How Do You Know?

Phoebe Wren had fame, then one messy scandal tore the ground from under her. Since then she hid. So the only sound in the house when the door clicked shut was the buzz of ignored messages on the kitchen table. A stranger stood there smiling. Piper. Bright blouse, rolled sleeves, notebook in hand. She said management sent her to coax Phoebe out of hiding. First step: a memoir. Phoebe’s mouth twisted. Nobody needed the real thing, she spat, and the words were razor wire. Piper did not flinch. Instead she tilted forward, eyes bright, as if Phoebe had just revealed buried treasure in plain sight. They moved room to room, Piper asking and Phoebe blocking until the air felt too tight. Trevor’s name cracked it open. Everyone thought he’d run off with Luna, Phoebe’s assistant, his cock down her throat in tabloid photos. Phoebe’s jaw locked, then broke open. She never loved Trevor. She loved Luna. Every secret night against a penthouse window, Luna’s fingers slick between Phoebe’s thighs while Trevor played boyfriend for cameras. Until Luna and Trevor vanished together and left Phoebe tasting their lie. Piper swallowed hard, the story shifting everything she thought she knew. Phoebe kept talking, voice low and shaking, about awards nights smiling with her fingers secretly wet from Luna’s mouth. How closets carved her voice smaller each year. Piper’s chest tightened. Phoebe’s hair had fallen across her cheek. Piper brushed it behind her ear, knuckles grazing skin. Their eyes caught, held. Breathing changed. No words now. Piper’s hand slid around Phoebe’s waist, drew her in, and the kiss tasted of salt and surrender. Phoebe’s robe parted. Piper’s palms cupped bare breasts, thumbs circling nipples already tight. Phoebe gasped, hips canting forward, hungry for contact. Piper kissed lower, teeth grazing collarbone, then sank to her knees, tongue pressing slow circles over Phoebe’s clit until Phoebe’s knees buckled and her voice broke in quiet, desperate moans. She came fast, trembling, clutching Piper’s shoulders as if the room might tilt. Afterwards they breathed together against cool tile, sweat cooling on flushed skin, quiet now in the aftermath of something neither had planned.