Rose Hill, 1778

Rachel barely slept that night. She couldn't stop thinking about the feeling between her legs and how she wanted to touch herself in that exact same spot she had touched Quinn. She wanted to know what it felt like, because Quinn's reactions had made it seem like the best thing in the world. But she shouldn't. It was wrong. It felt wrong even to think about it - not to mention how wrong it felt to have done it to Quinn.

The mere act of sitting on Quinn's bed would be already enough for her mother to have scolded her, if she was alive. She couldn't even imagine what would happen if her mother knew about everything else she had done.

For the first time in her life, she prayed that her mother wasn't able to watch over her.

Besides, she was anxious thinking about how their life could change after that. Would she be required to do that every night? She wasn't sure how she felt about it. Part of her would love to frequently inflict pain in someone she hated so much. The other part was terrified of what could happen if anyone found out.

But she didn't regret it.

No, she definitely didn't. It was liberating to be able to order Quinn to do what she wanted. It was marvelous to make Quinn realize how awful the punishments were.

Maybe now Quinn would be more merciful towards her.

Rachel came down to the kitchen house to prepare Quinn's breakfast. She tried her best to hide the smug smile that hang on her lips, even though she had no way of hiding the circles under her eyes brought on by a sleepless night. Luckily, no one seemed to notice anything different. Rachel was just done buttering the bread for breakfast when Quinn walked in to the kitchen.

"I want my bedroom to be aired and the linens to be boiled," she ordered, without saying a word to any of the other slaves that stood in the room. If Rachel had any hopes things would change, they vanished right in that instant. Quinn had even dressed herself on her own. If anything, things would very likely change for the worst. She nodded in agreement and Quinn turned around to leave.

"I was just about to take your breakfast to your room, miss Quinn," said Rachel. It felt weird to call her miss again after last night, but she knew better than doing any different. "Would you like to eat with your family in the dining room instead?"

Quinn looked over to the tray on Rachel's hand and twisted her face in disgust.

"I'm not hungry," she sneered before walking out. Rachel exchange a look with Abbie, who shot her eyebrows up.

"Someone is extra weird and grumpy today," she whispered, making sure Quinn wouldn't be able to hear it. Rachel nodded silently. "I don't think she ever asked to have her linens boiled before! We do it every month, there's no way it's already dirty enough for that to be needed!"

"Well…" Rachel whispered with a small shrug. "We both know better than to deny her wishes, right?"

"Oh, yes!" Abbie agreed with a chuckle, shaking her head.

It's what she tried to convince herself.

She didn't have a choice. She couldn't deny what Quinn asked of her. If anyone was guilty on this, it was Quinn. If anyone was going to hell, it was Quinn.

Or at least she hoped so.

When Quinn woke up, she was sure everything had been a dream.

The second she tried to get up, reality hit her. Her wounds were again stuck in the bedding and this time Rachel wasn't around to help her out. She froze, looking up at the ceiling. What had she done?

It was reckless, imprudent even, to give Rachel that much power. She could be dead by now. Rachel could easily have killed her. Yet, she had never in her life felt as good as she did the night before. She was sore all over, and with a glance at the mirror by her bed she could see the amount of bruises covering the front of her body. Yet, she couldn't regret a second.

She was alive like she had never been. She closed her eyes and let the feelings wash her once again, but they weren't even close to as powerful as they were the night before. She never thought she would let Rachel talk to her like she had. Even more, she never thought the way Rachel spoke to her would make her stomach flutter like it had.

But that was it.

She couldn't let it happen again. She couldn't let Rachel lose all the respect she fought so hard to earn. She had already let Rachel see too deep inside of her. She had showed too much feeling. She would need to work hard to get things back the way they were.

But she didn't regret it. She just couldn't.

"Quinn?" George asked, knocking on the closed door. Quinn checked herself on the mirror, making sure she didn't have any bruises or wounds showing before replying.

"Come in," she said. He opened the door and she smiled at him with a small bow of her head. "Yes?"

"Hello," he answered. She could see that her welcoming approach made him happy. Maybe she should try doing it more. Only she knew how much she needed to get allies on that family now - in case something went wrong, she would need people who stood up for her. "I'm going to Basseterre to see a patient and I thought maybe you would like to come along? We could have lunch in a restaurant, for a change."

Quinn's eyes shined bright. She didn't think twice before accepting. It was everything she needed at that moment: a chance to get close to her brother and a chance to avoid looking at Rachel. She was trying to forget how difficult it was to look in Rachel's eyes that morning and not smirk. They shared a secret, and it created a bond between them that Quinn simply didn't know how to deal with. So she did what she knew best - avoided it.

Ran away from it.

Basseterre, 1778

"George, I have some… mhm… questions for you." Quinn hesitated. She knew a little about sex. Her tutor had told her where babies came from, but he didn't give her much more than that. It wouldn't be appropriate for them to talk about that kind of matter. In fact, Quinn was relieved when they changed subjects. Her mother, well, she didn't even expect to have that kind of conversation with her mother. But now, she couldn't help wondering. And there was no one better to ask than her own brother, who was a doctor. If he questioned anything, she could always say it was just a science curiosity.

"What is it, darling?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows and taking an olive to his mouth. Quinn still didn't say anything, so he reached out and grabbed her hand over the table, giving a small squeeze in encouragement.

"I want to know about sex," she shot, the words stumbling their way out of her mouth. She looked around to make sure no one had heard, and almost didn't realize her brother choking on the olive. Her eyebrows arched and she was ready to get up and yell for help, but he raised a hand to stop her and soon enough was breathing again.

"What exactly do you wanna know?" He asked, taking a deep breath. She was surprised to see that past the initial surprise, he wasn't even embarrassed talking about it - even though they were in a full restaurant in the middle of the day. She just wished she had his courage.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Like what is precisely considered sex?" It's not like she was worried. It was just that she knew she wasn't supposed to have sex before marriage, and she was afraid what she had done the night before was it. Well, it sure felt like it. If there was anything else better than that, she didn't think she would be able to handle it.

She was just worried if there was a way people could find out about what she had done.

"What is going on, Quinn?" He asked, with a sly smile on his lips. He kicked her leg under the table softly, and she winced hitting her back on the chair. Air was kicked out of her lungs and she bit her inner cheeks - she couldn't let him notice how much pain she was on. Her wounds burned, but she kept the straightest face. He wouldn't find out. "Have you met some mischievous boy?"

It was only then Quinn realized how much deeper in trouble she was. Not only she had probably had sex before marriage, she had done it with a slave. And not only a slave either, a girl. It was triple the trouble. She felt her head getting dizzy and gripped on the edge of the table to make she shouldn't fall down and make a scene in front of the whole restaurant. She still had to answer George, after all. All the thinking before answering wouldn't exactly help her case.

"No!" She emphasized. She wasn't lying - she really had never met any boys to whom she felt attracted. Not that she was attracted to Rachel. God, no. "I'm just curious. My tutor never really taught me about it."

"Well, let's start with what do you know?" He asked. He sounded so casual they could have been discussing the color of the sky.

"Mhm…" Quinn stuttered, licking her lower lip. She knew it felt amazing. She knew she wanted to do it again and again and again. She knew she couldn't. Her back stung again. She couldn't stutter. "I know it's when… uh… when the male parts and female parts… they connect?" She didn't sound as sure as she intended - but truly, she wasn't sure at all. "But I also know there's other stuff that you can do? I wanted to know what are these other stuff."

"Yes, it can involve a female part and a mouth for example. Or even hands. The same way it can involve a male part and a mouth or hand." Oh, she was in deep trouble. She tried to hide her fear with a shy smile and a small understanding nod. Apparently, she wasn't as successful as she though. "Don't worry though, Quinn. Those laws are way too old. I don't believe women have to be a virgin to get married."

"Oh, I'm- I'm not- I haven't." The amount of stuttering didn't help at all. She cursed herself silently. So much for not stuttering. George only chuckled. Her back stung.

"Just be careful, alright?" He grabbed her hand again. "I'm here if you need to know more. But really, just be careful. Mother would kill you if you ended up pregnant."

Oh, that wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. Or could it? Dear God, she needed to know more. And she had no courage to ask.

Her back stung. She liked it. She smiled.

Rose Hill, 1778

Rachel was helping Quinn get ready to bed. She was almost sure Quinn would have done it alone again if she hadn't got there just in time. They hadn't seen each other all day, and Quinn didn't say a word to her as she carefully took Quinn's gown off. Quinn flinched under her touch, and Rachel couldn't help asking.

"Are they hurting too much?" She asked, running the tip of her finger over a wound right under Quinn's neck. She shouldn't care. Especially after how Quinn had treated her during the day.

But still, she felt somehow guilty.

"Don't touch me," Quinn sneered, taking a step forward and away from Rachel, voice all want and hesitation. Rachel saw her jaw tensing up in pain. Only Quinn would be stubborn enough to be in pain instead of asking for her help. She hadn't mind asking for help last night though. She hadn't mind being touched. But Rachel would never be brave enough to talk back.

"I've brought a paste," Rachel said, pointing to a small bowl over the corner table. "It's what we use to make it hurt less and heal well. It can be dangerous if it gets infected." Quinn didn't say anything, but she looked to the floor instead of facing Rachel - and Rachel knew she was at least considering it. "You can't apply it yourself, miss Quinn. You wouldn't reach them."

"Fine." Quinn huffed. Rachel figured she should be in much more pain than she was showing, to give up so easily. Or maybe she wanted Rachel's hand on her more than she was willing to admit to herself. More than Rachel wanted to touch her again. Rachel didn't think that was possible.

Rachel decided she was done thinking things had changed - the same way she thought she was done being bothered under her stomach with memories of the night before.

But Quinn slightly lowered her shifts and Rachel knew for sure she wouldn't ever be done so easily. Only the sight of Quinn's wounded and bruised back already made her legs tremble - but just as Quinn, she wouldn't show. She wouldn't let Quinn know. If Quinn was going to act like nothing happened, so would she. But that didn't mean she couldn't push Quinn as far as she could.

She gently applied the paste mixed with herbs on the wounds, and ran her nails through the parts of skin that were unaffected. Quinn could act as tough and mean as she wanted, but she couldn't hide the way the little hairs in the back of her neck rose to Rachel's touch. And Rachel couldn't hide her smile.

Quinn could try to conceal her feelings all she wanted, but Rachel knew her enough to realize she wasn't the only one sensing the change in their relationship. Suddenly, she found herself looking forward to the future to come. She would make Quinn crack again, even if it was the last thing she did. It was only a matter of time.

Quinn understood now why everyone had always told her she should wait until marriage to have sex. The intimacy the act brought just shouldn't happen between two people who aren't together. She didn't know how to deal with it. She tried to avoid Rachel, but the second soft hands were on her wounds she felt her body quivering. That's why she didn't want Rachel cleaning her wounds. She didn't want to feel Rachel's hand on her again, because she feared how her body would react to it. And all her fears were confirmed right when a fingertip met her back. If anything, her body just craved for more of what it had the other night. She tried to ignore it, but Rachel scratched her and she had to swallow back a moan. She tried being her old self and treating Rachel coldly, but she simply knew Rachel would never look at her the same way.

She wasn't above Rachel anymore. She would consider herself lucky if she could say they were side by side, but honestly, she suspected Rachel saw her below now - and she couldn't exactly blame the girl. Her body begged for more. As the wounds healed, they itched and tortured Quinn all day long with memories and lust to have them opened again. She looked at Rachel differently - she tried to restrain herself to do so only when Rachel wasn't looking, but Rachel had caught her eyes more than a few times. She knew Rachel could tell.

But she couldn't ask for more. She couldn't ask for it. Not again. It was humiliating. She didn't even remember how she got the courage in the first place. In the meantime, she tried to establish how their new relationship would work. She tried to regain Rachel's respect, even if by a different way this time. The circumstances were different. Once her brother confirmed her suspects that Rachel and her had indeed had sex, she figured she hadn't nothing else to lose. Done it once or a few more times, didn't change a thing. She had messed up, and couldn't take it back. She should as well enjoy it.

If she ever wanted Rachel to take her again, she knew she would have to keep surrendering her power. It was the price to pay to the sinful choices she made. And she would pay it over and over again.

Quinn left the small library after one of her classes to find Rachel standing in the hall, looking marveled at the canvas hanging on the wall. It wasn't the first time Quinn had found Rachel interested in one of the pieces of art of their house. She even seemed to appreciate Quinn's pieces as she worked on her art lessons, sometimes dropping comments about it. Quinn always scolded her for it, but couldn't deny that her remarks had helped her more than a couple times.

"La nuit, un Port au clair de lune," Quinn whispered, stopping behind her. Rachel whisked her head back in surprise and folded her hands behind her back.

"I'm sorry miss Quinn, I don't understand you," she answered. "Do you need something?"

"That's the name of that painting," Quinn explained, nodding with her head towards the wall. Rachel's mouth fell open for a second, and she turned to face the painting again, raising a single eyebrow - almost as if she was expecting Quinn to surrender. But Quinn couldn't turn back then. "It's a Vernet. One of our most expensive and recent acquisitions." She took a step forward. "He's my father's favorite painter."

"Your father surely has an amazing taste," said Rachel with a nod. Quinn thought about how her eyes shined almost as bright as the moon on the canvas, but shook her head to clear the thoughts away and thanked that Rachel didn't notice it. "It's so… tense. I mean, I don't know what's the context here, of course, but if I had to guess I would think they're waiting for something big to happen. Maybe the light of the moon is their hope."

One week ago, Quinn would have slapped Rachel for being so talkative. She hadn't asked for an opinion. That day, Quinn had no idea of what to do besides clench her jaw to make sure it wouldn't hang open in surprise. Rachel's take on the piece was much deeper than Quinn could imagine it would be for someone like her. She could only imagine how far Rachel could go with a little knowledge.

"Yeah…" Quinn agreed before she could stop herself. Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Maybe." She shrugged, turning to face the opposite wall of the hall. "This one is my favorite one," Quinn said, pointing to the canvas right in front of the library's door.

"I like how you can see the strokes on the canvas," Rachel said, turning to face the one Quinn pointed. "It's almost like you can watch him painting it. Imagine how he did it." She reached out and ran the tip of her finger along the pillow pictured. Quinn wanted to slap her hand and tell her about how the oil in their fingers would destroy the painting - just like her mother had taught her. "You can almost feel how soft that pillow was."

"La Liseuse," said Quinn. Rachel frowned again, so she explained. "The reader. It's a Fragonard. He's my inspiration. I'm looking forward to buying another one by him, called The Swing. It's just marvelous." Quinn found herself enjoying the conversation. Rachel's eyes lit up with every new piece of information, and Quinn wanted to tell more and more. She had to stop herself from telling Rachel about her other favorite painting by Fragonard. Le Baiser à la dérobée. The stolen kiss.

"Oh!" Rachel exclaimed, bringing a hand to her mouth and Quinn back to her senses. "I always thought that was a picture of you, miss Quinn!"

"Me?" Quinn furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head upon Rachel's nod. "Nonsense." As if her mother would ever let a picture of her be hang in one of the main rooms of the house. That was a privilege held only by Frannie, with her one year old picture hanging right by the drawing room's fireplace. Besides, Quinn didn't think she would ever be as beautiful as the woman in the picture. But Rachel was better off without knowing any of that.

"Quinn! I've been looking for you!" George approached them on the hallway and Quinn subconsciously took one step further away from Rachel. She felt like he caught something he shouldn't have, even though nothing was happening, so she smiled in an effort to make herself look natural. "Would you like to go to the beach?"

"The beach?" Quinn frowned. "We never go to the beach!" Their mother would never let them go as children, and they simply never got the habit. Most of the time Quinn even forgot that the constant dull noise she could hear at night came right from the ocean.

"It's about time we change that, isn't it?" He winked, throwing a towel on his shoulder. "I'm gathering my stuff. I would really enjoy if you gave me te pleasure of your company. We leave in 10 minutes," he completed, as if he knew Quinn wouldn't say no to him. He wasn't wrong.

"What should I take to the beach?" She turned around to Rachel, furrowing her eyebrows further in concern. Rachel raised her shoulders and Quinn realized that hadn't been her smartest move - if she had never been to the beach, Rachel nonetheless.

It was the longest conversation they ever held. Quinn felt her hands shaking. Her back still hurt from the wounds. She was far from comfortable, talking so casually to one of her slaves. But if giving up her power was what it took for her to feel that pain - that pleasure again, she would do so, little by little. She only had to be careful no one could see it.

Rachel held the sun umbrella over Quinn, and tried not to drop it once they stepped on the sand and she saw the immensity of the ocean in front of her. She had seen it by windows or as they walked around on the horses, but she had never been so close to it. She closed her eyes to enjoy the breeze, and almost didn't realize Quinn had stood up. She got herself up, moving with the umbrella to make sure Quinn wouldn't be exposed to the sun, but Quinn stopped her.

"You can wait here, I'm just gonna dip my toes in the water," Quinn said.

"But miss Quinn, you shouldn't be under all this sun!" she argued with a nervous laugh. Deep down, she wanted to do the same - but she didn't know if she was allowed to. However, even if she were, she didn't know if she had the courage for it. The ocean looked angry, and Rachel felt safer admiring it from a distance.

"I'll be fine."

Quinn was gone before she could argue any further. Rachel always felt a little lost without Quinn around. She had no idea what to do with the umbrella in her hand, so she moved it to cover George. He gently pushed her arm away, and Rachel frowned.

"I'm enjoying the sun, Rachel," he said, closing his eyes and leaning back on the sand, but winking at her. "But thank you anyway."

"You're welcome," she whispered.

No one had ever thanked her before. She was only doing her job after all.

Her eyes immediately wandered back to Quinn's direction and she couldn't help a smile when she watched Quinn giggling as the waves hit her feet. She looked so different. Softer than the Quinn she tried to portray herself as. Lighter than the Quinn she revealed to be in that particular night.

Rachel wondered how many different people Quinn carried inside of her.

"You're care about her, huh?" George asked, catching her glaze. Rachel blushed and looked down.

"It's my job, sir," she replied. George nodded with an ironic smile, and Rachel tried to explain her motives further. "I just don't think she should be getting all that sun. She could get a sunburn."

"She has a lot of clothes on, she will be fine," he said. Rachel couldn't argue that - Quinn had been wearing a lot more layers of clothes, afraid someone would see her healing wounds. "Besides, she would look beautiful tanned."

"Oh, no, sir! She's white!" Rachel shook her head perplexed. Not that she doubted Quinn would look beautiful in a darker complexion, she just couldn't imagine Quinn lowering herself that much.

"A little tan on her skin wouldn't change the privileges she already has," he said. Again, Rachel couldn't argue. "But most of all, her skin color could change, but it wouldn't change who she is. Who she really is, on the inside."

"Why would she change her skin color when everyone wants to be white like her?" Rachel scoffed lightly. She wouldn't do that in front of any other one of the Fabrays, but she knew George was different. She knew he had the bigger heart - and mind - in the family.

"You know you aren't black, right, Rachel?" he asked, propping himself on his elbows. Rachel blushed again.

"My skin might not be the darkest, sir, but the blood in my veins is. My heart is black," she whispered. It felt more than surreal to be discussing that with a white man. "And I'm treated like one."

"Do you believe in God, Rachel?" he asked, and Rachel frowned again at the sudden change of subject.

"Of course, sir." She nodded vigorously.

"God won't judge you for the color of your skin, but for who you were while you lived," he said. Rachel gulped. "Your skin might be darker than mine, but by God we're all the same. For me, you could as well be a sister. And I want you to remember that."

"Thank you, sir," Rachel replied. She narrowed her eyes, trying to avoid tears from pooling. If only everyone thought like George. If only Quinn did. Quinn. Her eyes found Quinn again, and she felt a tug on her stomach. The simple sight of Quinn smiling made her insides twitch. And the worst part was not to know weather it was still out of anger. Would she still be so unnervingly attracted to Quinn if the situation was different? Would the fire inside her heart still be there?

"You can count on me if you ever need anything, Rachel," George went on, and once again caught her gazing. "But I'm sure you won't need anything. She cares about you too, and I know things are getting better. She's coming back to herself. You two will be fine."

Rachel felt lightheaded. It was almost as if he knew. Did he know? He couldn't. Quinn would never have told him, she was sure. He could just be bluffing. She shrugged, trying to act indifferent and swallowed the lump in her throat.

But then Quinn caught her eyes.

And she wondered if they really would be fine.

And she wondered if she wanted to be fine.

Quinn swayed with the waves and danced around in twirls with the sea shells. The sea shined bright blue against the cloudy sky and Quinn closed her eyes to breath in deeply the strong salt smell. She would have loved this so much as a child. She would have swum her life out. She couldn't help wondering, what other things had her mother deprived her from?

She opened her eyes for a second, and found Rachel and George looking at each other. Her heart boiled. She didn't like the fact she couldn't understand what they were saying from so far, but she didn't want to interrupt either. They looked fine. If Quinn didn't know, she could even think they were just a couple sitting on the sand on a warm day.

There was no way one could tell Rachel was a slave.

But she knew. And her mother knew. And no one would ever agree with the whole madness she was getting herself into. It would be just one more thing her mother would take away from her. But then Rachel caught her eyes.

Rachel was on the beach with George - the most beautiful man Quinn had ever met - and she caught Quinn's eyes. As if she didn't even care what he was saying. Rachel caught Quinn's eyes and Quinn shivered. Her mother would never take this away from her. No one could ever take that away from her.