Chapter 5: All You Have to Do Is Ask

The world had narrowed to a single point of contact—Sandra's fingers pressed against her most intimate places while Sam sat mere feet away, completely oblivious to the devastating game being played beneath his dinner table. Elara's entire body trembled on the precipice of something that would change everything, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps that she tried to disguise as the lingering effects of whatever illness Sam thought was afflicting her.

Sandra's eyes never left Elara's face, cataloging every micro-expression with the precision of a scientist studying a fascinating specimen. Her fingers remained perfectly still now, neither advancing nor retreating, holding Elara in a state of exquisite suspension between ecstasy and torment.

"Maybe I should call Dr. Martinez," Sam said, his voice thick with genuine concern. "You really don't look well, babe."

The word 'babe'—his casual term of endearment that had always felt like home—now landed like a physical blow. Elara's eyes squeezed shut as the full weight of what she was doing crashed over her. Here was Sam, worried about her health, ready to call a doctor, completely trusting and devoted, while she sat writhing under another woman's touch at his own dinner table.

Sandra seemed to sense her internal struggle. Her free hand moved above the table, ostensibly reaching for her wine glass, but her fingers brushed against Elara's wrist in what looked like a gesture of comfort.

"I'm sure she just needs rest," Sandra said smoothly, her voice carrying that warm, caring tone that had fooled Sam for weeks. "Sometimes our bodies know what we need before our minds catch up."

The double meaning sent a fresh wave of heat through Elara's already overwrought system. Sandra's fingers below the table pressed fractionally harder, and Elara bit her lip to suppress the moan that threatened to escape.

"You're probably right," Sam agreed, his relief evident. "Sandra always knows what to do in these situations."

If only he knew exactly what Sandra was doing in this situation, Elara thought desperately. The irony was so bitter it nearly made her laugh—or scream.

Sandra's smile widened, as if she could read Elara's thoughts. "I do try to be helpful," she said with mock modesty. Her fingers resumed their torturous movement, tracing patterns that built pressure with scientific precision. "After all, what are friends for?"

The word 'friends' was delivered with just enough emphasis to remind Elara of how thoroughly that boundary had been obliterated. They weren't friends anymore—maybe they never had been. This was something else entirely, something dark and dangerous that defied easy categorization.

"I think..." Elara started, then stopped as Sandra's fingers found a particularly sensitive spot that made her entire body jolt. The movement was subtle, could have been mistaken for a muscle spasm, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed with increased worry.

"That's it," he declared, pushing back from the table. "I'm definitely calling the doctor."

Panic flooded Elara's system. She couldn't let him leave, couldn't risk being alone with Sandra in her current state. But she also couldn't explain why she needed him to stay without revealing the truth of what was happening.

"Please don't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just need... I need..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. What did she need? For this to stop? For this to continue? For the ground to open up and swallow her whole? Her mind was a chaos of contradictory desires, made worse by Sandra's relentless ministrations.

"What do you need, darling?" Sandra asked, her voice pitched low enough that Sam had to lean forward to hear. The movement brought him closer to the scene of his own betrayal, and the cruel irony of it made Elara's stomach clench.

Sandra's fingers stilled again, waiting. The sudden absence of sensation was somehow worse than the touch itself, leaving Elara aching and desperate in ways she'd never experienced.

"I need..." Elara's voice cracked. She opened her eyes and found Sandra watching her with predatory intensity, those blue depths holding a challenge that cut straight through to her soul.

All you have to do is ask, Sandra's expression seemed to say. Ask for what you really want.

But asking would mean acknowledging the desire that had been consuming her for weeks. It would mean admitting that she wanted Sandra's hands on her more than she wanted her next breath. It would mean choosing this dark, twisted game over the safe, predictable life she'd built with Sam.

"I need some air," Elara finally managed, the words coming out in a rush. "Just... fresh air. That's all."

The disappointment that flickered across Sandra's features was so brief Elara almost missed it. But then her roommate's expression smoothed into one of helpful concern.

"Of course," Sandra said, finally withdrawing her hand from beneath the table. The sudden absence of contact left Elara feeling bereft, despite her relief. "Fresh air is exactly what you need."

Sam was already moving, ready to help her to the balcony, but Sandra's voice stopped him.

"Actually, Sam, could you clear the dishes? I'll take care of Elara. Sometimes these situations require a... feminine touch."

The phrase 'feminine touch' was loaded with meaning that made Elara's breath catch. Sam, bless his trusting heart, simply nodded.

"Good idea. You two have always been close. You probably understand each other better than I do."

If only he knew how well Sandra understood her, Elara thought with bitter irony. How completely she'd been read, analyzed, and psychologically dissected.

Sandra rose from the table with fluid grace, moving around to Elara's side. Her hand settled on Elara's shoulder—a gesture that looked supportive to Sam but felt possessive to Elara.

"Come on, sweetheart," Sandra murmured. "Let's get you some air."

The endearment was new, more intimate than her usual 'darling,' and it sent fresh shivers down Elara's spine. Sandra's hand remained on her shoulder as they walked toward the balcony, a constant reminder of her presence, her claim.

The cool evening air hit Elara's flushed skin like a blessing. She gripped the balcony railing, trying to steady herself as Sandra closed the sliding door behind them, creating a bubble of privacy in the darkness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city drifted up from below—distant traffic, muted conversations from other apartments, the hum of life continuing normally while Elara's world crumbled around her.

"That was quite a performance in there," Sandra said finally, her voice carrying that familiar note of amusement. "Though I'm not sure Sam was entirely convinced by your acting."

Elara whirled to face her, desperation and anger warring in her chest. "This has to stop. Whatever game you're playing, whatever you think you're doing—it has to stop."

Sandra's smile was maddening in its serenity. "Game? Oh, darling, this isn't a game. Games have winners and losers. This is something much more... collaborative."

"Collaborative?" Elara's voice rose dangerously. "You call what just happened collaborative? You... you violated me in front of my boyfriend!"

"Did I?" Sandra tilted her head with mock innocence. "Because from where I was sitting, it seemed like you were enjoying every moment of it. In fact, I distinctly remember you asking Sam not to leave."

The observation hit like a slap. Because it was true—in that moment of panic, Elara's first instinct hadn't been to end Sandra's torment but to ensure it could continue.

"That's not... I didn't..." Elara's protests died on her lips because they both knew the truth.

Sandra moved closer, her movements predatory and graceful. "You know what I find fascinating about you, Elara? Your capacity for self-deception. You've been telling yourself for weeks that you want this to stop, but your body keeps betraying you."

"My body doesn't know what it wants," Elara whispered.

"Oh, but it does." Sandra's voice dropped to a purr as she stepped into Elara's personal space. "Your body knows exactly what it wants. It's your mind that keeps getting in the way, clinging to shoulds and shouldn'ts, to safety and propriety."

Sandra's hand came up to cup Elara's face, thumb tracing along her cheekbone with devastating tenderness. "Tell me, when my fingers were touching you in there, what were you thinking about?"

Elara tried to turn away, but Sandra's grip tightened, holding her in place. "Answer me."

"I was thinking..." Elara's voice broke. "I was thinking about how good it felt. How much I wanted... wanted more."

"And what stopped you from asking for more?"

The question hung in the air between them like a challenge. Elara's eyes filled with tears—not of sadness, but of frustration and overwhelming desire.

"Because I love Sam," she whispered. "Because I'm supposed to love Sam."

Sandra's smile turned almost gentle. "Supposed to. What a tragic way to live, always doing what you're supposed to do instead of what you actually want."

Her thumb moved to trace Elara's lower lip, and Elara found herself leaning into the touch despite herself.

"What if I told you that you could have both?" Sandra murmured. "What if I told you that Sam never has to know? That this could be our secret, our private world that exists alongside your public life?"

The suggestion was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. "I can't... I won't..."

"Won't what? Won't explore the part of yourself that's been screaming to be acknowledged? Won't embrace the desire that's been consuming you for weeks?" Sandra's voice grew more insistent. "Won't finally be honest about what you really want?"

Sandra's hand moved from Elara's face to her neck, fingers tracing the rapid pulse point with scientific interest. "Your heart is racing. Your breathing is shallow. Your pupils are dilated. Every biological indicator screams that you want this, want me, want to surrender to everything I'm offering."

"It's not that simple," Elara protested weakly.

"But it is." Sandra's other hand came up to frame Elara's face, holding her captive with gentle but inexorable pressure. "It's the simplest thing in the world. All you have to do is stop fighting what you feel. Stop denying what you crave. Stop pretending that you don't lie awake at night thinking about my hands on your body."

The words hit like physical blows because they were so devastatingly accurate. Elara did lie awake thinking about Sandra's touch, did crave her presence, did feel like she was slowly dying from the effort of denying her desires.

"All you have to do," Sandra continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "is ask."

The simple word carried the weight of complete transformation. Asking would mean crossing a line from which there would be no return. It would mean acknowledging that she wanted Sandra more than she wanted to preserve her relationship, more than she wanted to maintain her moral high ground, more than she wanted to keep pretending she was someone she wasn't.

"Ask for what?" Elara breathed.

Sandra's smile was triumphant and tender at once. "Ask for everything. Ask me to touch you the way you've been dreaming about. Ask me to show you pleasures you've never imagined. Ask me to make you feel alive in ways you never knew were possible."

Sandra's thumbs traced along Elara's jawline with maddening gentleness. "Ask me to be yours, and let yourself be mine."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with promise and threat. Elara could feel herself balanced on the knife's edge of a decision that would reshape everything she thought she knew about herself.

Behind the sliding glass door, she could see Sam moving around the kitchen, cleaning up their dinner with the same cheerful efficiency he brought to everything. Her boyfriend. Her safe harbor. Her old life.

And in front of her stood Sandra, beautiful and dangerous and offering her everything she'd never dared to want.

"I..." Elara started, then stopped, the word catching in her throat.

Sandra waited with the patience of a predator who knew her prey was already caught.

The moment stretched between them like a held breath, pregnant with possibility and catastrophe, until Elara finally understood that some crossings were inevitable.

The only question was whether she would take the final step willingly, or let Sandra pull her across.