Page 94 of Vengefully Matched

“Apparently, he did an excellent job running things smoothly while everyone searched, and was even disgruntled to give up the helm last night when people could return to take over for him.” She still kind of hated that guy.

“He can be so fussy sometimes, really.” Agatha rolled her eyes.

Priscilla shook her head. “Shh, honey. He doesn’t exist here, not in this bed.”

“No?”

“Nope.” She tossed off the crocheted blanket and rolled toward the edge.

Agatha pulled the comforter up, waving it up and down gently.

“Step into my office.”

She raised the blanket all the way, and Priscilla swore softly.

Agatha was wearing nothing underneath, not a stitch of clothing. Priscilla had put this woman to bed fully clothed, and here she was, unable to look away from any of it. The heavy pull of her breasts pressed together and against the mattress she lay on. She was on her side, and Priscilla could see the curly thatch of hair between her legs, the voluptuous mounds of her ass and her hips, and the soft curve of her belly. Agatha was infinitely beautiful. A study in softness, head propped up on her hand, curves that begged for her lips, her tongue, her nails.

“I fear I’m overdressed,” said Priscilla wryly, and she snapped her fingers, evening the score and then slipping under the top sheet.

Agatha pulled it up above their heads, the sunlight dappling through the window.

It felt surreal, like she had woken up in a beautiful life that was not her own, and yet she was so extraordinarily lucky to be here, to be alive, and in this moment, with this person. Few people had the good sense to cherish a love like that in the time they had it, but Priscilla was determined to be one out of many.

She would never take Agatha Vanderbilt Voisin for granted. She knew better now than to assume anything, than to do anything other than be fully present in the moments that stretched between them, to live voraciously.

Agatha reached for her.

“You’re beautiful,” Agatha murmured quietly, and Priscilla watched her eyes wander, drinking her in. She traced a slow finger along Priscilla’s collarbone, one and then the other, looking at her breasts and sucking in a breath.

“Can I touch you?” Agatha’s voice was soft. Breathless.

“I will literally have to levy an official fine against you if you don’t. Council policy, I’m afraid.” She guided Agatha’s hand to her chest, feeling her nipples tighten with expectation.

Groaning, Agatha slipped a palm around one breast, and then the other, cupping them, and then rolling her fingers gently over the nipples.

Priscilla keened a little bit, the sensation ripping through her. She could stay like this, Agatha handling her tits, for an eternity.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” said Agatha, but she didn’t stop. Her cheeks were flushed, and she rolled her fingers over and over, not dissimilarly to the way she cast her spells. There was a magic to a beautiful woman touching Priscilla, that was for sure.

“You’re doing so well. Keep doing that.” She dragged her mouth back against Agatha’s, throwing a leg over her thigh to pull her in closer. She felt every roll of Agatha’s fingers both where they were, and between her thighs, and the sensation made her feverish with want.

“What if I do it wrong?” Agatha breathed heavy against Priscilla’s ear.

“There’s no wrong. And I can teach you. Remember the library? It’s just like that, but we’ll do it together.”

“Okay,” whispered Agatha, tweaking Prissy’s nipple in a way that made her momentarily lose track of her ability to do any sort of explaining. “What do we do first?”

“Well,” said Priscilla, skating her fingers across Agatha’s tits, her stomach, the curve of her ass. “First, you tell me what you want.”

“I—” Her breath hitched, color flooding her chest and cheeks.

“You can do it.” Priscilla stroked her skin gently.

“I want you to put your fingers on me. In me.” Agatha’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, her mouth parted a little in anticipation.

“There you are,” said Prissy, sweeping her fingers down the side of Agatha’s leg, not quite where she had asked, but inching closer. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Shaking her head, Agatha whimpered. It was heating up under the blanket here, and Priscilla could feel the sweat beading lightly on her neck, but there was no breaking this moment. She needed to be here, sequestered in this room, under this comforter.