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“Yes, you do.” Another kiss, this time to her inner thigh. “Come on. Tell me.”
It’s interesting: Luca could handle letting herself be studied for five minutes, but the idea of telling Florence what she needs has her flinging an arm over her face, hiding from Florence’s gaze. Her voice is a trembly, pleading thing as she says, “You can decide.”
“I know.” Florence smiles. “I want to hear you say it.”
Luca whines softly, toes curling into the bedding.
“I know you know what you want,” Florence coaxes. “All you have to do is tell me.” A third kiss, this time to the scar on her left knee, before she adds, “There are no wrong answers.”
From her vantage point, she can see the way Luca’s nose scrunches, a bit like it did when Luca started to cry this morning. Florence waits it out.
The words are barely audible when Luca finally says, “I want . . .”
“Yeah?” Florence encourages. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
“Want to ride you,” Luca whispers.
The words hit Florence like a truck. She feels faint, nearly dizzy with desire. “With the strap?”
“No.” Luca takes a small, shivery breath. “Maybe, just—your fingers?”
It’s almost upsetting how hot the idea is. She thinks Luca could have asked anything of her, and Florence would have given it. She leans forward, prying Luca’s arm away from her face so she can kiss her, deep and urgent, swallowing up the little noise she makes.
And then, it’s like some kind of dam has broken. “Please,” Luca pants against Florence’s lips. “Please, can I? Want to ride you, want to work for it, please let me—”
When Florence tells her “Anything you want,” she has never meant anything more.
She uses her knees to nudge Luca’s legs farther apart, trailing one of her hands down between Luca’s thighs while the other rests on her stomach, keeping her in place. They both moan as the first of Florence’s fingers sinks into Luca. It’s one thing to watch the black silicone of the strap disappear and another to feel Luca flutter around her own fingers. There’s no resistance at all, just velvet heat and the unbearable intimacy of being allowed inside.
When Florence looks up at Luca’s face, she finds her looking back like Florence is the thing worth marveling at. “More,” she whispers. “Please.”
“I can’t believe you’re real,” Florence breathes.
She takes her time fingering her open, until Luca is teary-eyed and writhing against the sweat-damp sheets. “Flo,” she whines. “’m ready.”
“You’re ready when I say you’re ready,” Florence says, grinning when Luca makes a devastated little noise in response. Her hips are rocking up, trying to get more than what Florence is giving her.
Florence uses her free hand to flick the inside of her thigh. “Be good.”
“You’re so mean,” Luca pants, her eyes scrunching shut.
“You like it,” Florence says. She sounds unbearably fond to her own ears, but there’s nothing to be done about it at this point. “All right. Up you get.”
Luca is a sight to behold as she gets on her knees and straddles Florence’s thighs. Her hair is mussed, her entire body shining with a light sheen of sweat. She looks like something out of a dream.
“Ready?” Florence asks.
An emphatic nod. “Yes. Please.”
Slowly, Florence slides her fingers back inside. “Go on, sweetheart.” She rests her other hand on Luca’s hip, encouraging. “Make yourself feel good.”
With a shuddery breath, Luca begins to move. Her hips rock forward, just a little at first, a small gasp falling from her lips at the feeling. The angle must be different like this. After a moment, she figures out how to tilt her hips so her clit rubs against the palm of Florence’s hand, and her body moves with more purpose, chasing the friction.
“You look so good up there,” Florence tells her softly.
“Feel good,” Luca says, her voice high and breathy in a way that makes Florence’s mouth go dry.
Florence reaches up to sweep the sweat-damp hair from her eyes. “Yeah?”
