Getting Nellie to the bedroom was a mission.
Not because she was unwilling; she was spectacularly willing, her hands fisted in Sawyer’s jacket, her mouth finding Sawyer’s jaw while Sawyer tried to navigate both of them through the living room without walking into the coffee table. The problem was the pants still bunched around Nellie’s ankles, which limited her stride to something between a shuffle and a hop, and which Sawyer found so genuinely, helplessly funny that she had to stop twice to collect herself.
“This is your fault,” Nellie protested, her face still flushed from her orgasm and her hair comprehensively wrecked. “You did this to me!”
“I did.” Sawyer chuckled, with no remorse whatsoever. She got an arm under Nellie’s and took most of her weight, half-carrying her the last ten feet to the bedroom doorway. “Almost there.”
“Carried over the threshold.” Nellie sighed. “How romantic. Also, I can’t feel my legs.”
With much effort, Sawyer got her through the door and onto the bed, where Nellie collapsed onto her back with a sound of profound relief, one arm thrown over her eyes. She looked extraordinary. She looked like a disaster that Sawyer had specifically made and was extremely pleased with. The city’s ambient glow came through the sheer curtains and lit the pale curve of her throat and the flush that still ran down from her cheeks to her chest. Sawyer had to take a moment to narrow down all the mouthwatering options she had for what to do with this woman, a privilege she had sorely missed these past weeks.
Then she got to work.
She reached down and finished the job she’d started at the window, untangling the pants from Nellie’s ankles and dropping them over the side of the bed. Nellie’s shirt followed, unbutton by button while Nellie lifted her arms cooperatively and watched her through heavy-lidded eyes.
Sawyer removed her own clothes with less elegance than she had done anything in decades. It was rushed and clumsy and took entirely too much time, given that the entire room had narrowed to the length of the woman laid out in her bed looking at her like that, and there was no patience left in her for anything that wasn’t feeling her skin.
Nellie’s eyes tracked down her body and her throat moved in a swallow that Sawyer found deeply satisfying.
“Turn over,” Sawyer commanded. “I haven’t had enough of that view.”
Nellie’s eyes went wide. Then she laughed breathlessly, turning over and pulling a pillow under her chest, her shoulders shaking.
“You know, this morning”—Nellie giggled into the pillow—“when I woke up, I had absolutely no idea the day was going to end with me getting fucked face-down.”
Something hot moved through Sawyer’s stomach and settled lower. She climbed onto the bed and settled over Nellie’s hips without giving her the full weight over her body.
“Is that what you want?” She ran the backs of her fingers down the length of Nellie’s spine, light enough to make her shiver. “You want me to fuck you face-down, baby?”
She watched the color spread down Nellie’s neck even as she pressed her face into the pillow. The flush had gone scorching, and Nellie made a small, whimpering sound.
“I mean.” Nellie’s voice was muffled. Her ears were now pink too. “I had assumed that was… yes. Obviously. That’s where this seemed to be…” She trailed off. The pillow swallowed the rest of it.
Pure want moved through Sawyer’s veins in a wave that was close to violent; the want to put her mouth on every flushed inch of this woman, to take her apart as thoroughly and repeatedly as she’d been permitted, to make Nellie Fuller forget every single word she’d ever known.
She shifted backward, set her hands on Nellie’s hips, and drew them up, lifting her off the mattress until she was on her knees. Her front stayed pressed into the pillow, her back arching down, presenting herself deliciously spread open.
She was glistening. Sawyer traced two fingers slowly through her folds, feeling her slick and warm and still swollen from everything Sawyer had done to her at the window. The quiet, desperate sound Nellie made into the pillow registered somewhere in Sawyer’s own body like a struck chord.
She calculated. Two more times, minimum. More if Nellie was as responsive as she’d been on her birthday, and Sawyer had every reason to believe she would be.
“Stay right there,” she said. “Don’t move.”
“What?” Nellie immediately lifted her head. “Are you…? You can’t just… Sawyer.”
Sawyer was already climbing off the bed. “I said don’t move.”
She could hear Nellie’s protest escalating behind her as she rounded to the nightstand, whiney and heartfelt and elaborating on several themes including teasing, cruelty, and the injustice of being positioned like this and then abandoned. Sawyer reached down and opened the bottom drawer, and the protest stopped.
She pulled out the harness and the dildo—the length and thickness she’d chosen specifically because she liked the kind of sounds it produced—and began stepping into the straps.
Nellie had gone completely silent.
Sawyer looked up at her with a satisfied smirk.
The blushing ecologist was peeking over her shoulder, her chin propped on her forearm, her eyes tracking exactly what Sawyer’s hands were doing. Her lips had parted.
Sawyer pulled the last strap snug and walked back to the bed.
