It's All Thanks To You

Casca Akashova leaned back in the leather chair, legs crossed, still buzzing from everything she’d just told Julianna. Therapy had cracked her open. Years married to a man she never wanted, nights hating her reflection, then Julianna—calm, patient, relentless—pulled the truth out of her. She was a lesbian. Divorced. Alone. Now starting over. It felt good. Dangerous good. She looked at Julianna across the desk and said it flat. “I love you.” The words came out clean. No stammer. She added that she knew it might not be mutual, but she wasn’t hiding anymore. Julianna didn’t answer right away. Her silence stretched until it stung. Then, calm as a surgeon: “I can’t be your psychiatrist any longer.” Casca felt her stomach drop—until Julianna leaned forward, voice lower. “Not because I don’t want you. Because I do. And we can’t do this if I’m still treating you.” The air changed. Casca stood first. Julianna followed. Hands moved fast—blouses peeled, skirts shoved, bras snapped open. Julianna’s mouth found Casca’s neck, teeth grazing skin; Casca’s palms slid over full, heavy breasts, thumbs circling stiff nipples. They backed toward the couch, lips locking, tongues sliding deep. Julianna pushed Casca down, spread her thighs, and dropped between them. Casca gasped when Julianna’s tongue met wet heat, licking slow, then harder, fingers gripping her hips. She came shaking, cursing, then pulled Julianna up, kissed her own taste from Julianna’s mouth, and reached between them—fingers sinking in while Julianna rode her hand. No more rules. Just skin and heat and the first night of whatever the hell they’d just started.