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It's been months of sexting, late night dirty phone calls, sneaking around, lies upon lies told to Jesse. And she's never been more sexually satisfied in her life. It doesn't make her feel less guilty when she looks down at Skylar's soft, sleeping face. He's a sweet boy, just a year old, and Beca hates herself a little because she knows their little family is breaking up, that there is a bubble and it's going to pop.
She never thought of herself as a cheater, but here she is, months into this thing with Chloe—a thing she should have never let slip away to begin with—in Chloe's modern Malibu…mansion? Is this thing a mansion? Regardless, she's in it with Chloe while here mother is definitely dying and Jesse is watching Skylar when that should be a mother's job. Jesse had soaked up every word of her lies, believed that she'd reconnected with Chloe at the airport and that Chloe wants to collab on a new song she's working on.
She doesn't fucking care. Chloe definitely doesn't care. The second they step into the house, Chloe is on her, kissing her mouth, down her throat, onto her chest.
"Finally alone," Chloe says through a smirk.
Beca can barely speak, overwhelmed by the lips and teeth and hands all over her body. Jesse doesn't touch her like this, not any more. Not since…fuck since before the kid. Maybe since before they were married. She isn't even sure.
Her body is heavy, hips rolling, pussy wet and pounding with need. This is the culmination of months of being on edge, months of whispered late night calls touching themselves and describing what they'd do to the other. And now, like Chloe said, they're finally alone.
"God," Chloe growls, rolling her hips against Beca's. "I want to lick you so bad."
And Beca wants Chloe to lick her, wants to feel her between her legs, wants to feel cared for and taken care of. She hasn't been, in a long long time.
"Wanted this," Beca pants out, catching Chloe's lips between words, grinding against Chloe's thigh between her legs, "for so damn long."
Chloe freezes, pulling back. Her piercing blue eyes are boring right into Beca's soul. "How long?" she rasps, her mouth wet with spit.
It isn't what Beca was expecting. She was just trying to dirty talk, but now it seems like it's gotten too real, too close to a sacred truth.
"What?" Beca squeaks out, knowing that mostly she is a terrible liar.
She hadn't had to work very hard to lie to Jesse. He was so ready to believe her. But now, here, in front of Chloe's flaying gaze, she knows the jig is up. Chloe briefly hinted at it in the airport—seems to know that Beca's affections weren't 100% strictly platonic.
"How long have you wanted this?" Chloe has broken all contact and Beca's skin is bereft, pitching Beca into a desert with no oasis in sight.
The message is clear: tell me the truth or you won't get any sex. And Beca really, really needs the sex.
"Long time," Beca tries for causal, shrugging.
Chloe raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "I flew you out here—" this was true, she'd paid for the ticket, "I'm putting you up in my house so we can have four whole days of uninterrupted sex, and you won't tell me how long you've wanted me?"
"A long time, Chloe!" Beca explodes, pushing toward her. "A decade, probably. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Chloe's chest is heaving with it, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. "Why didn't you do anything about it?" She yells.
Beca's pretty certain Chloe's not angry, not really, but she wants answers and she's like a crocodile with its teeth sunk into its prey and it's spinning in a death roll.
"You were right," Beca shrugs, looking down at her feet instead of the white hot intensity of Chloe's pale eyes. "Jesse got to me first."
"And how's that going?" The words are bitter. Beca understands why.
They could have been something. They could have been together, spent their lives with each other, made music and chased their dreams. Instead, Beca had walked away, had let herself because a wife and a mother—though, that she doesn't regret—and a pencil pusher. Chloe had followed her dreams, but she'd done it alone.
Her house was beautiful but it was solitary, decorated with only as much as a single person has the emotional capacity to own.
"I think I love you," Beca says, because it feels true. It doesn't feel like she's lying, or making it up on the spot.
That's what breaks the spell over Chloe. She blinks, snapping out of whatever fugue state that had taken over. "You love me?"
"I think so," Beca admits again, rubbing at the spots on her neck where Chloe's lips had just been.
"C'mere," Chloe finally says, pulling Beca in by the side of the neck. "Let me take you to bed."
So, Beca lets herself be taken down the hall, laid out on Chloe's big fluffy bed, and taken apart with Chloe's beautiful mouth. Chloe doesn't say it, not with words, but Beca thinks maybe Chloe is telling her that she loves her back. She isn't sure what that means for her life, for her marriage, her child, but in this moment, nothing else matters.