Surprisingly, I woke in my bed the next morning. Jackhammers pounded against my temples while elephants jumped on the rest of my forehead like kangaroos. I looked over at my nightstand and smiled to myself. There was a bottle of Advil and a glass of water waiting.

Thank you, prepared self.

I struggled to sit up, but once I did, I popped three pills, slowly chasing it with the water. Falling back on my bed, I hid under my pillow, letting the cold side caress my overheated head in the most soothing way possible. Sadly, it was short lived as my phone went off.

Grunting like a beast, I rolled over and pulled it out of my pocket. I noticed my battery percentage had gone down, which sucked, but at least it was still alive.

I read a text from Kalob asking where I was, but I quickly responded with my usual answer: "I'm at home..late night. I'll call you later, love you."

Satisfied, I scrolled through the rest of my messages, taken aback once I saw this one.

Mallory was on her way!

Shooting out of bed despite the searing pain in my head, I quickly began changing out of last night's clothes. Sliding off those jeans took forever, they were practically glued to my thighs and calves, but when I got them off, I threw on a pair of mesh shorts and an old volleyball shirt from high school. My makeup was probably all over my face, but that didn't concern me. What did though, was what mess I left when I got home last night; however I got home last night.

Rushing to the living room, I took in the broken lamp on the floor and takeout containers lingering on my kitchen table.

When did I order takeout?

"Oh nevermind," I muttered aloud, focusing on the lamp that just laid on my floor.

I got a broom out and began sweeping what little, light bulb glass would come up from the carpet, then resorted to picking the shards up with my finger. A small piece lodged itself in my thumb, and I cursed under my breath, but before I could do anything about it, a knock on my door alerted me.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I put the lamp back where it went nonchalantly, and took in a deep breath before unlocking the door. The knob turned beneath my fingers, and with the flick of my wrist, it opened.

Biting my lip, I couldn't help but stare at the woman in front of me. Unlike her usual pantsuits, she was dressed in denim jeans that seemed to hug her hips deliciously and a flowy blouse. Mallory looked amazing, but those jeans were mesmerizing me because of how well they fit her body.

Malloy walked in like she owned the placed, swinging the door closed behind her. "You did something right for a change," she criticized, her voice trailing off as she glanced around the livingroom.

"You live like a slob."

Rolling my eyes, I relocked the door and walked to the kitchen, tossing out the empty takeout containers.

I still don't know when I got takeout.

"Esme."

I didn't look up. Instead, I took a rag out of the sink and wiped down the countertop. My head was throbbing. My stomach felt like it was cartwheeling. Acid burned the back of my esophagus.

I need a tums.

"Esme!"

Snapping my head up, I glared at Mallory, who stood there, hands on her hips and impatient as ever. "What!"

Her eyebrow raised into an arch, her blue eyes narrowing at me. "Do not use that tone with me," she threatened, taking slow, predatory steps towards me.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, bringing my hands up to my head and rubbing my temples.

"I don't think you are."

Mallory rounded the corner of the counter and wound herself around me, hot breath dancing against my neck. Her hands slithered down my arms, fingers locking around my wrists and pinning them to the cool surface. I could feel the rise and fall of her chest on my back, chilling my skin.

"Fuck," I exhaled, tilting my head back slightly.

The older woman shushed me, then took one of her hands away and brushed hair from one side of my neck to the other. Her lips caressed my skin, dancing and teasing every patch of flesh in sight. My jaw hung open, slack at the pleasure.

Mallory's lips traveled up my neck until they reached my ear. "Bend over the counter for me," she purred, moving her hands to my hips.

I did as commanded, slowly lowering myself down onto the countertop until my chest was flush against it. I could feel the brunette behind me, her fingers digging into my hips, the scratching of denim against the back of my bare legs. Outstretching my arms on the counter, I curled my fingers underneath the edges, awaiting Mallory's choice of punishment.

"Did you have a nice time last night?"

Nodding my head, I kept silent, hoping my lack of vocalization wouldn't offend her.

"Did you get too wild? Do you have a hangover

I nodded once again.

Mallory hummed. "It figures, dear. You know, if you would have kept yourself hydrated throughout the night, you wouldn't be having the urge to rip your head off to relieve the pain; not to mention, you most likely wouldn't have disobeyed me."

"I'm sorry," I murmured against the counter, tightening my grip.

"Oh I know," the brunette responded, and I could feel her hand repeated trailing up and down my spine. "But, 'sorry' doesn't ignore the fact that you willingly disobeyed me, am I correct?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good, now count for me, Miss Holland."

I was confused as to what she meant until I felt her hand strike my rear. Shouting out one, Mallory's onslaught of violent lashes continued until I screeched out twenty; my ass sore and what little dignity I had diminished.

"Stand in that corner, please." Mallory stated suddenly, grabbing my wrists and backing away, forcing me to stand up.

Glancing at the corner by the door, I shot a look at the older woman, questioning her seriousness, but was greeted with a blank face and fierce, smoldering eyes.

"Go on."

Slowly approaching the wall, I looked back at Mallory again before positioning myself in front of the corner. I could smell the paint from how close I was, but perhaps that was dust. Either way, it wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't repulsive either; just uncomfortable. I felt like a five-year-old again. It was pitiful.

I stood until my legs started getting tired, shifting from one foot to another while I had absolutely no idea what Mallory was doing. Was she watching me? If I turned around now, would she be right behind me? Was she casually strolling around my house, making herself at home? Going through my things? Did she find my vibrator? Thousands of other questions ran through my mind, but I was snapped out of it at the sound of my name.

"Esme, come here."

I all but jumped out of the corner and turned around, joining Mallory as she sat at the kitchen table, her elbow resting on the table, supporting her chin in her palm. Sitting in the chair beside her, I watched the brunette lick her lips, open, and then close them.

"Tell me how you're feeling. What emotions are running through your head?"

Tilting my head to the side, I stared at Mallory, not sure if she was serious or not. Should I tell her what she wanted to hear? What would she want to hear anyway? Honestly, I felt a little humiliated. I wasn't a child; corners were punishments for children.

Mallory raised her brow at me. "Please answer me, dear. I don't want to punish you again." She sounded exasperated, almost like she was pleading me in order to keep her sanity.

"I feel," I mumbled, thinking over each word before I spoke, "humiliated."

"Good," she hummed, "I want you to feel that way. It never hurts to be humbled by someone."

I snorted in response.

Mallory arched her brow. "Do you know how childish you acted last night? You cursed at me like a drunken teenager: I thought you had more respect for yourself than that."

"I do."

"Then start acting like it." There was a short silence before Mallory spoke again, changing the subject. "We have something to discuss."

Biting the corner of my lip, I nodded my head to let her know I was listening and attentive.

"I've been very patient with you, but, my dear, I have some needs that I expect you to fulfill, despite your desire to not be touched by me."

My heart stopped. Was she asking what I thought she was asking? And who said I didn't want to be " touched by her"?

Wait. I said that!

But, my dream told me otherwise, and the fact that I haven't been able to go a day without thinking of it, had to mean something. Maybe I was just curious. Sex is the same with a man or woman, just different parts, right? And I had the same parts as she does, so I should be a pro at lesbianism already.

Boom. Science.

"I understand," I stuttered out, "When?"

"Now."