Rejected: A love story-Chapter 77: The past; Rated 18
Natasha barely made it two steps toward the door before Leila’s hand slammed beside her, blocking her exit. The soft thud echoed through the quiet house, the same house where they had once buried their secrets.... and crossed lines Natasha had spent years pretending never existed.
"Running away again?" Leila murmured, voice dipping into that dangerous softness she always used when she wanted control. "You always run when things get too real."
Natasha’s jaw clenched. "Move, Leila."
But when she tried to step around her, Leila leaned in—close enough that Natasha could feel her breath along her jawline.
"Don’t lie to me," Leila whispered, her fingers brushing Natasha’s wrist. "You felt it the moment you walked in. That spark? It never went away."
Natasha jerked her hand back, but it was a weak, delayed movement. "I didn’t come here for this. I came to talk about Fiona."
"And we did," Leila said casually, tracing her index finger lightly along Natasha’s forearm. "You asked. I answered. She’s fine, Natasha. Alive, exactly the way Nathan needs her to be. I never break your toys."
"Don’t call her that! I may not like her but not to this extent Leila!," Natasha snapped.
Leila laughed—a mocking one.
"Oh? Since when do you defend her?"
Natasha looked away, she hated how Leila’s presence always clouded her thoughts, pulling her backward into a version of herself she despised. But Leila didn’t give her a chance to answer, she stepped in even closer.
"You’ve been tense," Leila murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind Natasha’s ear. "You always get like this when Nathan’s attention is somewhere else. When you feel... displaced."
Natasha swallowed hard. "Leila, stop."
"Why?" Leila tilted Natasha’s chin up with two fingers. "You remember how it felt. How easily you breathe around me. How good it was not to be second to anyone."
"Leila—"
Her voice broke on the last syllable, and Leila caught that weakness instantly.
She leaned in until their noses touched. "You still want me."
Natasha froze. She hated how true those words felt, she hated that she couldn’t deny them.
"I don’t," Natasha whispered.
Leila smiled like she had heard a confession.
"Oh, sweetheart... you always did lie poorly."
Before Natasha could move, Leila’s lips brushed hers—just a kiss, soft but deliberate, the kind meant to test boundaries she already knew were fragile.
Natasha inhaled sharply, her hands curling into fists.
"You need to stop."
Leila didn’t, she slid a hand to Natasha’s waist, pulling her closer with practiced ease.
"You came here shaking because you suspected me," she whispered against Natasha’s mouth. "But the moment you saw me, your eyes softened. You want comfort. You always come to me when you want something you can’t admit."
Natasha’s heartbeat was uneven—too fast and she felt herself leaning in despite every voice in her head screaming not to.
"Leila..." she breathed.
"Yes," Leila whispered, sealing the space between them, kissing her fully this time.
Natasha stiffened at first, her mind fighting every instinct, every old habit—but Leila’s hand slid up her back, her fingers pressing gently into her shoulder, pulling old memories to the surface.
And Natasha gave in, just for a moment.
Her hands lifted hesitantly, then slowly settled on Leila’s waist. Leila deepened the kiss like she’d been waiting years for Natasha to crumble again.
"You see?" Leila murmured against her lips when they paused for breath. "You still belong with me."
Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, dazed, guilt surfacing like a sharp sting beneath her ribs.
"I shouldn’t..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
Leila kissed her jaw, slow and claiming.
"But you did."
For a few seconds Natasha just stood there, breathing unevenly, her forehead resting against Leila’s. That familiar warmth—dangerous, manipulative, comforting—wrapped around her again.
But then reality hit like cold water. Natasha stepped back abruptly, breaking the contact entirely.
"I can’t," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Not anymore."
"You say that like it’s a choice. Like you haven’t been craving this every night. The fool has never even touched you! And yet you keep pretending he’s enough."
Natasha’s back hit the wall near the door, the wood cool against her spine.
"Nathan... he’s good to me. He’s only angry I broke up with him when I did.’
Leila chuckled, advancing until her body pressed lightly against Natasha’s, pinning her without force. One hand braced on the wall beside Natasha’s head, the other trailed up her arm, her nails grazing skin in a deliberate scrape that sent shivers racing. ’" Angry? He doesn’t love you sweetheart, that changed since Fiona came into his life. Stop playing games darling. This is you. You belong here. The version of yourself you bury under all that guilt"
Her thigh nudged between Natasha’s legs, a subtle pressure against her core, testing and teasing the warmth building there.
Natasha’s breath hitched, her hands coming up to push at Leila’s shoulders—but the resistance was feeble, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt instead of shoving away. ’Stop talking like you know me. You don’t. Not anymore.’
’Oh, I know you,’ Leila murmured, her mouth hovering near Natasha’s ear, hot breath stirring the fine hairs there. She nipped at the lobe, her teeth grazing just hard enough to sting, then soothed it with her tongue.
"I know how your body reacts when I touch you here."
Her hand slid down, her palm flat against Natasha’s stomach and her fingers dipping under the hem of her shirt to brush bare skin. Natasha was tensed, but didn’t pull back.
"And here." Lower still, Leila’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Natasha’s jeans, tugging lightly against her hips.
A soft whimper escaped Natasha’s lips, and she hated herself for it. Her mind screamed to fight, but her body remembered Leila—the way she’d always unraveled her, piece by piece, until nothing mattered but the next touch, the next surrender.
"Leila, please..." Natasha’s voice was a plea, but for what? To stop? To continue? She couldn’t tell anymore , she was TRAPPED!
