le petite mort

it’s been so long that, truthfully, it doesn’t take long for that familiar bowstring tightness to swirl within emma’s lower belly; pulling her flush against the taller woman with a chorus of sharp, breathless gasps (and jesus christ, has pitch always been this well-versed with her tongue?). she only needs another minute for release. thirty seconds even. but unfortunately, the brunette is pulling away all too soon, and emma blinks, cheeks heating and frustration skyrocketing. she snatches pitch by the wrist, stubby nails digging into delicate flesh as she murmurs something that sounds vaguely like an order, “my tent. midnight.”

emma’s eyes squeezed shut at yael’s enthusiasm; mouth gaping wide to release a string of moans that never made it passed her chest. jesus. it’d been so long that she nearly forgot how it felt, her stomach heaving with every shuttering breath growing more and more ragged by the minute. it wouldn’t be but a few short minutes before she was cresting over the edge and moaning yael’s name in ecstasy. but just when she was starting to reach that point, the brunette pulled back and emma reluctantly caught her breath as the tightness in her stomach settled. “fuck, yael,” she gasped, the muscles of her abdomen twitching beneath the other woman’s touch. “always. even when you’re irritating the shit out of me...” and while many wouldn’t believe it, a small smirk tugged at the corners of emma’s lips. “especially when you’re irritating the shit out of me actually.”

were it not for the fact that this was the first time anyone had touched her in over a year (let alone that it was yael pitchlynn touching her in the first place), emma would’ve likely given a harsh tug on yael’s hair for her command to shut up, and a few choice words in response. but as it stood, the ongoing demands of her otherwise forlorn and forgotten libido had ruthlessly caught up to her, resulting in a small bodily jerk at the initial swipe of the brunette’s tongue, followed by a guttural moan as her thighs clenched around yael’s ears and her hands clutched the back of yael’s head as if to keep her in place, brow knitting from the unexpected pleasure that surged through her body.  

emma had dreamed of this reunion for so long, she didn’t even realize how badly she’d been yearning for it until now. rather than tugging, her fingers slackened, carding through yael’s tresses. her top teeth scraped across her own bottom lip as she peered down into the same green eyes that often felt they could look directly through her soul. “oui. i just...” she pitched her hips forward, slowly grinding against the brunette’s hand for some friction, her voice still a soft murmur. “i never expected that i would miss you as much as i did.”

a low-throated moan escaped the moment pitch’s mouth was on the sensitive skin of her neck, and emma barely had to time to register what was happening before she was being lifted up out of the water and pitch’s lips were wrapped around her nipple. “w-wait... fuck.” she was ready to protest; the thought of getting caught both thrilling and terrifying once she was completely out of the water. but then pitch’s mouth (that devious fucking mouth) was trailing down the length of her body, and emma found herself relenting, both hands entangling in pitch’s hair as she tried her best to remember how to breathe.

a half-strangled cry echoed from the back of emma’s throat as the brunette plunged ruthlessly into her heat, knees instinctively tightening around pitch’s waist. “w-what if i do?” she whispered shakily, trying to calm her ragged breathing, fingers now fully entangled in pitch’s dark wet locks. “what if i’ve missed you so much and i need you that badly?”

the harsh bite of rock against emma’s back was a welcome distraction when accompanied by pitch’s body resting flush against her own; the weight of the very same taut muscle and supple breasts that occupied her daydreams pressing in against her. nevermind the clever fingers that set out to explore every hidden inch of her, resulting in a soft gasp. “i...” she closed her eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. “i want you, mon amour. i always want you.” and then, her voice lowering to a gentle whisper (contrasting with the experimental, semi-firm tug of pitch’s hair), she continued, “tease me. love me. fuck me. until i can’t take it anymore.”

as soon as one of emma’s hands were free, she raked it through the roots of pitch’s dark tresses, her own breathing shallow and stuttering as it escaped her rising chest. “god, yes,” emma murmured softly, resting her forehead against pitch’s. even in their intimate state, she needed to press in closer still. “i never stop thinking about it. about you. about your fingers. about your mouth. about your tongue.” she nipped at pitch’s bottom lip.