“What do you think?” she replies, planting a kiss right at the edge of my mouth. “Is this okay?”
For a second, I don’t answer. My brain is trying—and failing miserably—to catch up with what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling, the way this is happening so easily.
The soft fabric of her shirt is slipping under my fingers as I push it down her arms, and I feel the way her breath shifts the second it leaves her shoulders.
“Yes,” I say finally, and it comes out with a raspy, desperate moan. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
Her mouth curves at that, satisfied at my needy response, even though she already knew that of course this is fine.
“Good,” she murmurs.
Her hands stay exactly where they are, but the pressure shifts just enough to make my breath hitch again, and I feel it immediately—how deliberate she’s being, how aware of every reaction she’s pulling out of me without even trying.
“Ceci,” I say, but it doesn’t sound even remotely close to a warning.
She hums softly against my mouth, and then her fingers shift again. She moves my underwear out of the way, and?—
“Fuck,” Cecilia says, and the way she says it, with such reverence, makes me shiver. “Is this all for me?”
It’s definitely a question that doesn’t need answering. But she waits, ever so patiently, stroking my clit lightly as she watches how I slowly unravel in front of her eyes.
“Yes,” I mumble, reaching for her mouth. “Yes, yes, just for you.”
“Wow,” she teases. Her hand moves away from my pussy and then, because she’s shameless, she brings her fingers to her mouth, tongue dragging over them as her eyes hold mine. “Delicious.”
My stomach swoops, heat rushing through me so fast I have to grip the cold locker behind me to stay steady.
“You’re going to make me forget what I came here for,” I murmur, and it’s not entirely a joke. She’s distracting, all-consuming, even more so now standing in front of me totally disheveled with her shirt off and her tits out.
Cecilia smiles against my mouth, softer now, and I can feel the taste of me mixed in with everything that reminds me of her. “You drive me crazy, Princess.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I say in between breaths. Her hand is back, teasing slow circles, and the way my body reacts to her is impossible to control. “Ceci, please.”
“What do you want, Isa?” she asks. She’s trailing short kisses down my neck, on my shoulder, towards my breasts, all while her fingers move at an agonizing pace on my clit. “Tell me. And use your words.”
I fist her hair, forcing her head back so she has to look at me. My other hand goes to her back, and her eyes flicker closed at the sensation of my nails scraping at the soft skin there.
“You,” I say under my breath, shaky, clinging to her as thepressure builds. Cecilia pushes two fingers inside me, and my knees go weak, but she presses her whole body against me to keep me upright, fingers moving in and out at a steady pace. “Please, baby.”
I wrap one of my legs around her waist, and she closes her eyes again, lashes lowering against her cheeks and mouth going soft and open. She bites her lip like she’s the one trying to keep quiet, and I have the urge to bite her neck, to mark her and claim her for eternity.
“Are you going to come on my fingers, Princess?” she asks, and I start to feel it then, the sharp coil in my lower belly, the tension that feels inevitable and all-consuming all at once. “Right here, in this dirty locker room where everyone can hear you scream?”
“Fuck, Ceci,” I whisper-yell, and it’s useless. Because I’m right there, right at the edge of a blinding orgasm that literally takes my breath away as it runs through my whole body, legs shaking before melting into her. “Fuck.”
“Good girl,” she whispers in my ear, and I can feel her smile before she takes a small step back. We stay tangled there, breathless. My heartbeat is in my ears, and she’s saying something else, but I can’t understand. I can’t listen to the sound of her voice over the beat of my heartbeat inside my head.
“Shit,” I say, but it doesn’t sound like I’m inconvenienced at all. Less like an expletive and more like something I’m trying to catch up to.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The world narrows to the sound of our breathing, uneven at first, then slowly settling, the rhythm of it pullingme back into myself piece by piece. My forehead rests against her shoulder, my hands still holding on to her like I need the contact, the warmth of her skin, to steady myself.
Cecilia’s hand slides up my back in slow, grounding strokes, nothing urgent about it now, just there, anchoring me before I’m able to stand on my own two feet again.
“Hey,” she murmurs, soft and intimate.
I huff out something that might be a laugh and lift my head, blinking a few times as the room comes back into focus around us—the lockers, the scattered echoes of voices from down the corridor outside, and the reality of where we are and what we’re supposed to be doing.
