Certified Girl Kisser

When you stepped through the door and smelled perfume that wasn't yours, you sighed. The lock clicked behind you and you stepped out of your shoes, hissed at the blisters left behind, the sore patch on your ankle where your sock had rolled down and bared your skin to friction.

A giggle from upstairs, soft, followed by that baritone bark of a laugh that still crucified you in your tracks.

As you made your way into the darkened kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for the half-finished bottle of picpoul, the bedsprings began to squeak. You swigged the wine straight from the bottle and let the fridge door slam shut with a rattle-clink. Above, the squeaking springs paused, bracketed by a frantic whisper and a soothing mumble before starting the incessant beats again.

You swallowed your mouthful of wine and sat with the bottle at the kitchen table, glaring at the ceiling. Jill would be gripping the headboard, you just knew it. She always tried to show off whenever she got a new girl on the end of her strap, wanted them to see how she had toned her arms at the gym, how her hips could still keep a dizzying pace without her breaking a sweat. You knew she'd be smirking down at her catch whilst they writhed and mewled and did all the things they'd normally do, the exact whimpers to add another log to her burning ego. As you swilled the picpoul around your mouth, you wondered if she'd ever get bored of how easily she impressed these girls, if her metaphorical cock would ever stop leading the way the second she got restless.

An orgasm tore through the ceiling, and you took another drink.

When the bottle was empty, you sipped water straight from the tap and, begrudgingly, made your way upstairs. Despite knowing better, you paused by the bedroom door. The bedside lamp was on, casting shadows under the door that danced with sex-soaked whispers. You cleared your throat loudly. The whispers were swallowed by silence for one moment, then two. A woman's voice, tinged with worry, gently interrupted by Jill's drawl.

'Don't worry about her, darling.'

Another whisper, then a half-laugh, half-sigh. Lips meeting again. A rustle of blankets.

Your fist clenched, throat growing tight despite the familiarity that bordered on comical.

You settled in the spare room, turned to the wall and laid on top of the covers as the summer night stuck to you like sap. You were quietly aware of Jill's guest leaving, a trail of gentle giggles and several kisses fading as footsteps disappeared down the stairs and out the door. When Jill paced back up to brush her teeth, you felt her linger in the doorway, felt her understand that you weren't asleep and telling herself otherwise, felt the caress of her stare on the curve of your hips and the gentle rise and fall of your sleepless breath.

The morning arrived slowly.

"You were home late," Jill said casually as she poured herself a cup of tea. "I was getting a bit worried."

"Just work," you replied, voice clipped.

Jill hummed. "Rough shift?"

You sighed under your breath, pouring cereal into a bowl. Jill stared at your back, waiting on ceremony for however much you would decide to tell her.

"Yeah," you said finally. "I could have really..." you trailed off. Jill raised an eyebrow.

"Mm?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Don't do that, not this early," Jill scolded. "What did you need?"

You opened the fridge, eyes falling on nothing in particular.

"Could have really done with talking about it when I got in," you said tightly. "But then...well. You were busy."

Behind you, you felt Jill straighten up. Her voice grew softer for a moment.

"I'm here now, if you want to tell me about it."

"No thanks." you snapped. Jill stiffened.

"Suit yourself," she said simply. "Maybe tonight?"

You didn't say anything, slamming a carton of milk onto the counter with more force than you intended, with a dulled thud-slosh that made Jill snort.

"What did the milk ever do to you?" she prodded dryly, chucking her teaspoon into the sink with the teabag still on it. You gritted your teeth.

"Can you put that in the bin, please?"

"Why?"

"Because it's gross."

"It's a teabag, not a bloody used condom. And you're starting to sound like my mother." she chided flatly. You froze.

Jill seemed to sense the drop in temperature in the kitchen and, for once, didn't drag the point out any further. She cleared her throat and took her cup of tea out into the garden, setting it down on the steps as she sat on the patio and lit up her morning Marlboro. The smoke drifted lazily into the kitchen and you sighed loud enough for her to hear, slamming the door decisively. Jill peered back over her shoulder with a lucrative eye roll.

"Hey, I think the door blew shut." she called.

You stifled a scream and turned on the radio, the soothing cellos of Classic FM doing nothing to dull the incoming fight. The slammed door was simply a play for time.

As you washed up your breakfast dishes, you heard Jill take a phone call. You couldn't make out the details, and decided you were too annoyed at her to care.

"Right now? Can no one else- alright, alright. I'll be there in 20." she sighed, pocketing her phone. She stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed her car keys.

"Got to head in now. Forensics. They said-"

"Yeah, see you later." you mumbled as you scrubbed a stubborn coffee stain from your mug. Jill scoffed.

"Let's get dinner tonight? Marco's. I'll book us a table." she purred, stepping up behind you at the sink. "You can get that seafood linguine you keep going on about. Tiramisu for dessert, hm?"

You didn't say anything, ignoring how your stomach fluttered at the tone of her voice. Jill ran a finger over the back of your neck, brushing a a lock of hair away that had come loose from the bun. You shivered.

"8pm?" she murmured. You breathed out slowly.

''I was thinking,'' you swallowed. ''I'd go back to my place tonight.''

Jill paused her caresses, stiffening. "Oh, really?"

"Mhm."

"Didn't think this particular sulk was going to be a drawn-out one," Jill drawled, turning on her heel and grabbing her bag from the back of a chair. "You're full of surprises."

You span around, dishsoap suds spilling on the floor.

"We had an arrangement!" you snapped.

Jill sighed.

"We do have an arrangement. And I'm not discussing the terms and conditions with you when I need to be in the car driving to work."

"I felt... humiliated," you choked out, ignoring her shut-down as you wiped your hands on a tea towel. "If you're going to fuck whoever you want, can you at least fuck them when I'm not in the house?"

"You weren't in the house," Jill corrected, popping a mint into her mouth. "Not to begin with."

You shook your head at the audacity.

"I'm going home tonight," you snarled. "I'm done. I'm fucking done, Jill."

A flicker of something deeper shimmered across Jill's handsome features for a moment, before settling into her usual indifference.

"Do what you want," she sighed. "I'll call you later."

You threw down the tea towel as she slammed the front door behind her, the engine of her car revving moments later. You stood in the middle of the kitchen, head in your hands, hating every inevitable rope that would bind your wrists and keep you wanting her.

***

Your flat was silent save for the rumble of the main road. You showered, put on a load of laundry, and declined Jill's fourth call of the evening. She never left voicemails, which was infuriating, instead simply redialling until she was satisfied she wasn't going to get through. Perhaps inevitably, she rarely checked her own voicemails, meaning that she'd sometimes return from the shops one Tuesday with the packet of grated mozzarella you'd requested three months ago. You sighed away a fond smile.

When the front door opened and Jill swanned into the hallway, you stopped dead in your tracks. She dropped her key into the little dish you kept by the door, the one she'd brought you from Mykonos, and slipped off her loafers.

She was dizzyingly handsome, that would never be untrue. Even in the summer heat, she'd donned her tailored waistcoat over her shirt, though the sleeves were rolled up enough to show off her freckled arms and the wristwatch that always left a tan line. She had her glasses perched on her head, and her eyes narrowed with a mock intensity as she walked towards you, hands in her pockets.

"You weren't picking up," she said dryly. "Thought I'd stop by to drop off my key."

You swallowed. "Oh, right."

"Seeing as you're, as you put it, done." she continued, her eyes widening with teasing theatrics, walking into your kitchen and leaning back against the kitchen counter. "I figured I wouldn't need a key to this place anymore."

"Did you just come over to be a cock?"

"No, I had some shirts hanging in your wardrobe which I'd quite like back."

"Take them," you snapped, going to the fridge and grabbing a beer. "and fuck off."

Jill groaned.

"Y/N, it doesn't have to be this horrendous. We can at least talk it out so if I pass by you in Tesco it won't completely ruin your day."

"It's all just a joke to you, isn't it? Everything. The last six months. Me."

"This arrangement was your idea. As far as I'm concerned, we could have cut our losses a long time ago. But no, you weren't ready for that."

She leant back further on the kitchen counter, fingers tapping an incessant morse code rhythm on the granite surface. You caught sight of the delicate freckles on her stomach where her shirt had ridden up slightly as she stretched, and in that moment you hated them - truly hated them - because they weren't just yours to see, and she seemed to feast on the opportunity to make you remember that.

You had never been naïve enough to believe you'd get Jill Raymond to settle down. Those lengthly, neon-lit nights in alleyway wine bars and seeing stars as she ate you out in the threshold of her house because your legs gave out before she could get you upstairs. Repeated hook-ups that bled into morning strolls around the market and buying discounted peonies in the spring, joining her for her cousin's wedding and the delight you felt when she turned up to your birthday party in a new suit and danced with you in front of everyone. It walked the tightrope between bliss and dread, a liminal ocean of waiting for her to eat your heart.

You knew she would always have others. You could taste them on her lips and see the stolen nights in the bags under her eyes. When you couldn't find any more names to call her, she'd fucked you over the kitchen table and asked you how many times you needed to come to forgive her.

The arrangement had been whispered under the covers as dawn was breaking after another night of fighting.

I can't do this anymore, you'd whispered. Please don't make me.

Too entwined to pull away, but too painful to be pressed against her. The arrangement had worked, so long as she didn't remind you of it.

All she had to do was not remind you of it.

You looked at her now, mouth just slightly upturned in that smirk, and you knew all at once that she couldn't stop herself. That she'd never be able to resist the bittersweetness of making sure you knew she was craved.

"I need you to leave, please," you whispered. Jill's smirk faltered.

"Y/N..."

"You don't get to stand in my flat - in my flat - and laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you," Jill guffawed, head tilting. "Darling, I would never. But..."

"But?"

"But, this was your idea. And I understood, because you thought you could handle it. Nothing I could have said would have convinced you otherwise. You wanted to have your cake and eat it too."

You laughed bitterly. "Don't you dare..."

"No," Jill said, her voice suddenly laden with ice as she held up a finger. "No, don't you try to make this my fault. Don't try to tell me you didn't have a choice - every choice."

"And you didn't? Did I force you to stay with me?"

"Of course you didn't. Darling, I...loved our time together."

"Don't patronise me."

"For god's sake!" she snapped, slamming her fist on the countertop with a bang. You glared at her.

Jill rubbed her temples, taking her glasses off her head and sighing deeply.

"I'm not going to get on this bloody carousel of yours," she murmured. "Round and round, it's not going to stop. I should have put my foot down a long time ago."

"You loved the ride," you said, staring at her. "You did."

Jill smiled thinly. "I did, then you got needy."

You gritted your teeth, crossing the kitchen so you were face to face, fists clenched at your sides.

"Tell me I'm needy again," you growled. "I fucking dare you."

Jill straightened up, eyebrow arching, hands returning to her pockets.

"Are you squaring up to me?" she smirked. "That is...adorable."

"I fucking mean it, Jill."

She wet her lips, eyes scanning yours, an electric sparkle glinting in her dark irises.

"You're needy." she purred.

"Fuck you," you spat, eyes blazing. "Fuck. You."

Jill's hands moved at lightning speed, wrapping around your waist and pushing you backwards, slamming you into the kitchen table as her lips met yours. Your fingers dug into her linen-clad shoulders as you pushed your tongue between her teeth, tasting mint-shrouded tobacco and pride. You broke away breathlessly and looked up at her as she pushed you back onto the table, laying you flat and pressing her lips to your neck.

"God, I should hate you..." you whined, eyes fluttering shut. Jill hummed into your pulse, teeth nipping the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"I should hate- I should...oh..."

Her tongue licked a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe and you wrapped your legs around her waist. Jill pulled back, smirking at you as she gripped the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged them down.

"Go on, then," you snapped, biting your bottom lip. "This is the last time, make it count."

Jill's smirk widened.

"The last time, hm? Well, then..."

She slipped off your underwear with one swift motion, her lips placing wet kisses across your lower stomach, your thighs. You rocked your hips as she circled your cunt with one hand, holding you still with the other.

"What are you waiting for?" you chided through gritted teeth, aching for her touch despite the red hot rage that was simmering through your body.

Jill's eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You know what? I don't appreciate your tone. You can glare at the table." she purred.

You frowned for a moment in confusion before she pulled you up and span you around, bending you over the table, hands gripping the sides as she pushed away books and magazines and unopened post.

"Spread," she growled, spanking you sharply. You paused, anger bubbling too fiercely to do as you were told, until she spanked the opposite cheek, her nails digging into the soft flesh. "Now, Y/N."

"Fuck you," you mewled, thighs trembling as you spread them wide and she slipped two long fingers across your slick folds.

"Oh, I will," she said matter-of-factly as she pushed a finger into your dripping cunt, holding it steady as you whined and pressed yourself back against her. "After you say please."

"What?! No..."

"Then you'll be here for a very long time, rutting on my fingers like a kitten in heat. It's no skin off my nose, Y/N."

You turned your head, glaring in her direction, fists balled as she teasingly stroked your lower back with her free hand.

"Just say please."

"You absolute piece of..."

Jill slipped another finger into your cunt, still not giving you the movement you craved, scissoring the supple digits inside you enough to make your insults die on your tongue.

"You make me call you needy, you might as well live up to the name, hm?"

You clenched around her fingers, earning a degrading chuckle that reverberated through your body. Tears of frustration burned your eyes.

"Please," you choked out. "Please..."

Jill moved her fingers gradually, a cruelly teasing pace.

"I think," she whispered as she began to pick up speed. "that every now and then, you'll still beg me to come over and fuck you just like this."

You mewled, brow furrowed. Jill continued.

"I think I'm absolutely right about that. Once in a blue moon, you'll remember that no one can fuck you like I do. There's no shame in that. And..."

She delicately traced your clit, making your hips buck.

"...I could never turn you down. Not when you whine so sweetly even when you're trying this hard to hate me."

Her free hand travelled down to rub wide, warming circles across your arse, fingernails scratching just enough to leave thin pink lines like she was trying to memorise every soft inch of you.

"I could never hate you, darling," she whispered as she toyed with your clit, the waves throbbing. "Look at you. Furious and so beautiful."

You pushed back with a high pitched whimper, hands clutching at nothing, grip lost to sweat and desperation.

"Come on my fingers, sweetheart," she instructed. "Don't you dare hold back. Not now."

The kitchen blurred into a kaleidoscope of light as her fingers caressed your g-spot, your clit singing on her thumb as you cried out, your throat raw, tears streaming down your cheeks as you waltzed with something that might have been laughter, rage, utter euphoria at what she could do to you, what she knew she could do.

Jill carefully slipped her fingers from your throbbing, cherry cunt and guided you to roll over so you could watch her suck them clean. You smirked with a half-sob, and she removed her index finger from her mouth with an obscene, slick pop.

She kept you pinned on the table, elbows bracketing your head, lips ghosting over yours. She wiped a stray tear or two from your cheeks, tracing the path from your red-rimmed eyes.

"Gorgeous for me, always," she murmured. She ran her tongue over your bottom lip and you tasted yourself, your fingers tangling in her golden hair. You brushed the locks away from her face for a moment before pushing her back up.

"Let me up," you growled. "Your turn."

Jill smirked, dragging you up by the collar of your t-shirt and letting you steady yourself.

You roughly unzipped her tight black jeans and tugged them down her long legs, your breath catching at the toned muscle of her thighs and the neat trim of her bush poking out from the edges of her underwear. She arched her eyebrow as she slipped her underwear down, leaning back on the kitchen table as she spread her legs.

"Well?" she teased. You glared, sinking to your knees and looking up at her and, for all that you despised her in that moment, tried to burn the sight of her looking down at you into your mind for the nights where you knew you'd ache for her.

She was soaked. The soft hair around her sex was damp and musty with sweetness, clit swollen to the point where your breath ghosting over it was enough for her to groan. You lapped greedily at her cunt, inhaling her, whilst her thighs trembled on either side of your head and all she could do was breathe your name into the heavy air.

You pushed the tip of your tongue inside her and she moaned sharply, her hands suddenly flying to your hair. She tangled her fingers in to steady herself, riding your face with her practiced ease which was smothered with need.

"Christ..." she gasped, her velvet voice dripping from your pores.

You ran your tongue over her clit, soaking it in her arousal before taking it between your lips, tongue teasing the throbbing core of her. Her feet left the floor as she let her legs fall over your shoulders, ankles crossed on your back, thighs clenched with the effort of staying on the table as she chased her orgasm. You could feel it build from the horizon until it centred on her clit, her willowy frame focused entirely on oblivion as she let you pull her over the edge.

She came with your name on her lips and her clit between yours.

Afterwards, she dressed in silence. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed, glasses perched on her head once again as she patted herself down. You sat at the table and watched her.

"So," she said softly. "See you around?"

You didn't say anything. Jill nodded once.

She slowly walked over to you, hand slung in her trouser pocket, the other reaching down to trace the outline of your jaw.

"Mm. Always gorgeous."

Despite yourself, you briefly leant into her touch. Before you had the time to think about asking her to stay, she pulled away.

The phone signal you were chasing had been enough. Just enough to narrow the last known activity to somewhere within the field boundary, a jagged green block on a map that looked deceptively simple until you were the one standing inside it. No road access worth speaking of, no clear track through the crop. Just wheat, heat, and the faint suspicion that whatever you were looking for was already too close to decay to be kind.

The humidity was suffocating, a cruel kind of warmth rising from the earth, heat bleeding up from the soil and threading through the tall crop, where it tangled with the relentless sun blazing overhead.

“I hate this,” you groaned, clenched out between your teeth and felt the fine, bristly hairs of the stalk rasp over your clammy palms as you carved yourself a path. 

Behind you, leaving all the annoying work of pushing wheat aside to you, Jill chuckled. “It’s not that bad,” she said simply. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know she was wearing that effortless, unbothered expression of indifference. 

A bead of sweat crawled down your neck.

It was almost as irritating as Jill, strolling around in her patterned shirt and a black, tight trousers combination, and without any sign that she was bothered by the weather. The only thing that gave the slightest hint was the blonde hair in a low ponytail, which, in this state, was otherwise only found at the pathology centre when bowed over a body, but even that, if confronted, Jill would dismiss as a matter of practicality in that infuriating tone that made you feel stupid for even bothering to try. 

She had that effect on you, that unsubtle air of superiority you found yourself drawn to as easily as a fly to honey, sweet and rotting, unable to help the way you kept reaching for the older woman’s attention anyway. Greedy for it, almost, the way you angled yourself closer to her presence, as if proximity alone might let you absorb some of it or at least let it glaze over you.

Especially when it was Jill doing what she did best.

Knowing it better. Doing it better. Being better.

Whenever she fell into that amused drawl of correcting you, contradicting you with that downcurved smirk and challenging arch of an eyebrow, you felt it pulse through your body and settle between your legs. All she had to do was roll her eyes at you, and you knew you’d be arching and writhing in your bed later, fingers lazily writing her name sticky and wet while you moaned her name into your pillow pathetically lonely. 

You swallowed around a dry throat and blinked into the sun until dark spots danced across your vision and successfully distracted you from that line of thought. 

The sun beating down on you and bringing you one step closer to a heat stroke wasn’t helping at all. 

Dragging your shoes through the crop and forcing your way through the dense, unyielding stalks, you fixed your attention on hating everything about it. The weather, the bloody field, the absurdity of trudging through it in this heat, even the certainty that you’d be rinsing dust and sweat off your skin again tonight.  

So when a hand landed on your shoulder, you nearly jumped out of your skin. 

Wheeling around sharp enough to feel a muscle in your neck strain painfully, your heart only tripped over itself instead of calming down at the realisation that the hand belonged to Jill.

The older woman raised an eyebrow, a hint of teeth flashing as she huffed. “Relax, kid. What did you expect? A scarecrow tackling you down?” 

“No,” you pressed out. 

You only noticed her hand smoothed along your shoulder blade to your arm due to the path of heat that burned through the material of your t-shirt. 

Jill’s eyebrow climbed higher, almost disappearing in the curl of blonde hair where she’d pushed her sunglasses up. 

“No?” she echoed. “That’s reassuring. For a moment there, I thought I’d startled a particularly nervous bunny.”

Bunny, your eyes widened, and you suppressed a needy whimper.

“I’m fine,” you spoke through the exhale of air, lifting a hand to wipe the back of it over your temple. “Just sick of this fucking treasure hunt,” you grumbled. 

“Good.” Her gaze travelled over you then, taking in the sweat plastering your hair to your forehead, the flushed colour high in your cheeks, and the way you were breathing a little harder than you ought to have been. “I’d hate to lose a detective to agricultural terrorism.”

You rolled your eyes. “Funny.”

“I thought so.”

She withdrew her hand and tilted her head slightly. The amusement lingered for another second before it faded. “How much water have you had?”

You blinked. “What?”

“How much did you drink today?”

“A normal amount.”

“That’s not a number,” she tutted. 

You opened your mouth and immediately regretted it when you realised you didn’t actually know.

Jill gave a short, unimpressed huff. “Right. So I’ll lose you to your own foolishness and dehydration.”

“Cheers,” you scoffed and wondered if you actually looked as close to passing out as it had felt when she had touched you. “I’m fine.”

“Mm.”

The noncommittal sound somehow managed to convey exactly how little she believed you.

You hated it when she did that. It made you far too aware of how little the dampness in your pants had to do with the rest of the sweat that rolled over your spine and stuck your shirt to your armpits.

The older blonde glanced towards the far edge of the field, where the wheat rippled in lazy waves beneath the heat haze. “How much further?” she asked and momentarily lifted her chin high enough that you were dazzled with arousal by the view of her side profile, the hawkish nose and thin lips, the splatter of freckles that came out more prominent in the summer. 

You quickly checked your phone, squinting against the glare on the screen. “Couple hundred metres. Maybe less.”

“Then let’s get moving.”

You frowned and then grinned. “Thought you said it wasn’t that bad.”

Jill rolled her eyes without looking at you. You wanted to get down on your knees right in the dirt and drink her annoyance.

“It isn’t,” she commented, and when you couldn’t even suspect a hint of red flushes on her evenly tanned skin, you actually believed her. She continued, dragging her gaze over you once more. “It is, however, turning you the colour of a fire engine.”

Before you could protest, she was already stepping past you, shouldering through the wheat with surprising efficiency.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “The quicker we find what we’re looking for, the quicker I can get you somewhere with shade before you embarrass the met by passing out in a field.”

“I am not going to pass out!” you objected indignantly, even though the sight of her arse in the sinfully tight trousers gave you a real challenge. 

“Good.”

Jill didn’t even look back.

“Try to keep up, then, bunny.”

By some miracle, you managed to keep your composure, even as the word ‘bunny’ kept looping uselessly in your head. Jill’s voice, with that low seductive drawl, cut through every attempt at professional thought, scattering them into something far less appropriate and leaving you with the overwhelming, inconvenient urge to follow her wherever she led. 

You’d abandoned every hope at representing the met competently—Jill could do that for the both of you—and so you blamed it on the heat, waved your hand with a, “It’s bloody hot, isn’t it?” when the local police officer threw you a questioning look after you had yet again zoned out with your eyes set on Jill’s profile as she took a sip of her water bottle and ran her tongue over the glistening bottom lip to catch a drop of water from the corner of her mouth. It was pathetic, how shallow your breathing became in contradiction to the loud pulse between your legs, a hammering thump thump thump that you damned. 

Why couldn’t your libido catch the hint and fall into that same languid sluggishness that had taken over the rest of your body when you were sitting in the passenger seat of the car? 

The windows were up, the air conditioning turned on more for your sake than Jill’s and you were blissfully slumped against the headrest, eyes fluttering close again and again as the countryside and its golden summer light falling through tree tops accompanied you over the curving and turning streets. Flickering patterns danced over the dashboard, making you drowsy.

Then, somewhere along the winding roads, the AC started to give up. At first it was subtle, less of a breeze, then nothing at all.

“What’s this bullshit now?” Jill furrowed her eyebrows, leaning forward slightly to twist the dial but nothing happened. She exhaled through her nose, sharper this time. “Of course.” 

“Oh no.” You lifted a hand to fan yourself. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

Jill’s lip twitched, irritation flickering across her face as nothing she did resulted in anything but a palpable tension. She sat back in her seat, not responding to you right away. Instead, the windows clicked and then slid down, granting you the answer. Hot air rushed in immediately. You could practically feel her already deciding how to handle you complaining about it.

So you bit your tongue and kept silent. 

Heat pooled between the seats, clung to the upholstery, pressed against your skin until even breathing felt indulgent. A sheen of sweat had formed practically everywhere on your body, your hair sticking at your temples as you shifted again, trying and failing to find a cooler angle against the seat of this damn torture that leather seats were. 

“Thank you for driving,” you broke the silence between you after a while, catching what little air the speed of Jill’s driving offered. Opening your eyes, you turned your head to look at the older woman and almost immediately, the consequential throb of arousal awoke.

Jill was casually leaning back in her seat, one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting against the door, tapping a slow rhythm that only drew your focus on her long, deft fingers and her slender wrist. The faint blue tracery of veins underneath soft-looking skin, the fine hairs and scattered freckles that wandered all the way up her arm until they disappeared under the short sleeve of her green shirt. Her hair was still up, a few messy strands had escaped the bobble and curled around her cheekbones, glowing golden in the sizzling afternoon sun. The sunglasses sat on her nose, eyes trained on the street. 

Surprisingly, a faint sheen of heat had formed at her throat now, catching the light when she tilted her head slightly. The top buttons of her shirt hung open, and the flush blooming across her skin lured your eyes to stare at the just barely visible rise of her chest.

At your words, the corners of her mouth turned into another one of her devastating smirks. 

“I didn’t particularly fancy you crashing a Mercedes into a hedgerow because you aren’t built for this heat,” she said lightly. 

Jill adjusted her grip on the wheel, sunlight catching the edge of her sunglasses as she changed gear. The car purred forward through the heat-slicked road, and you didn’t even apprehend half of what she said; all you were able to focus on were her fingers curved around the wheel, and the sound of her voice rolling through your body. Nothing could stop the thoughts, couldn’t stop the delirious imagination of what else Jill’s fingers could do. 

What you wanted her to do. 

What an unshakeable longing you had for her, and how the weather caused everything else to melt away in a shimmer of heat, seeping into every single one of your pores

You squirmed slightly in your seat, holding back with dear life from crossing your legs for some relief. 

She tapped the wheel once, twice—passing another car with a lurch and victorious grin that made your head swim. The wind tugged forcefully at her hair, twirling the curls around her head. “And it’s not so bad letting me take over, is it?” Jill threw you a look in the mirror, “You just have to sit there looking pretty, bunny.” 

Your throat went a little tight at that, heat rushing up your neck before you could stop it. You fumbled for the water bottle in the cup holder, unscrewing the cap a touch too fast.

“Yeah,” you managed, far too quickly, and took a long drink that did absolutely nothing to fix the problem she’d just created. You kept your gaze determinedly on her for a moment after, cheeks still warm, the bottle cold against your palms and between your legs, your trousers soaking up every drop of condensation. Squinting, you let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you sweating?” 

Jill didn’t look at you more than a flick of a sharp glance. “I told you I usually don’t have problems with the summer heat,” she said, her emphasis scolding. “Anyone would break a sweat in a bloody greenhouse like this.”

There was a faint flush at her cheekbones, a brief press of her tongue against her lower lip. She reached up, finally tugging at the collar of her shirt, and you once again saw the shine along her collarbones. 

Your fingers curled tighter around the bottle as you wondered how it would taste to lick it up. To let your tongue dance across her warmed, sweaty skin. To find out where else the heat affected her, if her thighs were as warm as yours, if you could drag down the zipper of her trousers, feel her heat—

“Stop that.”

Jill’s voice wasn’t loud, not like the wind tearing through the open windows, not like the engine’s steady pull as the car surged down the narrow country road, though it didn’t need to be for the command to snap your attention to her face. The tone in itself made your spine straighten, and shame rising up inside you. Christ, what have you been thinking? Lusting after Jill, your superior, like this in front of her? You ripped your gaze away from her, staring at the reflecting road.

“I’m so—” you started, too fast.

Jill didn’t let you finish.

“If you don’t want us to land in a ditch, your eyes should stop begging me to fuck you right here in the car,” she continued, a muscle in her jaw jumping. 

Oh, let the ground open up and swallow you. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tried to save yourself but Jill raised a single finger and silenced you effectively. 

“No, bunny. I may tolerate a lot from you, but being lied to isn’t one of them,” she chided.

A sense of dizziness came over you; you couldn’t tell whether it was the speed of the car, Jill’s awareness towards your pitiful crush or the heat. As you reached for the bottle of water again, your fingers brushed against it, slippery with condensation, and you hated how obvious this whole thing suddenly felt.

Jill shifted up her hips in the seat. Her sunglasses slid just a fraction down the bridge of her nose.

And everything changed.

That look in her eyes was unmistakable. Jill’s eyes devoured you, pinned you down into your seat with a predatory intensity that bordered on pure, feral delight, and a broken sound that took shape in the form of a whimper barrelled out of your lungs. 

“What?” Jill huffed, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her neck where you could see her swallow. “Did you really think I wouldn’t catch on? Don’t insult my intelligence and perception.” 

“I didn’t want you to find out,” you rasped, heart pounding between your legs and in your throat. 

“No, of course not,” Jill said, steering the car onto the lane leading into London and pressing down on the accelerator pedal, “You just can’t help yourself, I’ve noticed. All I have to do is give you an order, and you’re all but creaming your pants.” 

The blush burned all the way to the tips of your ears, and you knew that protest was futile. Especially considering that you subconsciously pressed the bottle closer to your middle, right where you wished her fingers or face—preferably wearing that same expression—would be.

“There you go again,” Jill dragged the words out. She pushed the sunglasses back up, leaving you to make out her expression through the slim space between her eyes and the frame. “Let me make one thing clear,” she started, and there was a non-negotiable tone in her voice that had your eyes widening.

“Yes?”

“I don’t date colleagues.”

You wilted immediately. You’d seen it coming a mile away, had pondered over it multiple times, but the certainty of her drawing this line did little to soften the blow. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jill clicked her tongue, “You make that face, and suddenly I’m the villain for having basic professional standards.” 

“Sorry.” You folded your arms.

“When this happens—” At that, you interrupted her with a gasp, and Jill let out a short breath through her nose. 

“Don’t—” She reached over without warning. 

Two fingers flicked your thigh—quick, precise, slightly painful, just enough to jolt you out of it. 

“—cut me off,” she finished. 

Your breath snatched in your chest, flames igniting where the snap of her touch rippled over your skin. “Hey—”

She ignored you, didn’t even glance at you this time. Her eyes stayed on the road, posture steady, hand already back on the wheel. “When this happens,” she continued, tone calm but edged with warning and you held back from getting giddy over the when, not if, “this is not a romantic relationship. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded fast.

“I don’t do exceptions at work. I don’t do special treatment. And I certainly don’t do discussions about it,” Jill punctuated each rule with a firmness, a tap of her fingers onto the wheel. “If you let whatever this is bleed into the job, you’re done. I won’t put up with any big teary eyes.”

Even though you clearly wondered how you would be able to separate whatever was about to happen from work when you couldn’t even manage to control your thoughts, you were fervent, ready to throw yourself over whatever came to earn Jill’s attention in the ways she was ready to give to you.

“I—I understand that,” you said, practically vibrating in your seat. 

“Good girl,” Jill drawled, and said nothing more about it. 

Until you walked into the changing room at work, ready to get into a far more comfortable—and more important, better smelling—outfit for the paperwork waiting to be filled out, and Jill followed you in. The door clicked shut, and with her dark eyes on you, Jill turned the key. 

You shifted on the spot, trying unsuccessfully to peel your shirt away from your skin. Sweat gathered at the base of your neck, trickling down your spine. You couldn’t think straight anymore, not with Jill and her flushed skin. Tiny beads of sweat gathered along her hairline. One droplet traced a slow path from her temple, disappearing behind the curve of her jaw. More lingered at the hollow of her throat, glimmering against sun-flushed skin.

She clicked her tongue softly and dragged it across her lips. 

You were sure your knickers were soaked through.

“Shower?” she asked, no, ordered, and pulled her shirt off without hesitation. 

Your train of thought detonated.

One second there had been words. The next there was only static.

Jill tossed the shirt onto a nearby bench, entirely unconcerned by the effect this might have on anyone unfortunate enough to possess functioning eyes. The white tank top underneath clung to her from the heat of the day, the fabric damp in places, outlining lean muscle and so much skin. Her arms were bare, tanned from whatever free-time activities that you could only take a wild guess about, considering she was always wearing some sort of shirt at work, and a fine sheen of sweat caught beneath the fluorescent lights whenever she moved. There was the clear outline of her bra, a white practical thing with straps as thin as the tank top, and of course, you had known Jill had breasts, but seeing the outline without a waistcoat? Without a shirt buttoned up? 

God.

You stared shamelessly. 

A bead of sweat slipped down the inside of her forearm as she reached for her locker. Another disappeared beneath the strap of the tank top at her shoulder. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling out her bobble and pushed blonde strands off her forehead. The motion exposed the line of her throat for a brief second.

Your thoughts scattered like startled birds. You couldn’t hold onto a single one long enough to make sense of it.

“Oh, sweet thing. Is there truly nothing you can do by yourself?” 

Jill prowled closer, opening the button of her trousers with one hand. The other came to rest on your sternum, from where she slowly stroked a finger up to your chin. For a moment, you fell for the gentle circles she drew into your skin, the depth of her brown eyes. For a moment, you inhaled her scent, that dizzying, musky perfume that smelled like patchouli and was sticking to her on sweaty skin. For a moment, you were in a freefall of wondering what sex with Jill Raymond would be like. 

Her thumb pressed against your windpipe, eliciting a gasp that opened your lips in a knee-jerk reaction that only served her right because Jill’s mouth crashed against yours and robbed you of every bit of air inside your lungs. She was firm against yours, unyielding in the way she closed the distance, her free hand slipping into the front of your trousers to yank you towards her. 

The sound you made was swallowed instantly.

Jill didn’t pause for it. If anything, it made her push in closer.

Her hand shifted from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling rough enough to sting at your scalp. She tilted your head without breaking the kiss, adjusting you mid-contact, biting onto your lower lip to slip her tongue into your mouth. 

Breath, heat, movement—everything blurred into it.

Another kiss followed immediately, then another, each one landing with the same decisive pressure, like she was pulling you further out of yourself with every contact. Your responses only seemed to sharpen her focus—every small sound, every instinctive lean forward met with the slightest shift from her that kept you exactly where she wanted you, and it wasn’t long until you were moaning, whimpering, hips stuttering only to be put back into your place by Jill’s groans and admonishing pinches and bites. 

Even as you were chasing her mouth and only managed to suddenly have her thumb pushed onto your tongue, Jill gave a husky laugh.

“Get undressed,” Jill demanded, taking a step back. “Or I’ll fuck you fully clothed in the shower. I don’t really care, even though I’d absolutely love to see you take my fingers.”

Good grief.

You must have set a record—that’s how quickly your shirt, bra and trousers ended up in a heap on the bench, and you tried not to look at Jill, as the sight of her would probably have sent you into another state of paralysis that you absolutely didn’t want to allow yourself to fall into. Leaning forward to take off your knickers, you caught a glimpse of Jill’s endlessly long bare legs out of the corner of your eye, and then there was a smack – a blossoming, wonderful pain where her hand massaged the right cheek of your bum. Once again, just like before in the field, you flinched and stood up so abruptly that you dropped your underwear on the floor. 

“Bunny,” Jill chuckled again, striding shamelessly and completely naked past you. No woman in her fifties should have such a perfect arse; that was the only thing you could think of before you stumbled after her. 

The showers at work had never been anything more than a place to scrub off whatever grime you could before heading home—physical, mostly, but also the kind of invisible residue the day left clinging to you. They had always served a purpose: get in, get clean, get out. No lingering. No unnecessary conversation at your most vulnerable.

Now, walking barefoot on the cool tiles, the sound of your own breathing oddly loud in the enclosed space, and arousal sticking to your thighs, that idea felt almost laughable.

Because Jill was there.

And the sight of her long, slender body presenting itself fully confident for you to admire and stray to. 

From now on, you were certain you’d never think of these showers as just showers again. 

“Aren’t you just the prettiest thing?” Jill purred and caught you by your neck and waist, her touch hot and firm, steering you under the spray that she’d turned on seconds before. 

A shower of water poured over you; the temperature cold enough to startle you and pebble your nipples instantly into stiff peaks, but not so icy that you’d feel the chill. It was the perfect contrast to the heat of Jill’s body and the burning sensation that scintillated and flared within you, gradually setting every synapse ablaze. With her hands never still—wandering hands, hands stroking along your ribs and kneading your arse—Jill pressed herself against you, breast to breast, belly to belly, all bare skin, her thigh immediately giving a persistent jolt that made your knees go weak and your cunt throb between your legs.

Kissing her under the stream of water was indescribable, an intimacy of closeness and wetness, and you raised your arms to place them, almost hesitantly, on Jill’s hips. 

“You can touch me,” Jill murmured lowly, scratching her fingernails along your spine. 

Her lips traced an elusive path across your cheeks, back to your upper lip, which she lingered over until you tried to kiss her back properly, then her teeth grazed a line up your jawline to your ear. Her thigh pressed against you, forcing you backwards against the wall, slick with water, and out of the stream, pinning you against the tiles with glorious strength and forcing your legs further apart.

“Considering I’m about to make you come hard enough to fuck every thought out of your gorgeous head—” Jill’s fingers followed your hipbone, scraping through your pubic hair and you moan low in your throat, helplessly awaiting every touch, “you are free to explore while you still can, little bunny.”

Permission granted, you dove forward—not so much that you could escape her resolute grip on you and oh, the way you slid forward on her thigh, rolling your cunt over the firm, wet muscle made you whimper right into the open-mouthed kiss. It was more tongue than anything, teeth clacking and biting down, her more than you, licking behind your teeth and tugging at your bottom lip. You smoothed your hands over her hips, to her narrow waist, roamed over her firm, smaller breasts and cupped them both in your palms, squeezed and dragged your thumbs over her stiff nipples, watched rapidly how her eyes slanted shut and greedily tasted her moan. 

“That’s it,” Jill laughed, and the hand that was back in your neck urged you forward and then down. 

Understanding what she wanted, you trailed kisses over her neck, licked a long line over her throat and pressed your tongue against the hollow dip, eager to get a sample of her perfume; you tasted salt and sandalwood, the purest form of an aphrodisiac. 

“Down,” Jill corrected when she had had enough of you lavishing her neck and tongue, lapping at her pulse points, not daring to leave a hickey—your instincts, like an animal in front of a predator—whispered to you it would have been a dangerous game. Your mouth enclosed around one nipple, and the groan that echoed through the shower room was the most arousing sound you had ever heard. “Atta girl,” Jill praised, and you glanced up, blinked despite the water, and it blurred the sight but what a sight it was.

The older woman had her head tipped back under the stream, water spilling over in a grin parted lips and cutting clean paths down the sharp line of her jaw, catching on dark lashes of half-lidded eyes before running in thin, shining trails across her cheeks, stretching as a “Oh fuck yes,” was moaned into the room. You looked up, that angle making her seem even taller, more imposing, a goddess to worship with her usually bright hair darkened by the water, clinging to her temples and neck, outlining every elegant angle of her face. 

All the while, you continued to chase the contact of her, gasping and pressing your clit onto Jill’s thigh, dragging sticky wetness all over her, only to be washed away by the water, the drops dripping along your body, collecting slippery between your legs. 

The hand in the base of your neck gripped you more demandingly, pulling you away from Jill’s breasts—which was a shame, you could’ve spent an eternity there, sucking and nipping them—and to Jill’s mouth again; you stopped mentally complaining over losing Jill’s breasts because Jill’s tongue was also quite marvellous. 

Your heart was pounding, almost as fast as the words of “Please,” that you rambled out trying to get Jill’s wandering hand from your belly to your centre.

“Oh, you beg so sweet,” Jill cooed, splaying her hand over your throat, letting it follow the waterfalls of water to roughly pinch a nipple. You slammed your head back, nearly avoiding cracking your skull open as she wasted no time treating your other nipple the same way. “And you cry even prettier!” she sounded amused, overjoyed as you could say nothing more than her name and a tirade of please and a combination of both, hands scrambling for a hold on her shoulders. 

“Easy, darling.” Jill leaned in, sucking at a spot on your throat, and you felt her grin. “I will make you feel so good,” she spoke directly into the hickey that was no doubt there, going by the intense, swollen sensation of your skin. “You need that, don’t you? Need your superior to take you apart like you’ve dreamed about…tsk tsk tsk.” Her teeth sank into the mark once more, ripping another gasp out of you. “How often do you touch yourself thinking about me? Trying to fuck yourself when you truly, really—” she paused, and her hand finally cupped your cunt, teasing you by hovering over your clit with her palm, “can’t do it half as good as me, mhm?”

And then two fingers sank into you in one smooth thrust, and your gasp turned into a whimper and a moan, a near scream as Jill curled her finger just right so the tips stroked promptly against your G-spot. 

“You’re soaked, bunny,” Jill grinned into a kiss, before her tongue was licking up the roof of your mouth, and you huffed a breath, kissed her back deep and desperate, starving for her lips just as much as for the stretch of Jill so deeply inside you. 

“Are you surprised?” you whined and panted as Jill’s fingers worked wonders in and out of your wet heat, stretched you open, curled and twisted and had you writhing and aching, your thighs clamping down on the one Jill kept between yours for leverage. 

Jill hummed, pleasantly low, and it harmonised with the wet squelch of the spray and movement of her hand, sounds of her fucking you into a stupor. “Maybe I will keep you like this,” Jill murmured and brought her other hand back to your breasts, squeezing them, scratching her nails over the wet flesh and leaving red angry streaks, “I finally have you doing what I want and not running your smart mouth.”

Jerking into her touch, you couldn’t even try to answer her in anything but a shaky inhale of breath. Your inner walls pulsed around Jill’s fingers, a coil winding tighter and tighter. 

“Mm. That’s it. Much better when you stop trying to manage it yourself,” she growled, her mouth hovering inches away from yours and breathing in your snappy, panting breaths. 

Wet hair clung to your neck and temple, the floor beneath your pooling with water, and you tried to adjust your stance on it, opened your legs wider for her to crowd closer, all naked, slick skin; her hard nipples against yours with traces of water between you, squishing everything together. Jill was merciless, fucking her fingers into you in a ruthless and tight pace, barely pulling out before thrusting back inside, the pad of her middle finger curling against that ridget spot inside you that made you tilt your head back into the spray of water and try to breathe without swallowing too much.

“Aren’t you going to let me know how good I am to you?”

You blinked blearily at her, trying to make out what she was saying over the delicious sensations rolling over your spine, searing like molten silver. A narrow breath tripped out of you when Jill’s fingers dragged out of you and she circled your clit, coated in your hot juices. 

“Jill,” you whispered hoarsely, hips bucking toward her in desperation.

Her fingers pressed tighter onto your swollen clit, tapped it in time with the click of her tongue. “Louder.”

Your orgasm was quickly building further and further, the nimble fingers stroking through your folds and over your clit, flicking and rolling it again and again, over and over, until you were clawing at Jill, moaning helplessly into the flesh of her shoulder, feeling the defined muscles there.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.” 

“Jill, please—” you cried, uncaring now if anyone could hear the strain in your voice, the snap of her hand. “Please, please, you’re so good, you’re so perfect,” you rambled, eyes closing as you fought for breath when the circles of her fingers became smaller and quicker. 

“Oh, I know,” Jill purred, and you flushed hot all over, “and you’re a needy thing that’s going to come on my perfect fingers. Isn’t that right? Because all that it takes for a good girl like you is some fingers up your cunt, and getting fucked by an older woman in charge.” Her voice was honey, far too sweet for the words that engraved themselves on every inch of your skin, and her lips were right against your ear, “Show me how much you love that I’m the one fucking your pussy at work.”

Within a second, you came on her command with your tongue pressing against Jill’s shoulder, pleasure blinding in your gut, in your spine, curling in your toes; a high electricity running through your veins as Jill relentlessly fucked you through the orgasm, thrusted her fingers back inside you and continued the best she could with you clenching around her, everything in you locking up to leave you trembling, shaking, relying on a strong arm around your waist and a thigh between your legs. 

All but boneless and riding out the waves of your orgasm, you nuzzled your nose into Jill’s neck, tears of relief spilling over your cheeks and rolling hotter than the spray of the shower down your bodies. 

“That’s it, bunny, ride it out.” 

Jill didn’t stop playing with you until you batted at her hand, once, twice, a third time. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, hips giving one last weak roll against her thigh before you sagged completely into her hold. Her arm stayed locked around you, while the water beat down on both of you, cooling you down again. She brought her glistening fingers up between your faces, spreading them so you could see your own cum stretching between them. 

“Look at that mess,” she murmured, voice low and pleased. “Soaking an higher-ups fingers right here at work. What would your colleagues think?”

“That I’m exceptional team member?” you grinned breathlessly.

You could clearly see how the arched eyebrow and roll of Jill eyes were meant to distract you from the twitch in the corner of her mouth, those rare laugh lines showing for a millisecond. She pressed her fingers to your lips, pushing two of them past your teeth for you to slightly gag. “Clean them. Taste how desperate you get when I finger-fucl you where anyone could walk in.”

Your tongue worked obediently over her water-rippled skin, licking and sucking every drop while she watched with dark, satisfied eyes. You didn’t remind her that she had locked the door or that nearly no one used these showers anyways. For your obedient silence, Jill cupped your jaw, thumb stroking over your lower lip. 

“Hands on the wall,” she ordered, her finger smearing your spit over your chin where it mixed with the water. “Push that arse out for me, will you?” 

You obeyed without hesitation, turning to brace your palms against the cool tile. Jill stepped in tight behind you, moulding her wet body against your back, one arm braced beside your head while the other—as you checked with a glance over your shoulder to see her lean form stretched all over you, her breasts flattened against your shoulder blades—reached between her own legs. 

Her fingers found her swollen clit and started rubbing in fast, determined and familiar circles, a confidence of knowing herself visible in how the first touch of her hand led to her grunting and pressing her hips flush to your arse, grinding herself hard against the curve of your cheek with every stroke. The slick heat of her dragged over your skin as she rocked faster, chasing her own release. 

All you could do, in a vertiginous obsession with this intimacy and wild, feral lust that went into every controlled thrust, was to encouragingly push against Jill, your hands squeaking over the tiles and your back arching. There was the rhythmically smack of skin against skin, the drenched curls of Jill’s coarse hair, the splatter of water down onto you.

“Fuck—stay right there,” she growled into your ear, breath hot. Her free hand gripped your hair first, fisting it tight to pull your head back as you moaned and offered your neck for her to sink her teeth into. 

You would have stayed here forever, and for a brief moment, a flash of sanity broke through—a wild, untamed alarm ringing somewhere beneath the delirium, shrill enough to cut through the fog. It was a flare shot desperately from your heart, a final warning that this could only end in disaster, that heartbreak waited somewhere at the end of this road.

Then Jill’s nose dragged slowly along your neck, all the way to your ear, and the warning vanished beneath her rough hiss, “Gonna come all over this perfect arse.” Her voice broke, her fingers pressed harder, flicking and rolling in frantic motions. She panted, hips snapping forward in jerky, needy thrusts. 

You were unable to stop the whimper as Jill’s body locked up against yours, and she came with a low, guttural moan that intertwined itself around your heart with thorns, latched onto your brain like poisonous ivy and made everything except her riding out the waves of pleasure against you unimportant. 

Your knees were still trembling when Jill nudged you upright again.

Before you could even think about protesting, she reached past you for the wall-mounted shampoo dispenser and pressed a generous amount into her palm.

“Head back,” she said.

You obeyed unthinkingly.

A moment later, her fingers disappeared into your hair, working the shampoo through the damp strands before settling against your scalp. She massaged in slow, circular motions that drew a helpless sigh from somewhere deep in your chest.

Jill washed you first.

She cleaned away the sweat, grime, and come, and every so often, there would be a playful pinch at your arse or a sharp nip at your shoulder that made her smirk against your skin when you yelped.

Only once she seemed satisfied that you were clean did she turn her attention to herself, making quick, efficient work of her own hair and body.

By the time you made it back to the changing room, Jill had wrapped a small towel around her waist, the fabric barely reaching mid-thigh.

She caught your chin and pressed a brief kiss to your lips.

“Get dressed, bunny,” she murmured. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner?” you repeated blankly. “I haven’t even bought groceries yet.”

Rowena would never, as in never, admit to it, but she adored the soft evenings she'd spend with you. Only ever late at night when she was sure no one would be around, she'd let you rest your head in her lap, her always freshly manicured nails scratching at your scalp gently as you melted into her touch.

Sometimes she'd hum soft little melodies under her breath, old Scottish lullabys and folk songs she didn't even know she still remembered.

You'd nuzzle further into her lap, cheek pressed against her thigh, content and comfortable in her hold.

You'd only pipe up once she goes quiet, you can't have that.

"Ro?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Would you- say something"

"I'm saying something now"

"I know, I just mean- I like the sound of your voice, please, keep talking"

She grinned, giving your cheek a little pinch, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your temple.

"Alright then, love, how about a story?"

"That sounds perfect"

She let out a sweet little hum, sitting back against the plush couch, settling in with you.

"There was once a beautiful girl, shunned by the people who claimed to love her. It would have been easy for the girl to wreak havoc and seek revenge, being a powerful, fiery woman, but she chose to let them sit and rot in their own pathetic state. Instead moving on to do great things, saving the world, meeting someone wonderful and falling stupidly, hopelessly in love"

"You have a rich backstory, my love"

"Not me, pet. You"

"What?"

"You're one of the strongest, best women I've ever encountered. Second to none but me of course"

"Of course" You laughed, turning to look up at her "Was that story really how you see me?"

"Absolutely! I'd never call myself stupid, and I would've slaughtered the lot of them"

You smiled, pulling her into a tender kiss, keeping her close.

"And that's why it's good we found each other. A lot less murder now, huh?"

"Unfortunately, yes"

"Ro!"

"Fine, fine. It's very good I have you, for myself and the general public"

"Much better"

You kept looking up at her, almost expectantly, and she took the hint.

"Another story, my darling girl?"

"Yes please"

"Well, have I told you the one about the moose boy? A fantastic story by far. He and his brother, a strange little squirrel…."

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