#heretical posts

Paige had always thought that nail salons smelled like possibility. That faint chemical sweetness, acetone softened by warm air and dissolving into lavender diffuser mist, always reminded her of reinvention, of agency born in glitter and gloss. She sat perched on the high leather chair like a saint in some lacquered cathedral, ankles crossed, shoulders slouched in calculated ease, glossy hair tumbled over one shoulder. The salon’s lighting kissed her skin in honey-gold tones, and she basked in it, chin tilted up as if the sunlight were made just for her.

Sillexa stood over her like an amused god.

“So,” she drawled, holding Paige’s hand up to the light, wrist angled, face puckered in appraisal, “you’ve decided to abandon practicality entirely. Again.”

Paige’s mouth quirked. Her smile always began like a secret, curled in one corner before spreading across her whole face. “I’ve decided to be pretty,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.” 

Sillexa clicked her tongue, a sound sharp as a bead striking glass. Her own nails were chrome silver and shorter, precise little blades. “There’s stunning, and then there’s suicidal.” She tapped Paige’s shaped fingertip.

“They're elegant,” Paige huffed, fluttering her lashes like wings refusing to fold.

Silexa sniffed. “Mm-hmm. That's one word.”

Paige rolled her eyes so hard her head tipped slightly with it, like gravity itself had been inconvenienced. “You're so dramatic.”

“I'm dramatic?” Sillexa flicked open a case of rhinestones. “You're here asking for talons. I should be charging hazard pay.”

That struck a little nerve in the blonde. Pouting, not intensely, just a little curve of her bottom lip that made her look like a spoiled cat denied cream. “They're not talons. They're pretty.”

Silexa angles the first nail, painting one precise stroke of deep, bloodied red. “Right. And what brought on the sudden desire to have ten-inch-long razors attached to your body?”

“You know,” Sillexa said, dipping into professional detachment, “you’ve been doing shorter nails for months. Ever since you and Bones decided to be official-official. I thought that was you being responsible.”

“They're not ten inches,” Paige muttered, though she sat straighter, toes pointing like a ballet warm-up. “And I just felt like being stunning.”

“Uh-huh.” Sillexa reached for her brush again, sliding a thin strip of red gel across the nail bed with surgical precision. It gleamed like split pomegranate seeds, or the satin lining of a dress that could only be worn for trouble. “And does Bones know her girlfriend is regressing into celibacy nails?” 

“Bones doesn't need to know every detail,” Paige said, far too quickly.

“There it is,” Sillexa sang softly.

Paige groaned, dramatic but delicate. “Oh my god, you're being so annoying.”

Sillexa’s face softened. Just a flicker, a shifting of clouds revealing an honest sky. “You're my friend. I'm allowed to ask questions.” Then, as if casually, Sillexa continued, lowering her voice as she began applying a tiny rhinestone at the nail’s apex. “Did you two fight?”

“We didn't fight,” Paige snapped, then immediately softened. “It wasn't even real. It was dumb. She was being… rigid.”

“Mhm.”

“And I was being normal.”

“Mhm.” 

“And she walked off mid-sentence, and it was rude.”

Sillexa pressed her lips together, smug. “So what you're saying is… punishment nails.”

“They are not punishment nails,” Paige insisted, crossing her arms, though Sillexa held one hostage. “They're… indulgent.”

Sillexa grinned, all teeth and quiet amusement. “Indulgent punishment nails.” 

Paige sighed, loud and saintly, head falling back so her hair cascaded like spun gold. “You're exhausting.”

“You go impractical when you want attention.”

Paige blinked once, slow and feline. “Shut up.”

“For me or for Bones?”

Paige watched the tiny stone catch the light, refracting it, making her fingertip look like royalty. “Shut up,” she yapped again, a pink tint flooding her face.

“God, it's been months since you asked for something this ridiculous. It's quite refreshing.”

Paige continued to stare at the tiny rhinestone silica that hovered above her nail, voice dropping to something soft and self-convinced. “Yeah. Like… before bones? When I was still fun.”

“You're still fun,” Sillexa corrected, half-teasing, half-serious. “Just practical-fun. Milk buying, apartment sharing fun.”

Paige wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

Sillexa laughed. “That's life, baby.”

“Well, I don't want life,” Paigee announced, shoulders squaring, chin lifting. “I want glamour. I want impractical. I want things that have whimsy and make no sense.”

Sillexa paused, placing a stone centred perfectly, like a drop of molten ruby. “You want attention, that's what you want.” 

Paige’s eyes widened, lashes trembling. “I do not-”

“Paige.” 

Then a beat. Paige deflated like a princess losing her fanfare. “Fine. I want attention.”

“From bones?”

A pause, fragile. “...yes, from bones,” Paige muttered, eyes rolling like clockwork.

“And from whoever else sees you dramatically failing to open doors.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “I do not fail at doors.”

“You do when your nails are this long.” 

Sillexa placed another stone, and Paige stared at it, mesmerised like a child in a toy store. “They're so pretty though,” she pouted.

“They are. I'm amazing at my job, I know.”

Paige's face finally softened into something warm, almost shy. “She’ll like them really,” the blonde whispered. Not to Sillexaaa exactly, but to the air. “She always used to pretend she hated them.”

“And then would stare at your hands like she was planning how exactly to pounce on you,” Sillexa said lightly.

“That's it exactly!” Paige lit up, eyes bright, possessive, adoring. “She tries to be all irritated, but her face does that thing.”

The brunette nodded like she was an academic scholar specialising in foolish saphics. “Oh yes. The longing, horny, disapproval face.”

Paige retorted with a giggle, soft, girlish, a little wicked, I love that fucking face.”

“And you're getting nails that make it happen faster,” Sillexa said. “Scientific method.”

Paige preened. The salon hum filled the pause, UV lamps clicking softly; an espresso machine hissing behind the counter; faint pop music thrumming like a distant heartbeat. Paige stared out the window, watching a woman walk by carrying flowers wrapped in brown paper, her hair whirling behind her like a comet’s tail. Paige wondered briefly if Bones would come home tonight with something like that, with flowers, or takeout, or simply that hushed expression she wore when she wanted to apologize without ever saying the word.

Sillexa applied the topcoat and slid her lamp over Paige’s delicate fingers. “There,” she said, “your little crisis has been immortalised.”

“It's not a crisis,” Paige corrected, lifting her chin again. Sillexa smirked.

“No, it's a plea for attention.”

“Shut up.”

Paige stared at her nails, at her reflection in the glossy surface, at the tiny glittering stones catching firelight. She imagined Bones' face. The faint tension at her brow. The look she got when she was conflicted between irritation and desire, between scolding and worshipping. Bones would sigh in that slow, measured way, like the exhale of someone who wanted to throw Paige over her shoulder and also lecture her about practicality. Paige would lift her hands, palms facing outward, and say something teasing, something light. But beneath it would be sincerity. That's quiet, I need you.

And Sillexa, pretending not to notice the softness in Paige’s expression, simply clicked her tongue one last time, 

“You're absolutely getting mocked for these in the group chat.”

“And admired,” Paige said. 

“Maybe eventually,” but Paige was already smiling, catlike, radiant, triumphant. 

Bones wasn’t someone who glowed easily. Her beauty was more moonlit than sunlit. Something cool, restrained, soft only when you looked long enough. But tonight she glowed. Her body still buzzed with the post-workout hum, oxygen still expanding behind ribs, muscles singing that sore-satisfied hymn. She lounged on the sectional, sock-less feet tucked beneath her, hair in a loose knot at the back of her head, damp from a quick rinse. The living room smelled faintly of lemon dish soap and the eucalyptus-mint candle she’d lit on instinct rather than intention.

And, traitorously soft, on the coffee table sat flowers. Wrapped in crinkled paper. Purple baby’s breath, pale yellow roses, eucalyptus stems like silver coins. As she had rehearsed, she tended and then casually abandoned it in the center of the room.

She had also bought ingredients that were not on the grocery spreadsheet: fresh basil, cherry tomatoes still on their vines, and burrata soft as clouds. A domestic impulse disguised as improvisation.

The front door unlocked, and Paige entered like light. Her presence always moved forward before her body did, the scent of her hair, that little tinkling sound of her keys, the quick exhale of someone who had important news and knew it. Bones didn’t turn around immediately; she waited, like a ritual.

Then. “Why do you smell like—gym and basil?” Paige asked, dropping her bag in a dramatic thump.

Bones finally looked up. Paige was radiant. The golden-hour kind of radiant, the kind that made Bones’ stomach shift sideways in uninvited affection. Paige’s hair was still glossy from the salon, cheeks bright with residual flattery. She looked like someone who had just been thoroughly admired.

“Because I went to the gym,” Bones said, deadpan, “and then I bought basil.”

Paige stared at her like that explanation was insufficient at every possible emotional level. “You watch a cooking video?”

“Maybe,” Bones muttered, eyes drifting away, not shy exactly, but unwilling to be caught wanting domesticity.

Paige padded over, rolling her shoulders back in that lithe feline way she had, like every joint was velvet. She leaned down and kissed the top of Bones’s head, lingering an unnecessary second. “You smell pretty,” Paige said softly.

“And you smell like money,” Bones replied, which was, objectively, true.

Paige smiled. Not smug, not performative, simply pleased with herself.

“Bought you flowers.” Bones gestured. It was subtle. Urgent, if one listened closely.

Paige looked at them and did a tiny gasp. Not theatrical. She genuinely gasped. “Ohhh, they’re so—oh Bones.” Her voice dropped into something tender, edges dissolving.

Bones shrugged, face neutral but flushing faintly across her cheekbones. “I liked the little yellow ones.”

“They’re perfect,” Paige murmured, fingers hovering above them like she didn’t want to bruise a petal.

Bones watched her, soft around the eyes, until Paige shifted her weight, and something glinted. Red. Bright red. Too sharp. Too reflective. Bones’ breath clipped. “…show me your hands.”

Paige froze, all innocence and guilt wrapped in silk. “I—no—look at the flowers again—”

“Paige.” Her name, spoken with that low firmness Bones carried when she was already disappointed. Paige exhaled in that slow feline sigh, shoulders lifting, lips pursed. Then, very reluctantly, she lifted her hands.

The nails caught the light. Ruby lacquer. Dangerously pointed. Tiny stones glittering like ritual offerings. Bones stared. It was not admiration. It was not even irritation. It was pure, quiet disbelief.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“They’re pretty!” Paige protested, the whine tucked beneath a delicate pout. “They’re gorgeous. Sillexa did tiny rhinestones—look—they sparkle.”

“I see them sparkling,” Bones replied bleakly. “I also see the complete cessation of sexual activity for the foreseeable future.”

Paige scoffed, offended. “Just because you’re dramatic—”

“I’m realistic.”

Paige lifted her hand, slowly, like presenting relics. “They’re not even that long—”

“They’re medieval weapons.”

“They’re elegant!”

“They’re knives.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You’re being mean.”

Bones pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want my insides turned into julienne strips, Paige.”

“As I would ever—” Paige gasped, deeply, dramatically. “I have finesse.”

“You stabbed me once, turning off the lamp.”

“That was accidental!”

“You punctured my neck.”

“Barely!”

Bones stared at her like she was reading autopsy results. Then exhaled.

“This is punishment behavior.”

Paige blinked, too innocent. “No, it isn’t.”

“You got long nails because you’re mad you lost that argument on Tuesday.”

“I didn’t lose,” Paige said through forced sweetness. “I pivoted.”

“You sulked in the hallway and slammed the bathroom cabinet.”

“It was already slightly open.” She crossed her arms. “And I didn’t sulk. I just relocated emotionally.”

Bones laughed, low, unwilling. And it softened everything. Paige’s face brightened. “See? You like them a little.”

“No,” Bones said immediately. “I don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’ve taken certain activities completely off the table.”

Paige hummed, leaning against the couch armrest, eyes fluttering down with shameless sweetness. She lifted one finger, dangerous and gleaming, and traced a slow circle in the air.

“I still have a mouth.” Bones did not blink. “And other things,” Paige sing-songed.

Bones’ response was a quiet, simmering smile. “That’s charming. And noted.”

Paige preened.

“But,” Bones added, voice dropping like velvet-lined threat, “you made a choice. And I’ll make mine.”

Paige shivered, barely perceptible, just a pulse beneath her collarbone. Then Bones stood, walked past her, and brushed her shoulder lightly. Not soft. Claiming.

“I’m making dinner,” Bones said. “You can watch. Beautifully. From a safe distance.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “I’m being banished?”

“Yes.”

“For being stunning?”

“For endangering me.”

Paige stomped once, lightly, like a decorative tantrum. Bones did not turn around. “Punishment,” she called back.

Paige sighed, but followed anyway, lithe steps, goddess-like sulking, nails sparkling like offenses. And beneath her sigh, beneath her bratty muttering, beneath all her grumbles, she glowed.

Paige did not listen. Not entirely, not convincingly, not in any way Bones would consider “safe distance.” She perched only long enough to make a spectacle of it.

At first, she settled atop the kitchen island like a decorative deity placed for worship, ankles crossed, fingers splayed behind her so that her spine arched just enough to be seen. A slow, feline stretch curled through her shoulders, her posture an entire essay on languid superiority. The overhead light caught on her nails, small constellations catching motion.

Bones, determined, pretended to be unaffected.

The kitchen glowed warm, late sunlight pooling in streaks of amber across countertops still cool from morning. Bones unpacked groceries with a methodical rhythm, bags crinkling, jars clinking, the faint sound of produce shifting like miniature applause. The room smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the flowers Bones had set down earlier, and the ghost of gym sweat still clung to her, salted into her shirt, dampened into her collarbones. Not unclean, earned.

“So,” Bones started, conversational like a trap disguised as velvet, “I hit a personal record on overhead press today.”

Paige hummed, lashes lowering in admiration that was both genuine and distractingly suggestive. “Of course you did. All power, all sinew, all victory. I can practically smell accomplishment.”

“You’re smelling exertion,” Bones corrected, though a smile tugged her lip.

Paige tilted her head. “Delicious.”

Bones swallowed in the audible way people do when denying themselves something.

For several minutes, they pretended it was normal, Bones chopping onions, heat blooming from the stove, the soft hiss of olive oil warming. Paige just sat there like a living painting, legs swinging occasionally, gaze following every move Bones made with feline concentration. The apartment was quiet, save for kitchen sounds and Paige’s little sighs of dramatized exile.

Then Paige got bored.

It was microscopic at first, a tiny toe-pointed shift, a slight fidget of her shoulders, the beginnings of a sigh that was too long to be accidental. Then she slid off the counter with impossible elegance, toes silent on the tile. She slinked behind Bones, like mist deciding to take form, and wrapped her arms loosely around her waist.

“You’re cooking,” Paige breathed against her shoulder blade, soft as powdered sugar, “I’m admiring the view.”

Bones’ inhale was sharp. Controlled. Painfully. “Safe distance,” she reminded.

Paige kissed the back of her shoulder as if sealing a love letter. “This is safe.”

“It is not.”

Another kiss, higher this time, near the neck, not fully landing, just brushing warmth like a promise. “You always smell so warm after the gym,” Paige murmured, and her fingers traced the hemline of Bones’ shirt, featherlight.

“Paige.” Bones’ voice was steel disguised in satin.

Paige smiled against her skin. “Mm?”

“Off.”

Paige peeled away, slow, deliberate, theatrical, as though physically wounded. She retreated three whole steps. And then two seconds later, he returned.

She leaned down, pressed her temple against Bones’ back, just resting, body soft and pliant. “You’re being unfair. I am fragile. Emotionally. I am but a wounded swan.”

Bones shut off the burner. “No,” she said, turning and taking Paige by the shoulders. “You’re a brat.”

Paige blinked, offended, delighted.

“A glamorous angel.”

“That doesn’t soften the risk.”

Paige traced a finger just beneath Bones’ jaw, slow enough to be sin, casual enough to be deniable. “The claws add mystery.”

“They add NHS visits.”

Paige sighed, long and soulfully tragic, like she was draped across a chaise that did not exist. Bones peeled her off again, hands careful, decisive, and Paige stumbled backward with exaggerated fragility. Then she just stood there, pouting like opera.

Silence stretched. Then she moved forward. Again. Slowly. Like a cat approaching something breakable but necessary. Another kiss, this time to Bones’ forearm. Then wrist. Then the crook of her elbow. Bones’ jaw clenched so hard her molars likely saw stars.

“You are doing this on purpose,” Bones murmured.

“You’re so unsteady when you want things,” Paige whispered. “It’s enchanting.”

Bones stepped back. Paige followed. Bones stepped again. Paige followed. It became choreography, push, return, retreat, pursuit.

“You’re making dinner impossible,” Bones said.

“I’m inspiring it,” Paige countered.

“You’ll hurt me.”

“I have restraint.”

“No, you have decorations attached to your hands.”

Paige held her hands up, nails glittering like weapons disguised as confectionery. “Art.”

“Hazard.”

Paige huffed. “Fine. Then I shall stand. Over here. Silent.” She relocated to exactly four feet away.

Bones resumed chopping. Paige lasted seven seconds. Then a fingertip dragged across the back of Bones’ arm, featherlight, insolent. Bones grimaced like someone resisting divine temptation. “You want attention,” Bones said.

“I want affection,” Paige corrected, tone softening just enough to be real.

“And you’ll wait for it.”

“No.” A whisper. A pout.

Bones turned, fully this time, expression sharpened by restraint. “Paige. My self-control is not something to test like an alarm system.”

Paige blinked up at her, lashes sweet, shoulders soft, expression full of feline sorrow. “I wasn’t testing it. I know it works. Beautifully. I was just… touching.”

Bones exhaled, and something unclenched, not softened, not surrendered. Just acknowledgment. She brushed Paige’s cheek once, thumb along the edge of her jaw, gentle but outlining consequence.

“Then you can exist touching adjacent surfaces,” Bones murmured.

Paige brightened instantly. “Like leaning?”

“Like leaning.”

Paige leaned against the counter next to her. Not touching. But glowing with victory anyway. And Bones continued making dinner, pretending she was unaffected, pretending restraint was effortless, while Paige stood there like temptation wearing perfume. Nails glittering. Mouth smirking. Patience was a costume she didn’t quite know how to fasten. Bones looked at her again, really looked at her, bathed in salon glow, posture indulgent, hair falling like a spill of gold silk. And her jaw clenched. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t like them. But I like how smug you are about them.”

“Oh,” Paige grinned. “Good.”

“But,” Bones continued, “there will be consequences.”

Paige gasped with delighted outrage. “I haven’t done anything wrong—”

Bones resumed stirring the pan, acting as though discipline were effortless, as though Paige’s existence didn’t pull gravity toward itself. It lasted roughly three seconds.

Paige shifted closer, not touching, still technically compliant, but her presence soaked through the air. Perfume sweetening the heat of sautéed onions, soft humming under her breath, that performative patience she wore like a garment made of mesh. Bones tried not to look. Truly tried.

Then Paige exhaled, slow and feline. “Are you sulking?” she asked lightly.

Bones did not answer. Which was, of course, an answer. Paige smirked. A small, victorious tilt. A goddess who knew she was worshipped even when punished. Bones set the spatula down with controlled precision. “Stop performing innocence.”

Paige blinked, wide-eyed, luminous, wholly unconvincing. “I’m not performing anything,” she murmured. “I’m just existing beautifully.”

That did it. Bones turned fully, hands lifting, framing Paige’s shoulders with intentional careless restraint, more containment. Her touch steadied Paige, anchored her posture into place. Paige’s lashes fluttered once, delighted.

Bones exhaled, long and quiet, tension sliding from her jaw but not from her certainty. She brushed a thumb along Paige’s cheekbone, gentle, defining, drawing consequences into the shape of touch.

“Then exist beautifully without invading my peace.”

Paige pouted artfully, lip gloss catching the light.

“I’m barely invading.”

“A lie,” Bones replied smoothly.

Bones' fingers tightened on Paige's shoulders, her brown eyes narrowing with that familiar mix of exasperation and hunger. The kitchen air hung thick, laced with the faint scent of onions and olive oil, the burner still ticking softly as it cooled. Paige's green eyes sparkled with mischief, her long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder like a golden waterfall, but Bones wasn't buying the innocence.

"Enchanting," Bones echoed the word from earlier, voice a low drawl, dripping with condescension. She slid one hand up to cup Paige's jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt her head back. "Is that what you think this is? Some little game where you poke and prod until I snap?"

Paige's radiant smile widened, a giggle bubbling up from her chest, light and teasing as she leaned into the touch. Her tanned skin flushed faintly under Bones' gaze, body arching just a fraction closer. "Maybe," she murmured, voice playful, nails long, glamorous, and dangerously sharp, trailing lightly down Bones' arm. "You're so pretty when you're unsteady. Like a fawn on ice."

That did it. Bones' free hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Paige's shirt at the waistband of her shorts, yanking her forward until their bodies collided. Paige's giggle cut off into a surprised yelp, her hands flying up to Bones' shoulders for balance. In one fluid motion, Bones spun her around, shoving her hips against the kitchen counter. The edge bit into Paige's skin through the thin fabric, and a nearby bowl of fruit wobbled precariously.

"Brat," Bones hissed, her breath hot against Paige's ear. Her hand came down hard on Paige's ass, the slap echoing sharply in the small space. No warm-up, no warning, just the sting of palm meeting flesh, right over the curve of her cheek.

Paige's body jolted, her giggle dissolving into a whine that was equal parts shock and delight. "Ow—Bones!" She twisted her head, pouting over her shoulder, green eyes wide now, realizing the shift. The playfulness in Bones' face was gone, replaced by something darker, more intent. Paige's cheeks burned, not just from the slap, but from the sudden awareness flooding her veins. "That means. I was just—"

Another smack, harder this time, landing on the same spot. Paige's thighs clenched, a soft moan slipping out despite her protest, her long legs trembling slightly. The fruit bowl tipped, an apple rolling free and thudding to the floor, rolling under the table like a fleeing witness.

"Just what?" Bones pressed in closer from behind, gaunt frame molding against Paige's taller one, one arm snaking around to pin Paige's wrists to the counter. Her voice softened just a touch, intimate in the roughness, like a secret shared in the heat. "Pushing me until I give you what you really want? Poor thing, so needy already. I can feel you squirming."

Paige pouted harder, her radiant smile twisted into a sulky line as she argued back, voice whiny and breathy. "I'm not squirming. You're the one being all bossy and—ah!" Her words cut off with another slap, this one lower, on the sensitive underside of her thigh. The skin there pinked up immediately, and Paige's hips bucked involuntarily, pressing back against Bones.

She chuckled, low and mocking, free hand sliding down to hook into Paige's shorts. Tugging them down roughly, exposing the smooth tan of Paige's ass and thighs to the cool kitchen air. Her flimsy lace thong slipped not long after. Paige had been teasing all evening, after all. Slow simply didn't exist in their space now. Bones' fingers traced the fresh red mark, faux sympathy lacing her tone. "Look at you, all red and whiny. Did that hurt, baby? Or are you just mad I won't let you run the show?"

"You're so mean," Paige complained, but her voice cracked into a soft moan as Bones' hand dipped lower, parting her thighs. She was already slick, cunt glistening under the kitchen lights, and Bones hummed in approval, her thumb brushing just close enough to tease without touching.

"Mean?" Bones leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Paige's ear, her breath warm and steady. "I'm just giving you what you begged for, Paige. All those little touches, those sighs... You want this. Don't you?" Her fingers hovered, and then, slap. A sharp, wet smack right against Paige's pussy, the sound lewd and echoing.

Paige cried out, her body arching, knees nearly buckling as heat bloomed between her legs. "Babe—fuck, that's—" She moaned softly, pretty and breathless, blonde hair falling into her face as she gripped the counter edge. The paper towel roll teetered nearby, knocked by her elbow, unrolling in a chaotic white trail across the floor.

"That's what?" Bones teased, her voice condescending, silk as she delivered another slap to Paige's thigh, then one more to her pussy, lighter this time but precise, making Paige's clit throb. "Too much? Or not enough? You're dripping, you know. So wet for me already. Pathetic, really, how easy you get."

Paige whimpered, pouting as she twisted slightly, trying to argue through the haze. "Not pathetic... you're just—mmph—teasing too much." But her protests melted into another soft moan when Bones' hand finally cupped her fully, fingers sliding through the wetness with no mercy.

Bones pressed her body flush, one arm wrapping around Paige's waist to hold her steady, the other hand working with purpose. She spat directly onto Paige's pussy, the warm saliva mixing with her arousal, making everything slicker, messier. "There," Bones murmured, intimate and soft now, like a lover's whisper amid the storm. "All better. Now, let's see how long you last before you beg."

Two fingers plunged in without preamble, down to the knuckles, stretching Paige's tight heat. Paige's head fell forward, a whine turning into a gasp as Bones curled them immediately, hitting that spot inside her with ruthless accuracy. Her thumb circled Paige's clit in lazy, teasing strokes, building the pressure slowly at first, drawing it out.

"Oh god, Bones," Paige moaned, voice soft and pretty, body rocking back into the intrusion despite the manhandling. Bones' other hand came up, wrapping around her throat from behind, not tight, just enough pressure to tilt her head back, to make her feel owned. Paige's green eyes fluttered, tears already pricking at the corners from the intensity, her slim frame trembling as Bones fucked her fingers deeper, faster.

Paige's nails, glamorous, dangerous, scratched lightly at the countertop, leaving faint marks as she panted, overstimulated already, the slaps and teasing pushing her edges.

"Shh," Bones soothed, her voice dropping to that soft, silly undercurrent she saved for moments like this, even as her fingers pistoned without mercy. "You're doing so well, love. Just let go. I know you want to."

Paige's moans grew higher, whiny and desperate, body coiling tight as the first orgasm built, relentless and overwhelming.

The blonde’s whole body trembled under the relentless assault, slim frame arching back against Bones' chest as those fingers drove deeper, twisting and curling with unyielding precision. The kitchen counter dug into her hips, a grounding ache amid the building storm, her long nails scraping futilely against the cool surface, rhinestones catching the light in frantic glints. Her green eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling over as the pressure coiled tighter, her breath coming in ragged pants that fogged the air in front of her.

"Bones—please, I—" Paige's words dissolved into a loud moan, high and broken, her voice echoing off the cabinets. She grabbed at the counter's edge, knuckles whitening, anything to anchor herself as her thighs quivered, slick sounds filling the space with each plunge.

Bones' grip on her throat loosened just enough to let her gasp, but her fingers never slowed, thumb pressing firmer on that swollen clit, circling with mocking gentleness. "Please what, sweetheart?" she cooed, faux sympathy dripping from every syllable, her brunette hair brushing Paige's shoulder as she leaned in closer. "Can't even finish a sentence? Poor baby, all worked up from those pretty little claws you got just to make me notice."

Another sharp slap landed on Paige's thigh, the sting blooming hot and red, making her back arch sharper, pussy clenching around the invading fingers. Paige cried out louder, a whine turning into a sob of pleasure, her skin slick with sweat now, radiant smile long forgotten in the haze.

"You knew, didn't you?" Bones continued, voice soft and intimate against her ear, even as she fucked harder, knuckles grinding deep. "Went and got those damn nails done, all sparkly and sharp, begging for my eyes on you. Attention like this—rough, messy, exactly what you crave when you're feeling neglected. And look at you now, falling apart already."

Paige panted, trying to form words, her body betraying her with every thrust. "I didn't—ah! Not neglected, just... wanted to—fuck, Bones!" Her sentence shattered into another moan, louder this time, head lolling back against Bones' shoulder as the orgasm crested, crashing over her like a wave. Her pussy spasmed wildly, walls fluttering and squeezing those fingers, wetness coating Bones' hand as she came hard, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Her legs buckled, but Bones held her up, arm banded tight around her waist, murmuring soft encouragements amid the chaos.

"There you go, love," Bones whispered, her tone laced with that condescending warmth, slowing her strokes just enough to draw out the pulses, making Paige shudder through the aftershocks. A nearby mug teetered and crashed to the floor, shattering in a spray of ceramic shards, but neither noticed, lost in the intensity.

Paige whimpered, overstimulated nerves firing wildly as Bones didn't pull away; instead, she added a third finger, stretching her further, resuming the rhythm without mercy. Paige's moans pitched higher, frantic and breathy, her hands scrabbling at the counter, knocking the paper towel roll fully to the ground in a tangled mess. "Too much—Bones, wait, I just—oh god!"

"Wait?" Bones echoed, humouring the plea with a light chuckle, her free hand sliding up from the blonde's waist to tweak a nipple through her shirt, pinching just hard enough to elicit another cry. She spat again, warm and deliberate, right over where her fingers plunged in and out, the added slickness making everything obscenely wet. "But you pushed for this, didn't you? Teasing me since you got home with those weapons on your fingers, knowing it'd end with you bent over like this. So needy, so wet... how could I stop now?"

Paige's back arched impossibly, her blonde hair sticking to her sweat-dampened neck, green eyes glazed and unfocused as she panted through the building sensitivity. "You're—mmph—being so mean about it," she managed, voice whiney and fragmented, pouting even as her hips rocked back greedily. Another slap to her pussy, wet and stinging, sent her spiraling higher, moans spilling out unchecked, loud and pretty in their desperation.

"Mean?" Bones teased, curling her fingers again, hitting that spot with faux gentleness, her breath warm on Paige's skin. "I'm just giving you the attention you wanted, darling. Listen to those sounds you're making—adorable. Try saying something else; I bet it'll turn into another moan before you finish." Her thumb flicked Paige's clit, light and taunting, as the second orgasm began to coil, tighter and more overwhelming than the first, Paige's body a live wire under her touch.

Paige's moans escalated, raw and unrestrained, filling the kitchen like a symphony of desperation, voice cracking on the edges as overstimulation clawed through her nerves. She squirmed against Bones' hand, hips bucking erratically, but there was no escape; those three fingers plunged deep, knuckles burying to the hilt with every thrust, stretching her pussy wide and slick. “Too much,” she whined, the words barely coherent, dissolving into a high-pitched keening as her body betrayed her, clenching greedily around the intrusion. Her green eyes fluttered half-shut, tears tracking salty paths down her flushed cheeks, blonde strands plastered to her forehead in sweaty disarray.

Bones pulled her back flush against her chest, arm snaking back around Paige's waist like an iron band, holding her upright as her legs threatened to give out. The counter held firm under Paige's clawing hands,  scraping gouges into the wood, sending a salt shaker tumbling to the floor in a clatter. “Shh, I've got you,” Bones cooed, her voice a velvet murmur against Paige's ear, laced with that tenderness that made everything sharper. She curled her fingers inside, grinding against that sensitive spot without relent, thumb rolling over Paige's clit in slow, deliberate circles that built the fire higher. “You wanted this attention so bad, didn't you? Parading those sharp little talons around, knowing it'd drag me right here, fucking you senseless just to remind you who pays attention best.”

Paige's response was a garbled sob, louder now, her moans pitching into screams that echoed off the tiled walls, “Ah! Bones—can't—too—” cut off by another wave of pleasure-pain,  back arching like a bowstring against Bones' hold. She writhed, thighs trembling violently, pussy fluttering wildly as the second orgasm ripped through her, harder than the first, slick dribbling in hot spurts over Bones' wrist and dripping down her legs. Her walls spasmed, milking those fingers in rhythmic pulses, every nerve alight and fraying at the edges. Bones didn't stop, didn't ease up, just held her tighter, murmuring praises that twisted the knife of overstimulation deeper. “That's it, come for me again, pretty girl. See? These nails got you exactly what you craved—me, deep inside you, making you shatter.”

But Bones wasn't done; her arm around Paige's waist tightened, fingers resuming their brutal rhythm even as the aftershocks wracked Paige's body, pushing her straight into the abyss without mercy. Paige's whines turned frantic, body gone liquid and boneless, legs jelly that Bones alone kept from collapsing. She clawed at the counter's edge, nails snagging and tearing at a dish towel that unraveled in a heap, her pants ragged and desperate between the mounting cries. “Please—too much—Bones, I—fuck!” The words fragmented into nothing but moans, louder and more broken, her slim frame shuddering violently as the third orgasm barreled down, inevitable and overwhelming.

Bones leaned in, lips brushing Paige's neck in a soft kiss that belied the ferocity of her hand, cooing sweetly as she fucked her through it. “One more, love, let it all out. You pushed for this with those claws, teasing me until I couldn't hold back. Now feel it—every bit of the attention you begged for.” Her support hand slid up once more, cupping Paige's breast and pinching the nipple through fabric, adding sparks to the inferno. Paige's pussy clenched like a vice, convulsing in violent waves as she came undone, a guttural scream tearing from her throat, body seizing in Bones' arms. Cum gushed freely, soaking Bones' hand and the floor below, her thighs quaking uncontrollably, every muscle taut then slackening into utter exhaustion.

By the time it crested, Paige was a panting, whining mess, legs fully jelly, barely supporting her weight as Bones held her up, body limp and trembling like a ragdoll. She clawed weakly at the air, then at Bones' arm, those long nails leaving faint red trails on skin, her green eyes glazed and distant, utterly fucked out in the most adorably pathetic way. Soft whimpers escaped her lips, chest heaving with labored breaths, a dopey, overwhelmed pout forming as she sagged against Bones, spent and vulnerable. “mm... Bones…” she mumbled incoherently, voice hoarse from the screams, the fight drained from her in waves of bliss.

Bones finally slowed, withdrawing her fingers with a wet pop, but kept her arm secure around Paige's waist, turning her gently to face her. She wiped her hand on Paige's thigh, casual and possessive, then cupped her chin, tilting it up with a smirk that held more warmth than edge now. “Look at you, all wrecked and pretty. Lesson learned? Or do you need another reminder?” Her tone was teasing, soft, as she pressed a kiss to Paige's forehead, the chaos around them, shards, spills, scattered everything, fading into the background of their shared, intimate haze.

Bones’ smirk faded into something quieter, something almost reverent. She brushed Paige’s damp hair back from her face, fingertips feather-light now, more tending than touching. Paige’s eyes were still half-lidded, lashes wet at the edges, breathing soft and uneven like she hadn’t quite found her way back into her body yet.

“Hey,” Bones murmured, a low softness meant only for her. “Come here.”

She guided Paige away from the counter slowly, hands steady at her hips, making sure her knees remembered how to hold her. Paige melted into her without argument, forehead pressed into Bones’ shoulder, arms looping loosely around her waist. Bones held her there, firm, grounding, chest to chest, cheek against Paige’s temple, as though gathering all the scattered pieces of her back into place.

“You’re alright,” Bones whispered, nuzzling her hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Paige let out a tiny sound, not sobbing, not overwhelmed, just that delicate post-storm whimper she only ever made for Bones. Bones kissed it away, lips at her hairline, then her cheek, then one last kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Sit. Hydrate,” Bones said, guiding her to a stool like she was handling something moon-fragile.

Paige blinked, dazed and bliss-soft, then smiled, small and shimmering.

“You’re bossy,” she mumbled.

“And you’re jelly-legged,” Bones replied, already filling a glass of water.

When she handed it over, Paige held the rim with trembling fingers, so Bones wrapped her own hand over hers, steadying it, steadying her.

“You did so well,” Bones murmured, brushing a thumb beneath Paige’s eye. “So good for me.”

Paige looked up at her then, truly looked, and the glow that bloomed in her expression wasn’t smugness anymore. It was devotion, quiet and uncluttered.

Bones wiped a smudge of something, lip gloss or kitchen chaos, off Paige’s cheek, giggling once, soft and private.

“We broke the fruit bowl,” she noted.

Paige laughed weakly. “Worth it.”

Bones kissed her again, slow and careful.

“Eat something,” she whispered. “Then we’ll shower. I’ll wash your hair.”

Paige went molten at that, leaning into Bones’ palm like a cat surrendering to warmth.