Page 72 of The Forbidden Fling

“Don’t stop,” Diana said, her voice low in her throat.

Faye dipped her hand lower, brushing her slicked folds. “Fuck, Diana. You’re so wet.” She slid into her and pumped her fingers.

“Yes. Like that.” Diana opened her legs wider and fisted the sheets. She could’ve been embarrassed at how she sounded—so wet, so needing—but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

Faye groaned. “You feel amazing.”

Diana’s pussy clenched, orgasm already blurring the edges, and Faye groaned again, fucking her deeper. Heat filled her, curling tighter and tighter, threatening to burst. She was close, so close, and yet part of her wanted to stay suspended, Faye’s fingers drawing her towards climax, over and over. That way, she wouldn’t have to overthink or worry about the end of the week; she could just enjoy the feeling, this connection, for everything that it was.

“Diana,” Faye said, “Look at me. I want to see you too.”

Diana hesitated. She’d already given too much. Parts of herself that were hard to get back. But like everything else, somehow, she couldn’t deny Faye. She opened her eyes, and when they landed on the gorgeous brunette, her stare dark and holding so much behind those irises, the building pressure inside finally gave way, sending blinding hot pleasure surging through her.

“Oh god, Diana, I can feel you. Come for me.”

She bit her lip to muffle her cry, her orgasm striking with such force she could barely contain it. Faye’s fingers continued to work inside her, drawing out the feeling, the waves crashing over her until her lungs burned.

Faye slowed, gently removing her fingers and placing kisses over Diana’s thighs.

Diana drew in a shaky breath, a little embarrassed by how long it was taking to pull herself together. In a dizzying haze, she still drifted somewhere up in the ceiling. She forced her focus to the woman still skimming her hips, struck by the tender way her hands caressed her skin.

“Wow. You’re incredible,” Faye said.

The words hit harder than she wanted them to. Had she ever had a person look at her like she were gold? Like she were treasure? Diana had told herself many times she didn’t need this. While coworkers and friends wasted time dating, she’d focused on more important things. She’d taken care of herself; she always did. She’d never yearned for someone to hold her or shower her with compliments. People had agendas and disguises. People left and lied and hurt.

So why now, in the arms of a woman she’d only known a few weeks, did it feel like she finally understood what she’d been missing?

Panic flared hard in the depths of her brain, her chest tightening.

You have this under control.

“I love all your freckles,” Faye said, joining Diana at the head of her bed, her warm body pressing into hers. She traced her fingers over the scattering of little brown spots decorating Diana’s abdomen. “But this one has always been my favourite.”

Diana’s breath hitched as her thumb brushed her cheekbone. The adoration in Faye’s eyes was so genuine, it pulled at something deep inside. Hard to look at. Hard to look away. The touch so gentle, it hurt.

The hollow ache in her chest deepened.

“Are you alright?” Faye’s voice was quiet.

Diana blinked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Faye caught it with her thumb, her eyes searching, wanting to ask more, but perhaps too afraid to.

Heat singed Diana’s neck. What must Faye think of her? Emotional and weeping after climax like some dusty old widow. But she felt too much; the ache opened into a chasm large enough to bury her inside it.

Realising she hadn’t said anything for some time, she gave Faye a small smile. When that didn’t ease the worry etched between her brows, she cupped her face and pulled her in for a kiss. Soft and slow, hoping her lips could speak the words she didn’t know how to voice. Faye tangled her hands in her hair, deepening the kiss with such want, it made her groan.

The need stirred again, possessive and hungry, and she tipped Faye onto her back, her hand already slipping between her legs. She groaned again, finding her just as wet as she knew she was herself, their kisses becoming messy and bruising.

You have this under control.

But the more she tried to tell herself that, the less she believed it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Faye

Faye turned one way, and then the other, examining herself in the mirror. A short-sleeve green plaid shirt fell over her shoulders, and her black boyfriend-style shorts hugged her hips.

How has Carla roped me into this?