“I’ll get you there, baby, don’t you worry,” she purred, running her fingers through Nellie’s wetness again. “Thirty-five times, if you can handle it.”
She sat back and retrieved the vibrator from the nightstand.
Nellie blinked her eyes open. “What?”
“You turned thirty-five yesterday, didn’t you? I want to celebrate every single year.”
Nellie stared at her for a half-second and then burst out laughing. “That is— You cannot be serious.”
“Very serious.” Sawyer kissed her once, firmly enough to interrupt the laughter. “I take birthdays extremely seriously.”
“You do not. Sawyer?—”
“Mm?” She clicked the vibrator on. The middle setting, because the middle setting was evidentlythesetting, and Nellie’s laughter dissolved into a sharp, involuntary inhale as Sawyer brought it to her clit.
Sawyer moved her mouth to Nellie’s throat, her collarbone, back to the warm curve of her breast while she stroked the vibrator in a long, slow path up and down. Then she propped her head on her elbow and watched Nellie’s face—the way her lips parted, the way she tried to keep her eyes open and failed—and felt the visceral, addictive pleasure in being the architect of this. In having this incredible woman come completely apart in her hands. Again.
“You’re so wet,” Sawyer said, low, against her ear. “Do you know how wet you are?”
Panting, Nellie rolled her hips hard against the vibrator. “Fuck?—”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” The word was barely air. “Yes, I know.”
“Good girl.” Sawyer pressed down slightly, holding the angle that Nellie’s whole body was chasing, and watched her clench and shudder through her first climax of the evening, a steady string of filthy curses spilling from her swollen lips. The sound of it was something Sawyer would not forget. She committed it to the same place she was keeping the voicemail.
She let her breathe for long enough not to hyperventilate and then brought the vibrator back to her entrance.
“I can’t—” Nellie started.
“You can.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to kill me with a vibrator on my birthday.”
“Technically, your birthday was yesterday.” Sawyer kissed the hinge of her jaw. “And you called me at two in the morning to tell me about your sad lack of orgasms. This is remediation.”
Nellie laughed again, breathless, flushed to her sternum, her hair fanned across the pillow. The laugh became something else as Sawyer began to push the vibrator inside. She moved slower this time, drawing it out with a patience that she could see was testing Nellie’s every resource. With every thrust she was watching, listening to the way the sounds changed, the way Nellie’s breathing went thin and urgent and then desperate.
“Please,” Nellie begged. “Fuck, please, Sawyer, I need?—”
“I know what you need.” Sawyer turned her head and found her ear again. “I know exactly what you need. You can have it.”
Picking up speed, Sawyer fucked Nellie relentlessly with her own vibrator, her teeth closing again around her nipple. Nellie came apart once more, her back arching off the mattress, her voice cracking on a high keen. Sawyer inhaled every sound like a drug and thought, with a longing that surprised her, that there was nowhere else in the world she had any interest in being.
She wanted to make Nellie come until her legs gave out. She wanted to hear her name on Nellie’s lips until she lost her voice. She wanted Nellie to celebrate every birthday with orgasms she didn’t have to give to herself.
Four turned out to be her limit, at least when they were delivered back-to-back with barely a breather in between. When she finally pushed Sawyer away with any real force, Nellie was sweating , her thighs clamped in protest against any further attempts to wring out another small death.
Deeply satisfied with her achievements, Sawyer set the vibrator aside. “Happy birthday,” she whispered again against Nellie’s lips. “I won’t miss the next one.”
Threading her fingers into Sawyer’s hair, Nellie pulled her closer, searching out her tongue as she made some incoherent sound in response. Sawyer kissed her back like a starving woman. She moved to straddle Nellie’s thigh and felt the full, immediate rush of her own want, which had been building at adisciplined pace since she’d first listened to that voicemail and was now emphatically done being disciplined. She was soaking wet, and the press of Nellie’s warm thigh between hers produced a feral sound she’d never heard from her own lips. Nellie’s eyes came open, dark and appreciative. Her hands found Sawyer’s hips.
Needing no encouragement at all, Sawyer began to move. It was easier than thinking. She kept her eyes on Nellie’s face. Nellie was watching her with more rapture than Sawyer had ever seen her show the forest, her hands at Sawyer’s hips pulling her down with a firm, deliberate pressure that suggested she was not a passive participant in this stage of proceedings.
“You’ve been—” Nellie started.
“Don’t talk,” Sawyer managed.
