Page 5 of So Close to You
Seraphina doesn’t hesitate. She sits Nerissa on the edge of the desk, spreads her legs, and kneels between them. The taste of Nerissa intoxicates her. She licks and sucks greedily, probing her insides with her fingers until she drives her wild. Nerissa grabs her hair tightly, guiding her, and begins to pant her name through clenched teeth.
“Harder… like that… Seraphina, fuck…”
She comes with a stifled moan, clenching her thighs around Seraphina’s head and trembling violently. When she finally relaxes, she pulls her up and kisses her, tasting herself on her lips.
For a few seconds, all that can be heard is the murmur of the streets.
Seraphina presses her forehead against Nerissa’s, still trembling. Reality begins to seep in little by little: the unfamiliar office, the gala, her husband… But when Nerissa strokes her cheek with her thumb and looks at her as if she were the only real thing in the world, the fear returns… though this time it doesn’t quite manage to overcome her.
“We can’t stay,” Seraphina whispers.
“I know,” Nerissa replies, kissing her swollen lips. “But this… it hasn’t ended here.”
Seraphina closes her eyes for a moment, knowing the meaning of those words. Her composure, that perfect facade she’s worked so hard to maintain, has just shattered once again in Nerissa’s hands.
And she has no desire to put it back together.
Chapter 2
Manchester sleeps beneath a fine, persistent rain as Seraphina parks the car in front of her house in Alderley Edge. The neighborhood streetlights cast golden reflections across the wet pavement, and the Victorian facades, with their elegant details and manicured gardens, remain shrouded in an almost unreal silence at this hour of the early morning. It had always seemed to her the perfect place to raise a family: discreet, elegant, far enough from the bustle of Manchester to guarantee privacy, and exclusive enough to meet the Chapmans’ expectations.
For years, that house had symbolized exactly that: security, stability, and success. Tonight, however, it strikes her as little more than a massive structure filled with rooms where she can hide from herself. Seraphina turns off the engine and sits motionless for a few seconds, her hands still clenched around the steering wheel. Her body is still trembling. The memory of Nerissa’s lips against hers clings to her skin like a mark, impossible to erase. The entire drive home, she’s tried to convince herself that it was just a mistake, another lapse brought on by alcohol, nostalgia, and six months of distance.
But it doesn’t work. Because what she felt within those four walls was anything but accidental, and guilt pounds relentlessly against her chest.
They didn’t arrive home together because Elliot had left with the investors for a cocktail gathering away from the hotel. Seraphina gets out of the car before her thoughts can overwhelm her and walks along the stone path to the main entrance. Inside, the house remains almost completely dark, except for the dim lamp glowing in the living room.
She slips off her heels as soon as she closes the door, and the cold wooden floor beneath her feet brings her back to reality. She sets her purse on the console table in the foyer and heads toward the stairs when a weary voice drifts from the living room.
“It’s almost two o’clock.”
A jolt runs through her entire body. Elliot is sitting on the sofa, his tie loosened, a nearly empty glass of whiskey in his hand. As he looks up at her, his expression remains serene—always too serene—as though nothing could truly disrupt the order he imposes on his world.
“I didn’t know you were back,” Seraphina murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought you were going to stay with the guys a little longer.”
“I sent you a text,” he replies calmly, though his eyes linger on her face for a moment. Seraphina feels an uncomfortable pang of alarm. Will it show? Can someone still sense the trace of sex with someone else hours later? The idea seems ridiculous, yet fear settles in her body anyway.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see it. My phone was on silent,” she explains as she walks over to the minibar and pours herself a glass of water, simply needing to move and break the intensity of his gaze.
“I figured. The gala went on for quite a while after that, I imagine.”
Elliot watches her drink intently. Seraphina avoids meeting his eyes. In fact, she has spent years perfecting that delicate balance between closeness and distance: she knows how to make her voice sound natural, how to smile at exactly the right moment, and how to hide her exhaustion behind elegance. Tonight, however, she feels dangerously out of control.
“Is everything okay?” Elliot asks. The question should sound affectionate between a married couple, but instead it sounds formal, as though they’ve both been operating on autopilot for a long time, having forgotten how to speak honestly to one another.
“Yes, of course,” she replies. “I’m just tired. I’ve been on my feet for hours.”
He takes a small sip of whiskey and nods slowly.
“Yeah, you look exhausted.”
Because she is. Exhausted from lying, from holding back, from pretending there isn’t a huge fracture running through her life.
“And the week has been so long,” Seraphina adds, moving a little closer, though she still maintains a safe distance from her husband. “The meeting, the quarterly budgets... you know how it goes.”
Elliot sets his glass on the coffee table and sits up, stretching his shoulders.
“Come to bed. You have a board meeting first thing tomorrow morning.”
