“Want you inside,” Jackie gasps.
Claire wants to bite at her red lip like a ripe strawberry. When she remembers that shecan, it lights a firework inside her.
“Where?” Claire asks, capturing Jackie’s lip between her teeth and cataloging the frantic sound that results. “Show me.”
“My cunt,” Jackie whispers.
That word makes Claire blush harder than anything so far. It’s a word she’s only heard a few times, and certainly not in polite conversation; it’s something she’s sure her mother would have washed her mouth out with soap for saying in her youth. But it seems to fit here in a way she can’t explain. It’s harsh, and dirty, and…hot.
Jackie pushes at Claire’s hand, and her fingers slip through what feels like an absurd amount of wetness until she finds a spot thatgives. When she presses up and into it, sinking into Jackie to the knuckles, everything slows until Claire is hyper-aware of every sensation.
It all quiets. The party, the music, her own heartbeat in her chest—everything narrows to Jackie, just long enough for Claire’s world to shift once again.
She’s surrounded by Jackie, inside her,withinher. They’re breathing the same air, sharing the same body. Claire is as close to Jackie as it’s possible to be, and she only wants to be closer.
Claire is at least vaguely familiar with this, from the other way round. This is what Pete was always questing for, and she’s starting to understand why—for Claire, receiving this has never been anything special, just something to endure until it was over, but Jackie seems to be deriving a pleasure from it that Claire never did. Being the source of that pleasure is a heady rush.
The rush turns dizzying when Jackie grabs the hem of her own dress, pulling it up and over her head. Her brassiere is a silky-soft black thing, with lace at the edges and underwear to match. She props a foot up against the shoe rack, opening herself up to Claire’s hand, and pulls Claire’s mouth to her throat.
Jackie is mostly naked, and Claire is mostly naked, and they’re pressed together skin to skin, and Claire isinsideher. Nothing has ever felt more right.
Here, at least, Claire has some idea what to do.
Jackie makes a tiny noise of protest when Claire withdraws her fingers slightly, but it turns into a shout of pleasure that Claire is sure the whole party must hear when she plunges them back in, her knuckles pressing hard into the flesh of Jackie’scunt.
Just thinking the word, so new and forbidden, makes Claire shiver in the best way.
The rhythm of the motion, in and out, gaining speed and force until Jackie is shaking with it, is enough to drive Claire mad with want. She can feel Jackie approaching thatmoment, the one she herself just felt, and she’d do anything to help her along.
Thankfully, Jackie seems to have no problems giving directions.
“Another,” Jackie pants, one hand wound tight into Claire’s hair. “Please, Claire, another finger.”
Claire almost dislodges them both in her rush to comply. She slips a third finger inside, and Jackie clenches around them; every time Jackie makes one of those satisfied sounds, it’s as if Claire can feel her own actions in an echo against her own newly-discovered clit, a spot she hadn’t even known existed until three minutes ago.
The thought reminds her of how Jackie reacted when she dragged her fingers across it. She’s sure that, if she stretches her thumb at just the right angle, it would be—
“Claire!”
There.
Claire is running on instinct the way a car runs on fuel. Jackie seems to struggle to give instructions now, her free hand clawing at Claire’s bare back under her open shirt. Claire’s wrist is starting to cramp, but she can’t fathom stopping. Jackie’s vocalizations are getting high and whimpery. She’s getting tighter around Claire’s fingers, and somehow wetter than before;she’s on the absolute razor’s edge of something that Claire is determined to see through.
Jackie’s hand in Claire’s hair clenches into a fist. It doesn’t hurt, despite the tension pulling at her scalp—it makes Clairethrob.
“Bite down, and—and curl your fingers,” Jackie whimpers, her voice high and tight as she uses that fist to pull Claire’s mouth to the right position.
Claire bites down gently on Jackie’s neck, and shifts her fingers. Jackie moans, but there’s an edge to it—like she needs more.
Claire can give her more. She’ll give Jackie whatever she needs.
“Like this?” Claire murmurs. She sinks her teeth into the curve between Jackie’s neck and shoulder, harder this time—she can feel muscle flexing, skin shifting, as Jackie cries out and arches into her curled fingers.
“Yes!”
The pace reaches a fever pitch. Jackie is clinging to her, and every moan is musical to Claire’s ears. She can imagine tracing each sound with a paintbrush, filling out the cadence of Jackie’s pleasure with electrifying color. The tension Claire felt when Jackie was using her mouth is around her own fingers now, getting tighter with every second, every thrust, every whimper.
In the moment Jackie finally snaps and releases around her hand, sighing Claire’s name into her own mouth, Claire is sure she could take on the world. A missing piece of herself has just slotted into place, lighting up her whole world; there’s no more dim corners or shadowy places. Her old life is greyscale, and now the world is dazzling watercolor, illuminated by Jackie fluttering and pulsing around her fingers. This is what life is supposed to feel like. Somehow, making Jackie feel this way is even better than feeling it herself.
