Straight Arrow: Part One

Cassidy didn't need long to decide. The call gave her everything. The house was wrecked, Karla sounded shredded, and the woman on the other end was clearly blood. Her hand slipped away from the recorder a second before the knob turned. She'd made it. Barely. She tucked the earpiece under her coat, wiped the sweat off her lip, and rapped hard on the door. Play the part. Give the girl hope. Take it all away if she fails. Simple job. Except it wasn't. Karla opened up looking raw, eyes red, voice still cracking from the call. Cassidy smiled the way she always did when the mark was already halfway fucked and didn't know it. Said the right lines. TV producer. Full overhaul. Free if Karla fit the profile. Only catch: she had to be queer. Karla's face dropped fast. Cassidy watched every crack open. No, she wasn't. Yes, the woman in the other room was her stepsister. Yes, she needed the money. Yes, she'd lie. She'd lie through her fucking teeth if it meant saving the roof over her head. All she wanted was a crash course. Cassidy moved closer, already unzipping her jacket. Lips first. Karla jumped, then melted. Hands wandered up, over Cassidy's chest, trembling as they cupped what they'd never touched. Cassidy held still, let the girl explore, let her breathing hitch. Every brush over cotton was an accident waiting to happen, every second of silence a trap that closed tighter. Then Karla's fingers slipped lower, tracing the heat between Cassidy's thighs, and the room got smaller. She didn't know how deep she was going. She didn't care. She just wanted in.