chidera

Vi’s eyes widen in exaggerated offense. She presses a hand to her chest and shakes her head, laughing without sound. You can’t help but smile.

“I deserve that,” she mouths slowly so you can read her lips. “But I promise I’ll get better.”

She points at your phone.

“May I?”

You nod and type your order. She reads it carefully, nods several times, and walks away, glancing back at you once more before turning around.

From that day on, Vi always serves you.

Sometimes with little notes.

Coffee with milk or black today?

With milk. Thanks.

Sometimes with her phone.

It’s quiet today.

Are you staying for a while?

She starts sitting with you when there are no customers. She rests her elbows on the table, watching you type as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“You talk fast,” she comments one day. “Well, you type fast.”

You shrug.

It’s easier than signing.

Vi nods. She watches you closely, like she’s trying to understand you beyond words.

The next day she approaches you nervously.

She sits across from you and places her phone on the table. On the screen, a paused video reads: “Sign Language — Basic Level.”

“I’ve been practicing,” she says, articulating gently.

She lifts her hands.

HELLO. YOU.

It’s not right. Not quite.

You laugh, covering your mouth.

“Hey,” she says, smiling. “Don’t laugh… okay, laugh. But help me.”

From then on, some afternoons are just that: Vi practicing signs with you, frowning, repeating them over and over.

“Like this?” she asks, moving her hands.

You shake your head.

“Like this?”

You shake your head again.

She sighs.

“I’m going to learn. I promise.”

And you believe her.

You start going out together.

Long walks where Vi speaks slowly so you can read her lips. Endless messages when you get home. Simple dates: coffee, takeout, sitting together without needing noise.

One night, after the café has closed, you’re alone at your usual table. The lights are low. Vi plays with a napkin, folding and unfolding it.

She looks at you.

“I want to tell you something,” she mouths.

She raises her hands. This time they don’t shake. Her movements are slow, deliberate.

CAN I…

She hesitates, but continues.

…KISS YOU?

Your chest tightens.

You smile and nod.

Vi leans in slowly, as if afraid of startling you. She stops a centimeter from your lips, searching your eyes one last time. When you lean toward her, the kiss happens.

It’s soft. Careful. Her lips are warm, slightly trembling. Vi doesn’t move right away, she waits, giving you space. When you respond, she exhales against your mouth and kisses you again, a little firmer, a little more confident.

There’s no rush. Just the way her hands rest carefully at your sides, as if you’re something fragile and precious at the same time. When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours, breathing deeply.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

And she says it in sign language too.

THANK YOU.

This time, perfectly.

And you know, without needing to hear anything, that Vi learned a whole new language just to find you.

And that she has no intention of leaving.

the tight grip you had on the crumpled bedsheets has long loosened, head rolled back on your pillow as slurred strings of her name tumble from your spit-slicked lips.

it's like your skull is stuffed with hot cotton, no room for any thoughts, let alone any attempts at a word that isn't her name. it's all you can think: her. how she looks on top of you, all sweat-glistening muscles and flushed skin; how she sounds each time her breath hitches and a drawn-out moan spills from her kiss-bitten lips; how she feels against you, hot and soaked and oh so heavenly.

"ffuucckkkk, just one more, i know you can take it, baby, one more," her words barely register in your brain, too caught up in the burning heat that is your nth orgasm coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap as soon as she tells you to.

her hips slap against yours as she speeds up, desperately rutting against your pussy. your legs twitch against her hold, trying to close as your clit thrums with overstimulation. abby pushes your thighs back open, and in turn maneuvers one of your legs to rest over her muscled shoulder. You're spread open like this, and the friction becomes all the more overwhelming with this new angle.

it's not long until your back arches off the sweaty mattress, eyes rolling into your skull as barely coherent pleas spill from your mouth. you don't know what you're pleading for, and there's no time to even think about it — not that you'd even know how to form a half decent thought right now — before bolts of electric pleasure shoot up your spine, sending thousands of stars flying across your blurry view of the bedroom ceiling.

your orgasm has you twitching and bucking against abby's soaked cunt, and you feel her shudder on top of you, bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she curses. she shifts, angling her hips so her slippery clit lines up with your pulsing hole.

when she thrusts forward, it's like your cunt is trying to pull her in, throbbing around her swollen nub with every erratic beat of your heart. when your vision comes back to you and your eyes focus on her, you can see every tremble that shakes through her muscular body. she's close, too. you can tell, even in your pleasure-drunken haze.

a few more grinds of her hips and she's coming — hard. nails digging into the skin of your thigh as a long, drawn out moan claws itself out of her throat. she's hot against you, pulsing and soaked where her clit still stays wrapped in your sobbing hole.

she pats your thigh gently when she guides it down to rest on the mattress, pushing herself off you with a small whine.

abby's sitting between your spread legs again, eyes glued to the messy sight that is your glistening cunt. you're barely awake by now, thouroughly fucked out of your body and floating somewhere in the humid air of your shared bedroom.

one of her fingers tugs at your inner thigh, just shy of your still pulsing hole, and your eyes blink open with a whine. it's so much, too much. you couldn't even guess how many times you had come and if you had the capacity to concentrate properly, you'd bet you'd pass out if your girlfriend decided she wanted to pull even one more orgasm from your overstimulated and tired body.

it seems like she doesn't plan on doing that, though. instead, she's cooing as her other thumb joins in in spreading your folds open, eyes sparking as she admires your sobbing pussy.

your core is a messy mix of both your and her juices, and your cunt is dripping with it. she's almost tempted to clean said mess up with her tongue and taste you, but the way you're leaking thick drops of silky cum has her too entranced to dare destroy the work of art she created between your thighs.

she's staring shamelessly, muttering soft compliments under her breath. she's not sure you're even listening, but she can't find it in herself to be bothered by that when she just discovered the prettiest sight she thinks her eyes will ever see.

her hand leaves your inner thigh, and in turn she runs a thick digit up your slit, gathering the mix of your juices and pushing them back into your slick gummy walls. your hips twitch, a high pitched whine filling the air as you clench around her finger.

she pulls back softly, kissing the inside of your knee before she crawls up the mattress, settling beside you and wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

"open up, baby," you obey instantly, mouth dropping open slightly as your glassy eyes trail over her face. you're adorable like this, properly tired out and all but melting in her arms. she gently pushes her finger into your mouth, wiping your cum on your tongue before pulling back with a grin.

she licks the remaining slick off her finger and leans down to kiss you, tongue licking into your mouth softly. "you taste like candy, so sweet," she mumbles, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple.