#bechole

Red rope coiled on the bedspread, beside a gold tray full of toys as candles burned down around them.

Bebe was in her element, wearing a little slip that looked more expensive than Nichole’s entire skincare routine. Her golden curls were left wild just to show she didn’t care about neatness when she was winning.

She didn’t posture. She didn’t monologue. She just watched Nichole’s face as she looped the rope, fingers precise.

“Are you nervous, or just mad you can’t solve me?” Bebe said, low and deep.

Nichole could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second, “Are you going to do the whole shibari tutorial on me right now, or is this improv?”

“I’m not a try-hard, Nichole. I only do as much as you can handle,” Bebe’s mouth grazed her temple.

Her nails scraped a gentle trail from Nichole’s wrist up to her elbow.

The rope wove in and out, wrist to wrist, behind her back, over her thighs, crosshatched and deliberate.

Bebe’s focus never wavered. When she was done, she made a soft, satisfied sound.

She reached for the slim gold tray.

Nichole felt her pulse surge when Bebe selected the bullet vibe.

Her pale thumb ran over the button, “You trust me, right?”

“I trust you more than literally anyone,” Nichole exhaled.

It was true. She’d trusted Bebe with her worst secrets, her last ugly cry, and even her cringiest high school feelings.

This was just one more thing to hand over.

Bebe knelt between her knees, rope taut over Nichole’s skin, a red lattice that was both armor and invitation.

She cupped the back of Nichole’s thigh, “If you want me to slow down, say so. I don’t need you pretending for me,”

Nichole shook her head, “Don’t,”

Bebe’s laugh was genuine and delighted.

The bullet buzzed to life before she pressed it between Nichole’s thighs, over the thin lace of her panties.

It wasn’t enough to make her squirm but enough to tease her into madness.

The rope flexed with every twitch, every accidental arch of Nichole’s hips.

Bebe pressed her free hand to Nichole’s chest, pinning her. “Hold still for me, beautiful,”

She did.

She held her breath, back arched, wrists trembling in the silk, mind spinning with the twin onslaught of pleasure and embarrassment.

She wanted to crack a joke. She wanted to drag Bebe back down with her, but every nerve was on fire and her tongue was caught on her teeth.

She could only whimper as Bebe leaned down, kissing the corner of her mouth.

The only things that existed to Nichole where the rope, Bebe’s perfume and the buzzing on her clit.

Pleasure rushed up her body like she’d been waiting just for this.

She bit her lip, thighs shaking, every muscle singing and tightening.

When she finally broke, it was silent, almost holy.

Bebe kissed her again, deeper, softer, lips sticky with red lipstick.

“That’s my girl,” she whispered as her hand slid into Nichole’s hair, “Let me see you,”

Nichole’s head was fuzzy and her skin was feverish as she smiled up at her, “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”