then the real hunt began. She copied Sophie's username, threw it into Google, forums, archives, Gemini. She found old comments, discussions about language, about Spanish literature, obscure dishes from the Girona region. She saved everything. Screenshots. Notes. She started building her own trail. Everywhere Sophie had ever been, Jasmin followed.

Sometimes she used lost_lamb. Sometimes she had to improvise. Then it was something like _lonelylamb or lambwithoutshepherd. Always a wink. Always a breadcrumb. She even found Sophie's Instagram, under a subtle name, hidden among thousands of others. But it was her. No doubt.

A few weeks later, Sophie suddenly changed her username. Not dramatically. Not loudly. But Jasmin saw it instantly. Shepherd_1995. She stared at it, heart skipping a beat. She swallowed. A warm, glowing rush spread through her belly. This couldn't be a coincidence.

Jasmin started liking all the photos. One by one. Not all at once, but spaced out. Like drops. Like rewinding time. Like saying: I've been here all along. I see you.

Every morning, she checked her phone. Instagram. Mail. Notifications. Nothing. One week. Two. A month. Two months.

Then, under a photo of a Spanish landscape, six words appeared: "Haven't been able to rescue you."

She had commented on that photo days earlier with just one word: "Beautiful." Now the image was loaded with meaning. Weight. From that moment, the game began. Sophie replied. At first short. Then longer. Sometimes ironic, sometimes ambiguous. Jasmin's heart raced every time a notification appeared.

It was like a drug. A flash of light in the grey of a workday. She started opening her email more often than her project files. Every five minutes, she picked up her phone.

She felt like a voyeur. She felt like a hunter. But above all, she felt like prey. Something being toyed with. Heated up, but never quite allowed to burn.

The trail of messages became a puzzle. Not just flirting or a game, but a deliberate treasure hunt with Sophie setting the rules. At first Jasmin didn't notice. She thought the capital letters were typos, small slips in the replies. But more and more often, a capital would show up in the middle of a sentence. Sometimes in strange places. So subtle you could miss it with a tipsy glance.

She began collecting them. One by one. But they didn't add up. Just random letters. Until she scrolled back through the timestamps and noticed a pattern there too. The order. The intervals. It was too precise to be coincidence.

Slowly, it fell into place.

I WANT MY LITTLE LOST SHEEP

It was there. Raw. Awkward. Unavoidable. Jasmin read it again. And again. The words burned into her vision. Her breathing quickened. It was an invitation, wrapped in encrypted longing. Almost a command.

And then her body joined in. In dreams. In bed, with her own fingers. Always without music. Always without light. Just her breath and the image of Sophie's gaze, Sophie's silence, Sophie's control.

The days piled up. Weeks. Until suddenly, beneath a series of new posts, six letters appeared:

FRIDAY

Six letters. No doubt. Jasmin grabbed her planner and started crossing out each upcoming Friday. December. January. February. March.

With every line, she felt a pulse low in her belly. A tingle. Something that climbed and settled in her nipples. Her clit swelled, throbbed against the fabric of her panties. She kept her hand away. She didn't want to waste this on something easy. She wanted to feel it. Hold it.

She shifted in her chair. Down a little, so the seam of her jeans pressed just right. She pushed her hips forward. A bit of friction. Then more. Slow, rhythmic movement. She brought herself to the edge, again and again. And then stopped. Waited. Not yet.

She heard herself moan. Her breath fast and shallow. In her mind, she saw Sophie. Not naked. Not exaggeratedly seductive. Just watching. The way she did. Unshaken. All-knowing.

Then her phone beeped. Three sharp tones in a row.

She froze. She didn't want to look. Didn't want to know. But her hand was already moving.

One notification. From Sophie.

MAY 10, 8:00 PM

Her breath caught. She looked at her calendar.

It was this coming Friday.

The arousal surged back through her. Her clit throbbed now. Her whole body responded like a match to flame. Everything in her glowed.

No more hesitation.

She unbuttoned her jeans. Her fingers found their way. In a few sharp, focused strokes, she pushed herself over. Her body shook. A cry escaped her lips, raw and unfiltered.

Then she burst into laughter. Loud. Surprised. Relieved.

Sophie had been the first to make her wait. To make her search. But now, she had slipped. Her patience had broken.

And that feeling, that Jasmin was still the one in control, only made her hungrier.

Sophie

With one last glance at her desk, Sophie turned off the light and closed the door to her office. It was well past nine, and she had run the entire day on adrenaline. She had skipped lunch. Dinner had been a sandwich in the pantry, eaten standing up, a stack of files under one arm. She knew she needed to be careful. She burned hard. And she liked it that way. But she knew the smell of smoke a little too well by now.

She had been working for three years at a law firm that focused on clients who often had no voice. Victims. Refugees. People lost in the system or crushed by it. Family law, victim advocacy, immigration cases. No glamorous files. No expensive suits or martinis at an exclusive bar. But it was real. Sometimes raw. Sometimes ugly. But real.

That was why she was here. And stayed. Because someone had to do it. Because she could. And because she still believed, somewhere deep down, that it mattered. But sometimes, when another perpetrator got off with a warning and community service, she wanted to rip off her robe and pick up a baseball bat. In those moments, justice felt like a joke. A ghost. And she, just a naive fool who thought systems could be fixed.

But enough. Today was done. She had done enough. She wanted to go home. A glass of wine, a hot bath, and then work on her plan. Because she had a plan. And that plan had started a few months ago, on a drizzly Tuesday evening, when she got a notification from a website she had posted a few travel photos on years ago. Someone had commented on a photo of Girona. "Beautiful."

That wasn't what made her heart skip a beat. It was the username. lost_lamb.

She had set down her phone. Breathed. Picked the screen back up. Checked again. And from that moment on, it had started. Her phone would ping at the oddest times, notifications from long-forgotten platforms, comments on pictures from another life, and always, the lamb.

She couldn't quite place it. If a client had told her this story, she would hear alarm bells. Stalking. Obsession. Unhealthy fixation. But with Jasmin, it felt different. Unsettling, yes. Maybe even concerning. But also sincere. Like someone trying to find something they had gotten lost in. And yes, it affected her. The effort Jasmin made. The way she looked. Really looked.

With every comment Jasmin left, Sophie gave something back. A short word, a seemingly offhand reply. Not much, but enough. She missed her. Jasmin had stopped showing up at parties, and Sophie had stopped going too. Everyone would tell her if Jasmin turned up somewhere, but it remained quiet. So she decided to let Jasmin know that she had noticed. That she missed her. Under a photo of a Spanish landscape, she wrote: "Haven't been able to rescue you in months."

When Jasmin started reacting on Instagram too, Sophie felt something shift. She had thought she was hard to find. Her profile was old, not linked to her full name, barely active. But Jasmin had found her anyway. She had clearly put time into it.

After a few weeks, Sophie went into her settings. Looked at her username. And without really thinking, she changed it. shepherd_1995. She did it with no expectation. But once it was done, it felt like a quiet confession. A wink. Not a game, but a gesture only Jasmin would understand.

Deep down, or actually not that deep, Sophie knew she had fallen hard for Jasmin and just wanted to see her. But not at another party, where Jasmin was as easy to get as anyone else. She wanted it to be special, because she thought Jasmin was special. A mystery to others maybe, but Sophie saw a woman who couldn't embrace herself and probably thought no one could ever love her.

She had never meant it to be a game. But everything about Jasmin asked for play. For provocation. For closeness and distance all at once. And Sophie, who usually had her life perfectly under control, found herself posting old travel photos and encoding messages. Leaving subtle hints. The capital letters. The intervals. The silent suggestions.

She knew she could just send a message. But to her, that wouldn't be enough for Jasmin. She wanted to win her. Not just her body, but her mind too. To show her they were equals. To show her she respected her.

Once she had made her intentions clear through a series of messages, Sophie wanted more. She felt she couldn't keep up the cat-and-mouse, or wolf-and-lamb, game for much longer. She just wanted to see Jasmin, and the carefully built tension was beginning to unravel her.

After revealing the date through coded messages, she couldn't hold out any longer. She hoped Jasmin had already deciphered the clue, and if not, so be it. She couldn't wait anymore.

She sent a short message:

MAY 10, 8:00 PM

Quickly, she put her phone down, as if it might burn her, but the phone stayed quiet. No confirmation. No rejection. Everything was open. Now it was Jasmin's move.

Jasmin & Sophie

The day couldn't go fast enough. Jasmin woke up early, far too early. Her body was taut with nerves. She showered for ages. Thoroughly. She shaved everything that needed to be smooth, studied herself in the mirror like she was about to take an exam. Whatever happened tonight, she would be ready.

For the first time in her life, she had spent real money on lingerie. The woman at the shop had given her a knowing look, as if she finally understood what her body was worth. Jasmin couldn't meet her eyes as she stepped out of the fitting room. But she bought the set.

A deep purple velvet bra with black lace details embraced her breasts. The matching panties hugged her hips. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw it. That she was beautiful. Truly beautiful. Not just with her words, her posture, her sharp tongue. But her body. Her skin. Her soft stomach. Her strong thighs. Admitting it hurt a little.

She forced herself not to sit down. Not to touch. Not now. She wanted to save it.

She pulled on her new black trousers. Tight. Comfortable. Her purple blouse showed just a hint of the lace. Subtle. Her long lashes didn't need mascara. Her full, dark brows were perfect. A touch of eyeliner, a bit of gloss. Nothing too much. Not like she wanted to impress someone. Just enough to watch herself glow.

Last, she put on her black leather boots. Tall, sleek, powerful. She loosely twisted her hair up and fastened it with a double comb. The casual knot gave her a sense of control. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. Her panties already clung to her pussy.

She felt ready.

She didn't want to show up empty-handed. During her digging, she'd noticed what Sophie liked to drink. Rosé. Not just any, always a soft, pale one. She picked a good bottle. Not the most expensive, but chosen with care.

She barely touched the doorbell.

The door flew open.

For a moment Jasmin thought she was hallucinating. Sophie wasn't wearing one of those stiff skirts she sometimes wore. No prim blouse with one button too many done up. No. She wore a black dress. Deep neckline. The fabric poured over her body like liquid. The back was bare. Her cleavage partly visible. Only two silver chains held the dress together. It stopped just past her knees. She wore tights with a back seam, and her feet disappeared into narrow black heels with absurdly high stilettoes.

But it wasn't the outfit that hit Jasmin.

It was her gaze.

No mocking smile. No game. Just a loving, open look. Sophie looked at her like she had known her forever. Like this had already been decided months ago.

"Do you like it?" Sophie asked softly.

Jasmin swallowed. She didn't know what to say. The bottle in her hand felt heavy and unnecessary. She stepped closer. Their eyes stayed locked. She leaned in, brushed Sophie's lips with hers, and whispered:

"You're more beautiful than in my dreams. And you were already so beautiful there."

She caught the scent she remembered from a party. Something warm. Jasmine and a hint of citrus. Jasmin rested her forehead against Sophie's neck. Just for a second.

Sophie took her hand. Took the bottle. Led her inside. Jasmin followed. Her hands suddenly felt empty. She didn't know what to do with them. In the living room she looked around. She'd been here before. But she'd never truly turned around. Never really looked.

The heavy curtains were drawn. Only small lights were on. The rest of the room was lit by candles. Everywhere. Big ones, small ones. Unscented, warm. Nothing tacky. Honest light.

It felt like a film.

But Jasmin knew this wasn't a film.

This was real.

This was the beginning.

Sophie came back in, two glasses of red wine in her hands.

There was a smile on her lips that Jasmin felt all the way down to her knees. She blushed as she clinked her glass against Sophie's. A soft chime, and there it was. That moment of awareness. She was standing in Sophie's living room. The woman who had driven her mad for over a year. And now she didn't know what to do.

Sophie sat down. Jasmin was relieved. She could sit too now, without it feeling like a decision. She lowered herself onto the couch beside her, a little stiffer than she intended. Took a sip of wine. Too quick, too much. She felt it glow in her stomach.

Sophie pressed a button on the remote. Netflix. The screen lit up with the opening scene of a film Jasmin knew by heart. A romance between women. One of those films you only watch when your heart is slightly ajar.

Jasmin glanced sideways.

Was Sophie really going to watch a movie now?

Her body was burning. Every nerve was on edge. Her panties were still pressed tight against her, her breasts firm in the bra she'd bought just for tonight. And here she was. On a couch. Watching a film.

Sophie slouched down, casually draped her legs over Jasmin's lap. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jasmin froze.

The heel of Sophie's shoe pressed against her crotch. Not hard, just enough to feel. The fabric of her tights rasped softly over Jasmin's trousers. Jasmin let her hand rest gently on Sophie's thigh. Barely touching at first. Then a bit more. She let her fingers drift to the edge of the dress, over the tights. She felt something elastic. Garter straps?

A hot, fierce jolt of desire shot through her.

She held her breath. This wasn't an accident. This was deliberate. Sophie knew exactly what she was doing.

On the screen, two women kissed. Slowly. Tenderly. Jasmin felt the blood rush to her face. This was cruel. Or brilliant. She wasn't sure anymore. There she sat. Jasmin. The woman who had taken anyone who turned her on, who was rarely sober when she spread her legs. The queen of quick sex, dirty jokes, hasty exits.

And now?

Now she sat like a girl on her first date.

Her hand stayed on Sophie's leg. She didn't move. Hardly breathed. She felt warm, wet, restless. Every time their eyes met, Sophie smiled. Sweetly. Not teasing. Not provocative. Just soft.

And that drove her mad.

Sophie got up and left the room. When she returned, she held two glasses of red wine.

"I want to make a toast," she said, smiling. "To the successful hunt."

Jasmin laughed, but she felt unsteady. She raised her glass, their hands touched. A jolt shot through her. Something snapped inside.

She looked at Sophie, held her glass a moment longer. Then, as if something moved her from within, she pulled it from Sophie's hands. Sophie looked startled, maybe even a little scared, but didn't pull back. Something in Jasmin woke up. Something she could no longer resist.

Without a word, she pushed Sophie back onto the couch. The silver chains on her dress slipped free in Jasmin's hands. The fabric fell open. Sophie looked up, breathless. Jasmin drank her in. Her skin, her eyes, her mouth. She was stunning.

She leaned in and kissed her. First soft. Then hungry. Their lips found each other, their tongues danced, their bodies strained close. Jasmin felt her own breath quicken. Her hands moved across Sophie's body, over curves she'd dreamed about. The heat of her skin, the scent of her arousal, it was fuel.

She knelt and pushed the dress up. The scent that greeted her almost undid her. Sophie moaned softly. Jasmin brushed her lips along the inside of her thighs, felt Sophie relax, head tipping back.

What followed wasn't sex. It was more. It was surrender.

Her fingers, her mouth, her breath, she used everything to touch Sophie, to fill her, to make her tremble. Between gasps, she heard crying. Or laughing. She wasn't sure. She looked up and saw tears in Sophie's eyes. And not a single part of her said stop.

When the body beneath her began to shudder, Jasmin held on tight. Sophie came with a primal cry, everything breaking open. Jasmin kissed her, touched her face, her neck, her shoulders. She wanted to pull her even closer. But she also knew: this was enough. For now.

They curled up together. Jasmin felt her own breathing slow. Her desire still burned. But something else washed over her. Something soft. Something she didn't recognize.

Love?

Sophie looked at her, pulled her gently up. Led her to the bedroom. There, Jasmin let herself be undressed. Her new lingerie was admired, touched. Every caress felt like affirmation. Jasmin moaned softly against Sophie's neck as her panties were slowly pulled down.

They fell into bed. Sophie took the lead. Touched her. Kissed her. Made her tremble. Jasmin's whole body was open. Her heart beat loud. When their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, wet against wet, Jasmin didn't feel possessed, but welcomed. Like she had finally arrived at the place she'd been pulled toward for months.

When they came together, it was without rush, without struggle. Just pulsing, warm, and all-consuming.

Later, as they lay under the blankets, Sophie whispered: "Do you know that I love you?"

And Jasmin, who rarely believed what people said, felt that this, this was real.