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Conversations led to observations. Whereas Owen was condescendingly sarcastic, you liked to be gentle with Abby. You never said a joke that made Abby feel bad about being a stronger woman; in fact, you told her you liked her physique. You asked about her workout routine, and you made her feel feminine. That was simply something Owen could not do. Owen was also a blind optimist. He turned away from issues in the pursuit of "ignorance is bliss." With you, it felt like you articulated your views in a way that made her question her own, even. You were clearly a thoughtful person, and you took time to educate yourself about human rights, something that should be the bare minimum but clearly Owen lacked education on. Abby could never talk to him about topics like feminist issues like she was able to with you. And lastly, a more physical observation, you made her realize that actually feeling pleasure during sex can make the sex 100 times more emotional.

You took her home with you the night you met. Abby told you about the break-up and how she was still processing it, and you didn't expect anything more from her than what she was comfortable giving. But fuck, the sex made her feel things. How was she ever supposed to feel this way with anyone else?

You had her laid on your bed, and you only kissed her for a little while. Even your kisses were like sugar, and Abby wanted so much more. Every moment of contact your lips made with hers reminded her of an artist's brushstroke onto a canvas, painting over it a masterpiece that simply cannot be undone.

Your fingers traced over her sides, heightening the pants she spills from her lips, and increasing a neediness deep within her that feels like pressure building up in a small space, needing to be let go. She was a little worried that you'd get her all worked up and not make her cum.

You noticed the way she retracted ever so slightly, and cupped her face. "Hey, what's wrong?" You asked so softly, patiently.

Abby swallowed, struggling to articulate her own feelings. She wasn't used to even speaking during sex. It never lasted long enough for her to be able to.

"We can stop if you want to." You offer, giving her a reassuring smile. Your thumb caressed her cheek, and it gave both a red warmth.

"No, it's not that-" she sighed, almost feeling annoyed with herself for making things awkward, "I just got really worked up, I guess. I've never..done this with another woman before, and men are probably different."

You nodded knowingly. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

Abby didn't know exactly what that entailed, but something in her had a pre-established trust for you, just knew that you'd stop if she needed you to. It made her want you even more.

After both of you had enough touchy-feely, Abby helped you pull her shirt and sports bra off. You admired each freckle-plastered inch of her body, from the peak of her nipples to her firm biceps. You took your time with her, and she loved it.

You used your hands first, your soft skin meeting hers. You trailed fingers over her arms, squeezing. Abby let out a soft sigh, and you took that as encouragement to lean in and plant adoration-filled kisses onto the muscle. "You're so pretty." The words were slightly muffled with your mouth on her skin, but she surely heard. It made her pulse beat faster.

You simply touched her for a while, at first warming her up and kissing her skin, mouth becoming steadily more explicit. When your mouth gently latched onto one of Abby's nipples, she couldn't keep herself from making a needy sound. Your tongue swirled over the pink bud, and Abby melted back into the bed.

Not longer after, you weren't surprised to find a pair of soaked panties worn by yours truly. Abby was laid out on your bed, legs parted for you. She was a little embarrassed that you had her so needy before even touching her.

"Fuck," is all she could manage when she felt a warm finger spread her folds open, sliding up to massage her clit.

"You like that, baby?"

"God, yes-" she breathlessly let out, trying not to completely lose it.

The way you touched her was much different from how Owen did. When he (rarely) used his fingers on her, it felt like he was trying to stab her vagina. He couldn't find a clit if it was bright red and glowing. You, however, both teased her and lavished attention on where her body knew it needed it. Your finger teased her hole before slightly stretching it, earning soft sounds from Abby.

You kissed over the firm muscles on her arms as you fucked her, careful to slip another finger into her and give her a good stretch. Abby was incoherent and so messy that her neediness was soaking your knuckles, trickling down your hand. You didn't complain or joke about it, even letting out sweet, approving hums onto her skin.

Your fingers didn't drill in and out of her like a screwdriver, much like Owen's, but rather plunging within her to press into her g-spot and curling upward. You kept your thumb on her clit, making sure she had that extra stimulation.

"Do you like it?" You asked, eyes peering up to meet hazy pair.

Abby eagerly nodded, not trusting herself to speak a sensical sentence. You smiled and carefully shifted to kiss her. This time, it wasn't as soft, rather sloppy but it was exactly what Abby needed. Everything you did made her head spin. You had her tongue between your lips, sucking on it and occasionally letting her invade your mouth and taste the sweetness of whatever was once there. Just the soft little nibbles you gave her bottom lip made her moan, a sound that would've been much louder if not swallowed by your mouth.

Best part was, you knew how to multi-task. The desperation she felt was slowly fed with the steady pace of your hand working on her pussy, and your lips made her feel what she didn't understand before: you made her realize that the physical part of sex, the part that she didn't quite like to explore with men, could be just as important as the romantic aspect.

You found a pace that Abby particularly liked, causing her to whine and tangle her fingers into the sheets.

"Fuck, right here. I'm gonna cum." She pleaded, as if so desperate to get to cum. She wanted it so badly, and it only made you more needy to give it to her.

"Yeah? You wanna cum all over my fingers for me?" You cooed, lips brushing against hers. Your short breath sent warmth onto her lips, and she wanted to always feel it. It sent heat throughout her.

"I wanna cum for you!!" Her moans were louder, but you didn't shush her. You instead leaned down to kiss her, fingers pumping into her pussy, thumb rubbing circles down onto her clit.

She felt the final seconds of chasing her orgasm, hips lifting to meet your hand, and she thanked a higher power that you weren't a man who was giving her sloppy thrusts that would never get her over the edge.

You made her feel like she was on cloud nine. She probably cried out your name a couple dozen times, grasped onto your face to kiss your lips just to feel that connection as you fucked her. She never expected to feel such emotion during an orgasm, never was she able to feel this way during masturbation or with guys. It was all because of you that her pussy was sloppy and leaking onto your sheets, making a mess.

When she came down, you let her catch her breath, soothing her with kisses on her shoulders and allowing your cheek to rest on her chest. You listened to her heartbeat, waiting for it to grow steady.

Abby felt content and safe with you, but something was still nagging her. You made her cum, but she hadn't made an effort to touch you yet. She didn't ever want to make you feel the way that Owen made her feel.

She hesitantly but gently tapped your upper back, and you sat up.

"Are you okay?" You asked with a moderate amount of concern present, wanting to make sure you didn't do anything wrong.

"Of course, but..I wanna touch you. If that's okay."

You nodded. "Have you ever touched a woman before? At all?"

Abby shook her head, cheeks a little red. She was a bit nervous, but her eagerness made up for it. You didn't seem hesitant in letting her touch you, and that made her feel more confident.

"I've honestly always wondered what it'd be like to like, go down on a girl." Abby admitted with a sheepish laugh.

You smiled and began to strip, your tank-top and bra leaving your body first. For the first time, Abby felt truly overwhelmed with seeing someone naked. You looked so soft and touchable, and she found herself wondering how you'd taste, feel, and sound like when she made you feel good. She hoped she could make you feel good.

You laid down next to where she was previously laying, and Abby situated herself in front of you. You parted your thighs, and she sworn she felt herself drooling from the sight of your glistening pussy, begging to be eaten like a savory meal.

Abby found it most comfortable to lay on her stomach, face between your legs. She wanted to make you feel appreciated (and she loved your thighs), so she planted kisses along your thighs, frequently peeking up to make sure you were comfortable. When her mouth was near your pussy, she paused.

"Can you guide me? Sorry, I know it's awkward as hell, but I have no clue how to do this and I want to make it nice for you." She could hear the shakiness in her own voice, making her slightly cringe.

Abby felt one of your hands stroke through her hair, fingers carding through the blonde. "Just do what you think would feel good, you know? You're a woman, so try to imagine it on you. I'll tell you what feels good and what doesn't." Abby let herself imagine it for a moment and nodded, knowing that the best way to learn is to just practice and listen to your moans and what you tell her you don't want.

She gave herself a second to calm her nerves, and gave an experimental lick to your clit. You made a soft sound, encouraging more.

As Abby worked, she knew she wasn't physically skilled at this, at least not yet. However, she was enthusiastic about it. She tried to make up for the lack of experience as best she could. Thankfully, you also tugged her head closer and ground your pussy against her mouth, making it easier for you to feel pleasure while she figured out what worked well for you. You seemed to like when she slipped her tongue into you and worked at your clit with her nose, your moans less steady and increasingly broken as she tasted your gummy walls.

She found that to get you to your orgasm, it took much longer than it took Owen. She enjoyed that more than she'd expected to, savoring being able to just taste you. She craved feeling the way your hips stuttered when she gave your clit a firm lick, or hear you cry out when you finally got close to an orgasm.

Abby initially didn't know whether to speed up or continue, but the rhythm of your hips helped guide her until she finally had you cumming on her tongue. You were pretty with your eyes half-lidded and brows knit tightly together, thighs pressing against her face, it made her want to just take a mental snapshot of this moment and keep it with her forever. She didn't know what she loved more, the process of eating pussy or the aftermath.

When you were stable again, Abby moved to mimic your previous action, letting her ear press against your heartbeat. You had to stifle a giggle at how cute it was, but you were probably too out of breath to even get a steady laugh out. She didn't leave sexual, sloppy kisses onto your tits, but rather gentle, loving pecks.

Abby didn't know when exactly she fell asleep, but she woke up with her chest pressed against your back, cuddling you tightly against her. It was probably early in the morning, and her body was still a bit sore, but she smiled and planted a kiss onto the back of your neck, holding your bare form close to hers as she drifted back into a peaceful sleep.

A peaceful winter night. Cold is the air, and warm are her hands pressed on your forearms. Moving you into place, your hip meeting the pool table.

The annual ski trip with friends has taken a private turn today, with you and Ellie left behind at the lodge all night. The rest of your group had been wanting to spend New Year's Eve at the bar, but you couldn't think of any worse way to spend the night. With them out of the way for a long few hours, Ellie found purpose in the time alone with you.

Teaching you how to play pool, of course! The table in this Air BnB has remained unused by your entourage in the many trips you've taken—it's left Ellie dying to show off her prowess. Joel taught her well.

She grabs a cue and positions herself behind you. The table isn't yet set up for a proper game, only a few balls ready for the basics to be taught. She briefly explained the rules, but certainly isn't sure you took it all in.

"Alright, you want the long explanation, or do you just want me to show you how to fuck shit up?" She asks, her grin evident in voice. You can't see her but somehow you can picture the look she's wearing; dimpled smirk, eyes laser focused on your side profile.

"Hm," you scoff, "well, obviously I need to know the basics first. Then you can start adding in all the crazy tricks after."

"'Kay, gimme your dominant hand," Ellie says, already reaching for your hand. "You wanna hold the stick with this hand, and rest the narrow end on your other hand."

You stand there and do absolutely nothing. She manoeuvres you like a puppet, guiding your hands into the correct position. The end of the cue touches your index finger, and is pointed straight ahead where the cue ball lies.

"This hand never moves." Ellie's fingers tap your non-dominant hand as she speaks, "you can use it to aim and that's it. Try."

"Uh-huh," you murmur, leaning down lower. You keep your eyes on the white ball and the blue one behind it. You drive the cue forward and it hits the ball softly, yet it doesn't move far.

"Bit more force," Ellie whispers, and her hand moves over yours already. She guides you through a few practise strokes before letting you line up another shot. "You just have to look at the location of the balls to figure out how weak your shot needs to be, you know?"

"Sorry not everyone's an expert at the lamest games imaginable," you mutter, but she takes your jest in stride only for the way you laughed.

It is true, to be fair—she is a ridiculous tryhard.

"S'okay, don't worry," Ellie says. Her voice is soft as silk right now, tone light and reassuring. "You're just practising. Still learning."

It is admittedly hard to focus on your aim when you can feel her softly breathing against your neck. Ellie being so close, it takes your mind back to the times in the past when she's breathed into your neck, her chest flush with your back.

Normal friends don't do that shit.

Normal friends don't think about each other this way. Friends can usually interact with each other without being reminded of the nights they've shared in bed together. This entire situation you're stuck in takes the wind out of your lungs, aches when you dwell on it too long, and yet like an addict, you can't bring yourself to put an end to it.

Albeit distractedly, you take a shot. It's firm, and sends a couple balls rolling.

"Good girl."

Right here is your reason to never walk away from Ellie.

Her voice.

Sweet talking woven into a low, raspy drawl. Praises and compliments that warm your stomach. Blood rushing everywhere—the heat filling not only your face, but your panties.

And it seems she hasn't got a clue. Shouldn't she have caught on by now? One would think she does it on purpose, but Ellie's far from calculated when it comes to flirting.

"This was much better." She's firm, now squeezing your waist as she murmurs close to your ear. "Few more practise shots, yeah?"

"Yeah," you repeat, focusing your mind—or attempting to do so—back towards the task at hand.

A few more practise shots manage to raise your confidence, and Ellie affirms each shot by patting your hip and whispering whatever encouragement she happens to find.

With your confidence growing, tension grows alongside it. Each praise throws out your balance a little, gives your heart a stutter, and flushes warmth and wetness into your panties. It's pathetic, you can't help but think. Can't even hang out with her anymore without this sort of thing happening.

Ellie is less than innocent here. She has paid far more attention than you thought, intention behind every word and every touch provided to you. She couldn't help herself.

"See, I think you might already be almost as good as me. Almost." Ellie chuckles, moving towards the table. She takes the triangle to set up a game, and flicks her gaze up. "You ready for a real game now? I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't wanna make you cry losing your first game."

"Oh, wow, I'm so intimidated," you retort, void of enthusiasm. Cocky girl, she is. But you won't let her stroke her ego tonight, you're desperate to have the upper hand. "I actually thought we could play a different version of the game. My version."

Ellie laughs. Laughs, because she hasn't got a clue what's coming for her. "So you're already trying to cheat?"

"No, this is my new game and you're gonna play with me. It's where we abandon every single rule... and every ball that you sink equals a layer of my outfit coming off. Doesn't that sound more fun?"

"What?"

"Do you need me to go over the rules again?" You ask. And Ellie is seconds away from trying to kiss that wry grin off your face.

"You are a pain in my ass." And yet, she snatches the cue from you. "So, what happens if I sink the eight ball right away? Lap dance?"

"Yeah, that's not happening," you mutter. "Just play the game."

Ellie laughs softly, shaking her head. "Alright, jesus. Pushy."

From beneath her full lashes, adventurous thyme greens glare up at you. They track your movement, watching you take a seat on the bar stool beside the table. Her eyes return to the white ball, beginning to line up the first shot.

And once it's taken, she stands, and looks up at you expectedly.

"What?" You ask. "Don't— be serious, there's no fucking way you sunk one already."

"Heighten your expectations, babe," Ellie chimes, "now, am I allowed to pick what comes off first?"

"N— seriously? I hate you so much."

"Just take your top off already, please."

Well, this game may end up shorter than you'd anticipated. She's made of excellent aim.

Deliberately void of haste, you pull your top up and over your head. Ellie stifles a snort, her mind likening it to unwrapping a present. You're left in a black bra and jeans, eyes rolling before landing back on Ellie.

The girl scoffs, shaking her head before surveying the pool table and planning another move. Perhaps this will backfire on you after all, because Ellie targets the balls nearest to the pockets. She's getting this over and done with in a pinch.

Soon you're in just your underwear, the next garment to come off being your bra, and you're watching her carefully. A blue ball sinks and you tut, voice growing whiny.

"This isn't fair, you're rushing this. I pass this round."

"You think you get to pass? That wasn't one of the rules you declared when we started this game of yours," Ellie reminds, approaching you with narrowed eyes. "I'm playing fair according to your rules."

You groan and tip your head back with utmost annoyance until a warm hand cups your cheek and directs you back to her—and her free hand is fumbling with the clip of your bra.

"You've got to take the shit off."

She finally manages to undo it and the lacy lingerie slips down your shoulders, bestowing upon her the sight of your chest. Cool air slips in through the open window, and not even the lodge's heater can help you. Goosebumps rise and your nipples grow firm at the chill.

"That's better," Ellie whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone gently. "One more shot."

Pushing past how exposed you suddenly are, you watch Ellie line up another shot. You're hardly able to pay attention with the growing heat between your thighs, yet she's aiming straight for the eight ball this time. It's loaded with cockiness, and overridden by dorky commentation.

"She shoots..." Ellie knocks a green ball with her cue. It hits the eight ball and it rolls agonisingly slowly across the table, finally falling into the pocket. "Aaaaand she scores."

"You're so immature," you mutter, standing up finally. Ellie's unbothered as always, an arm swiftly moving around your waist as she places her cue down.

"Better get those panties off," she says, tone making it sound like a suggestion, though it's certainly a demand. "I won fair and square! Let me have my prize."

Your fingers hook into the sides of your panties, sliding them down your legs before stepping out of them. Baring yourself for your friend, it's such a strange feeling. It can be conflicting, but turns euphoric as soon as her eyes drag over your form.

"Good girl," Ellie murmurs. "Ain't you pretty like that? C'mere."

Kisses peppered along your jaw lead to your lips, your body resting against the side of the table. You're bordering on sitting on it, Ellie's hands moving with a mind of their own to spread your thighs.

A messy exchange of spit and clashing teeth is interrupted with you throwing your head back. She's pretty much lathering her fingers with the glistening essence of your pussy, stroking them up and down.

"So wet," Ellie whispers, softly laughing against the nape of your neck. She presses a kiss to the waiting skin there, fingers finding their way to your hole. She slips them in slowly, listening to the strained moan it elicits.

She almost wants to moan herself at the way you clench on her fingers, the feeling warm, wet, and tight. She curls her fingers, thumb brushing over your clit and she has to chuckle at your keen and whimper. "That good, huh?"

"Fuck," your tender whisper is swallowed by her lips, kissing, biting, licking into your mouth. Your trembling knees threaten to give out but Ellie hooks your leg over her hip, pushing you against the table even firmer.

"I got you," she mumbles, attention focused between your legs where a white ring is forming around her knuckles. "God, you're a work of art like this. Take it so well, don'tcha?"

"Mhm." Your desperate coos don't go unnoticed, the pretty sounds of you getting closer and closer to the edge spurring her on.

"Hold on, okay?" Ellie smiles, and that gorgeous grin would seem so innocent in any other circumstance, but she moves to her knees, flushed face staring up at you. She keeps your leg over her shoulder and hums appreciatively as your hand threads into her hair—she will be the death of you.

Her fingers continue plowing into you, erotic squelching sounds forming as she moves her hand, and your legs buckle once her tongue slides over your clit.

"Hhn, Els, shit. I'm close," you whine, hand tangling into her hair while the other squeezes and squishes your tits unconsciously. "Please, please, just like that."

Ellie holds that eye contact, not wavering for even a second. Her tongue laves over your clit, she sucks the engorged bud between her lips and your entire body jolts, a pitchy moan eliciting from your lips as an orgasm hits you.

And she slurps up every drop, from your clit to the juices leaking down her wrist.

"Atta fuckin' girl."

Ellie rises to her feet with a hand neatening up her tousled hair, licking her lips clean as she glances at the clock.