“Still comfortable?” she asked pleasantly.
The noise Nellie made next could only be described as feral as she shoved her face back in the pillow.
Satisfied that this was going exactly how she wanted it to, Sawyer climbed back onto the bed and settled behind her. She ran both hands up the backs of Nellie’s thighs, savoring the texture of her, the way her muscles jumped beneath the touch. Then she reached forward and dragged the blunt head of the dildo through Nellie’s pussy lips, letting it nudge at her clit without any real intent to do anything about it yet. Nellie’s breath snagged. Sawyer did it again.
“Sawyer.” Nellie’s hips tilted back, a small, needy chase.
“Mm?”
“Sawyer!”
“I’m right here, baby.” She drew the head over her clit again and felt Nellie’s whole body shudder. The sounds she was making—soft, escalating, bitten off at the edges like she was trying to moderate them and losing—were doing things to Sawyer’s body that were nothing short of intoxicating. She rolled her hips and let the dildo rock through Nellie’s wetness again without entering her.
“Please.” The word was muffled and slightly desperate and moved through Sawyer like something striking a match.
“Please what?” Sawyer asked, even though she knew the answer.
“Please,” Nellie said again, which wasn’t an elaboration and was somehow, completely, the only answer necessary.
Sawyer lined up and pushed forward.
Nellie screamed, a sharp, animalistic sound that she smothered in the pillow as her hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, and Sawyer held herself there for one breath, two, three, watching the tremble run through her, before she pulled back and thrust again.
Whatever patience she’d been maintaining left the room.
She fucked her hard. Her hands gripping Nellie’s hips with a pressure that she was aware would probably leave marks and found she was not remotely inclined to moderate. The thought of it landed with a longing that surprised her: she wanted her fingerprints on Nellie’s skin tomorrow morning. She wanted Nellie to find the bruises and know exactly what had made them, and she wanted Nellie to sit with that knowledge in the morning when she was trying to do something practical and mundane.
Evidence. She wanted to leave evidence of herself on Nellie Fuller the same way Nellie had apparently been leaving evidence of herself on Sawyer for weeks.
Every muffled whimper, every barely-restrained keen, every sharp exhale that meant Sawyer had found an angle Nellie’snervous system had opinions about; Sawyer felt each one directly, a sympathetic resonance that she registered against her own clit in ways that were making it progressively harder to maintain a steady rhythm. She gripped harder and kept the pace.
“Fuck.” Nellie’s vocabulary had apparently contracted significantly. She was pushing back to meet each thrust, instinctual and probably not entirely conscious, her forehead grinding into the pillow. “Don’t…don’t stop?—”
“I’m not stopping,” Sawyer panted.
When Nellie’s legs started to shake—really shake, the deep, fine tremor that meant she was approaching the kind of undoing she couldn’t manage on her own—Sawyer shifted her angle, dipped the cadence into something slightly slower and harder and deeper, and felt Nellie’s whole body seize beneath her fingertips.
She reached around, two fingers finding Nellie’s clit, swollen and slick, and barely had to stroke before Nellie came apart completely.
Then she wrapped her arm around Nellie’s waist and pulled her upright.
Nellie’s back pressed flush against Sawyer’s chest—sweaty, hot, still trembling—and Sawyer felt her own damp skin and racing pulse with a sort of distant awareness, everything secondary to the woman shuddering against her. She held her there, pressing her mouth to Nellie’s shoulder, the blade of it, the place where it sloped up toward her neck, and she bit down.
Nellie gasped, her head dropping backward, and Sawyer adored the way Nellie’s body arched against her as she moaned at the ceiling.
Her fingers had not stopped their slow circling. Nellie’s whole frame flinched.
“Sawyer.” Her voice had no authority in it whatsoever, which Sawyer found privately wonderful. “I can’t… it’s too much…”
Sawyer kissed the mark she’d made. Kissed up the tendon of Nellie’s neck. Felt the trembling exhale move through her.
Then Nellie reached back and her hand found Sawyer’s hip, then her ass, and she gripped it hard with shaky fingers gone slightly desperate and held her still.
Sawyer complied.
She let her fingers ease, let the touch go light and then lighter, and then just her palm resting warm and undemanding against Nellie’s pussy. She ran her other hand up and down Nellie’s ribs and waist, the curve of her, just to feel the whole length of her pressed back into her hold.
She kissed her cheek. The soft hinge of her jaw. The corner of her ear.
