Chapter 10: Giving

Three Weeks Later

The household had settled into new rhythms.

Don Rodrigo spent most days locked in his study, managing correspondence and visiting the fields less frequently. His mood had grown darker, more unpredictable. The servants moved quietly around him, careful not to draw his attention.

Mateo divided his time between the cane and the two women—some nights with Mia, some with Alana, many alone in his own chambers, exhausted from long days in the sun.

When he came to either of them, they endured. Performed their duties. Let him have what he needed.

And then they found each other.

The transparency agreement still held—each woman told the other when Mateo asked, when he came, when it was over. The honesty had become routine now, painful but bearable because they shared it.

But the real truth—the secret they protected above all else—was what happened in the hours between.

The nights when Mateo didn’t ask for either of them.

Those nights belonged to them alone.

They’d learned each other’s bodies over the past three weeks. Slowly. Patiently. With hands and mouths and whispered instructions.

Alana had shown Mia how to touch her—where she was sensitive, what rhythm she preferred, how much pressure. And Mia had been an eager student, attentive and careful, learning the geography of pleasure.

But there was one thing Mia hadn’t done yet.

One thing that Alana had given her repeatedly, generously, but that Mia hadn’t reciprocated.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because she was terrified she’d do it wrong.

Tonight, Mateo was staying overnight in town—some business with suppliers that required his presence at dawn. Don Rodrigo had retired early with a headache and a bottle of brandy.

Which meant Mia and Alana had the entire night to themselves.

They were in Mia’s bed, the door locked, candles burning low. They’d been kissing for the better part of an hour—slow, deep kisses that made them both breathless and wanting.

Alana’s hand was between Mia’s thighs, moving with the practiced confidence of three weeks’ experience. She knew exactly how to touch now—the pressure, the rhythm, the pattern that made Mia fall apart.

And Mia did fall apart, gasping into Alana’s shoulder, her body clenching and releasing in waves of pleasure.

When she could breathe again, she looked up at Alana with shining eyes.

“I want to do that for you,” she said. Not for the first time. But this time, her voice was different. Determined.

Alana smiled. “You do. With your hands. You’re very good with your hands.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Mia sat up slightly, pushing damp hair from her face. “I want to use my mouth. Like you do for me.”

Alana went still. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Mia’s hand cupped her face. “You’ve done it for me so many times. You’ve made me feel things I didn’t know were possible. And I just ... I want to give that back to you. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

“I’m happy just touching you,” Alana said softly. “Just being with you like this. You don’t owe me anything.”

“This isn’t about owing.” Mia’s voice was fierce now. “This is about wanting. I want to taste you. I want to make you fall apart the way you do for me. I want to know what you sound like when I’m the one loving you that way.”

Alana’s breath caught. “Mia—”

“Please. Let me try. If I’m terrible at it, you can tell me and we’ll stop. But please let me try.”

Alana searched her face. Saw the genuine desire there—not duty, not performance, but real want.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes.”

Learning

Mia kissed her deeply—long and slow—then began moving down her body.

She’d done this part before. Kissed Alana’s neck, her collarbone, the soft curve of her breasts. Learned what made her sigh, what made her arch.

But she’d always stopped there. Let her hands finish what her mouth had started.

Tonight, she kept going.

Down the center of Alana’s chest. Across her ribs. The soft skin of her belly.