#yearnmachine

You’re lying on a familiar dorm room bed, eyes roaming over empty white walls except for a single poster of some baseball player with his bat held up in the air, hanging on the wall to your right. You’ve become well accustomed to it, being the only thing you can stare at while being here. The corners of the paper curling, the colors of the man’s outfit, the flex of his legs, the concentration on his features.

Rob, your boyfriend, is lying on top of you while pressing short kisses on your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. In theory, it should be enjoyable, except his lips feel too dry on your skin, and he moves them hastily over random spots of your neck, lacking any technique.

You know he’s aiming to make you horny, hoping he can slide his dick inside you without need for spit or lube if he dedicates a few minutes to foreplay. But really, the kisses feel awkward on your skin, his body feels heavy on top of yours, he keeps rubbing his clothed erection on you so forcefully it’s nearing painful, his hair isn’t long enough to fully grip, and he lacks any passion that could actually turn you on.

You think it might be unfair to him, sometimes, or at least your friends tell you it is. He’s, unknowingly, constantly being compared to your ex who, apart from being a mind-blowingly good fuck, you also used to love with your entire heart.

Which is why you don’t go hard on him—don’t tell him his dick might leave a bruise on your thigh tomorrow if he keeps dry-drilling his boner into you like that, compliment the stupid fade haircut he pays way too much money for, pretend you appreciate how bulky and strong he is just as much as he does, go to all his games and get excited when he scores…

It’s all worth it, in the end. He might not be a sex god but he’s good to you.

He always sends kisses your way during his games, his muscly arm wrapped around you makes you feel secure, he takes you to nice restaurants, he doesn’t take away too much of your time since he spends most of his in practice or with friends, and he hasn’t cheated on you.

“You’re so fucking hot babe.” His voice is hoarse, affected by his arousal as he mutters the words before resuming his kisses, and you feel his hand sneak his way between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

You do like him, you think, he’s handsome and he makes you laugh sometimes. His personality is unexceptionally average, but he’s sweet.

Girls look at you with envy when they see you with him, guys respect him enough not to hit on you because you’re his, and Lara… that’s probably the best part: Lara tries her hardest to hide the bitterness that comes with her possessiveness over you, but she fucking sucks at it. You can always see how tense her jaw gets when she sees you with him, how quickly her mood sours, the furrowed eyebrows and consistent eyerolls—

The thought makes you surge to kiss Rob with vigor, closing your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, and bask in the feeling of his hands on your hips moving to the waistband of your shorts. Sex with him isn’t all that bad, when you have an annoyed version of Lara in your mind to coax you through it.

The dining hall is quiet at this time in the morning. You sit with a couple of your friends, poking at your breakfast with a fork as you halfheartedly listen to the conversation.

“…Oh, we should totally go this weekend! I need new clothes desperately.” Your eyelids feel heavy as you take a sip of your coffee, your chin resting on your hand as you finally look up at them and try to get involved in the conversation to avoid falling asleep on your plate. It’s too early for you, but at least the place isn’t that packed.

“Isn’t Becca’s party this weekend?” You ask. You remember Rob mentioning how excited he was that there was a party outside of campus because he was tired of the same frat house crowds.

“Shit, you’re right. Perfect excuse to go shopping then, I used up all my slutty outfits already and I need to get laid.” Liv, one of your friends, answers.

You laugh, rolling your eyes half-heartedly. “Fuck off. You look hot in everything.”

“Thanks babe, but guys don’t think like that. They need to see exactly what I’m offering so that they’re interested in buying.” She explains, with a silly, overexaggerated wink as she takes a sip of her own coffee.

Serena, your other friend, lets out a short laugh, “that makes it sound like they’re gonna pay for your services or something, Liv.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” Liv retorts, giving Serena a light swat on the arm.

Serena stares at you for a moment, noticing how bored you seem by the conversation, and decides to involve you further. “Anyway, you must be glad you don’t have to worry about any of that anymore, huh? You got Rob wrapped around your finger.” Serena teases you with a smile and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Oh, for sure, definitely.” You don’t notice how thrown off they both look by your indifferent answer, distractedly taking a bite of your food while they share a confused look.

“You sure?” Liv asks you, eyes squinting with suspicion.

You let out a heavy breath, looking up at them again. “Yeah. I mean, we barely slept last night, so…” You say with a shrug and a small smile, hoping that would be enough to shut their suspicions about your ‘perfect’ relationship.

They both begin teasing you, drawing out ‘oooh’s’ while laughing, and making you laugh too. “That explains the hickey you tried to cover up on the side of your neck there. Terrible job, by the way.” Liv mentions, nodding toward the spot on your neck with a playful grin.

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely visible baby. We’re so happy for you though, you deserve it.” Serena says, grabbing your hand on the table. You give her an honest, grateful smile, squeezing her hand back. “I gotta know, tough…” She begins, barely able to hold back her smirk at whatever she’s about to ask.

You let out a small laugh as you look at her, already anticipating a dumb question. “What?”

“Is Rob like, y’know… skillful like that? Is he like, a down-and-dirty kind of guy or is he more like, gentle?” She inquires. Both of them look at you with interest, curious to know about the illicit details.

You lick your lips, look down toward your plate and then back up, thinking of what to say. “Uhm, well I guess he’s like a…” You’re about to go on a tangent about how he’s somehow a perfect blend of both of those options and a secret third one too, when a loud group of people at the entrance catch your attention.

Rowdy, boisterous laughter fills the dining hall as they come inside. Backwards caps, dripping hair from recent showers, sneakers squeaking against the floors; fucking Lara and her stupid fucking friends.

You have to swallow when you spot her, and God knows you should look away at once, but maybe you’re more stupid than all her stupid friends because you don’t. You can’t.

You see her laughing and joking around, a wet strand of hair sticking to her forehead and her nose ring gleaming, and it feels like your eyes have fallen into a glue trap and are now helplessly stuck staring at her.

It’s just been a while, since you were able to get a glimpse of her. You’ve both been so good at avoiding each other, sticking to the silently established rules that prohibited you both from attending the same parties as the other. Or the same restaurants, or the same theaters, or the same malls. You’ve been torturously good at it.

You make sure not to let Rob take you to the same places you used to go to with Lara, say that the food is bad or the music they play sucks. You mention places nearby instead, and silently hope that Lara had the same idea as you did and you’ll run into her there while she’s on a date too.

It’s dumb. Everything you do when it comes to Lara is dumb, you become the most foolish version of yourself. You know you would hate to actually run into her while she’s on a date with someone else, you’d avoid her like a plague and probably drag Rob someplace else.

You still do it every time. Chase her shadow around, but with enough distance that she doesn’t notice, and that you never catch her.

Lara looks in your direction suddenly, as if she felt you looking, and you drop your gaze with shame, cheeks burning hot. Serena and Liv both turn their heads to see what exactly has you almost drooling and blushing like this, and roll their eyes promptly when they realize who it is.

“Okay, you gotta stop.” Serena tells you with a stern tone.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” You mutter, resuming your prodding around your plate.

They’re both aware of the history you share with Lara Raj. You would never say they’re well aware though. No one really is, except for you and her. You met during first year, and what started as a romantic, passionate pursuit of your heart, developed into a toxic but exhilarating give-and-take cycle.

Break up, then take Lara back when she begs for forgiveness, then break up again when you see her flirting with someone else, then get back together when she picks you up from a bar, break up when she sees you chatting with a random girl and calls you a slut, and back together again once you knock on her door and kiss her as soon as she opens it.

It was years of your lives and while yes, it was painful, you remember those first months. How genuinely giddy you got every time her name was brought up, how many bouquets of flowers Lara bought for you, all the silly couple pictures you took, the cheesy letters you used to write for her… and even later, when it turned toxic. You remember those moments perfectly well too.

How good she fucked you, how loved you felt when she got possessive, the excitement of making her upset on purpose so she would be rough with you in bed, and the comfort of knowing she could take care of your needs just as well when she was feeling romantic and let her hands caress instead of squeeze, her mouth kiss and not bite.

You know you’ve never loved anyone the way you loved Lara. Still, you persevere in the effort to focus on healthier dynamics for your own good, considering that the good times were really good, and that the bad times were really bad.

Sometimes you get a cold or you yell too much during one of Rob’s games, and your throat gets sore. It always makes you think about how sore your throat used to get over all the screaming you did. The salt-stung, dry skin around your eyes from all the crying, how she used to switch so fast it gave you whiplash, going from yelling at you to holding you in her arms and telling you she loved you. It was a mess.

“Just… think about how good Rob is. You’ve never knocked on my door crying because of him.” Serena reminds you, interrupting your thoughts.

“I know, I know… I wasn’t doing anything.”

“So, how are we getting to Becca’s?” Liv asks, changing the subject. Lara and her group of friends are walking by your table; you can see her out of the corner of your eye. It’s good for you both that she’s informed of your confirmed presence at that party, so that she follows the rules and doesn’t show up, look for a different party or maybe stay in her dorm for once.

“Rob can take us.” You mention—maybe out of bitterness—as she’s still walking by, and your friends decide not to tell you how hard she’s staring at you from her own table across the room once she sits. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?

As promised, Rob gives you a ride to the party. You don’t ask for permission before taking full control of the aux to blast 2000s hits and belt your lungs out with your girlfriends, the pregaming you’d done beforehand already hitting.

The party is buzzing when you guys arrive, already settled into a lively groove that immediately puts you in the mood for more. You part ways from Rob as his friends wave him over for a game of flip cup and your girls drag you to the dancing crowd.

You accept a drink from Liv and let the minutes pass by as you dance, unworried about any real cadence to your clumsy moves.

There was no one worth trying to impress, anyway. Before you started dating Lara you would always try to catch her attention, swaying your hips the right way, or dancing too close with a random stranger just so she would grab your wrist and make you dance with her instead.

You don’t have to worry about that anymore, at least. You can let yourself act a fool on the dance floor because you know Rob doesn’t care. Or you don’t care whether he likes how you dance or not, don’t care about making him want you because it doesn’t mean much.

Lara wanting you meant a sharp thrill for the unknown: not knowing whether she was going to drive you guys out of wherever you were without even letting you say your goodbyes, or maybe fuck you in her car, or in the bathroom, or start touching you right there in the middle of the crowd. It used to be worth it, paying special attention to what she liked so you could press all the right buttons and feel excited for what was to come your way.

With Rob, well… making him horny doesn’t represent much for you.

Feeling his arms wrap around your figure an hour later, strong, warm and accompanied by the scent of his cologne and the beer on his breath, doesn’t mean much more than the fact that you have to turn away from your friends to give him your attention.

You smile automatically when you hear them drunkenly whoop and cheer behind you. Just as automatically as you lift your arms to wrap them around his neck, that’s already sweaty from the time spent in the heated place.

You feel his hands caress your waist, his eyes roaming across your body and then glancing back up at you with a grin. “I fucking love this dress on you.”

You grin back, feel the muscles of your cheeks force themselves into position to make sure he knows you appreciate the compliment even if it makes you feel nothing. “Thanks, baby.” You say before leaning in to press a short peck to his lips.

He says nothing else, just stares at you with a smile, and you’re sure he thinks it’s romantic, staring at you like a drunk idiot and expecting you to think he’s cute or something. You think nothing of the sorts.

You think he should try harder, instead of just smiling at you. He should ask you questions, say something funny so you laugh, try to actually get to know you, ask someone—anyone—for advice so he gets better at fucking and you get to stop thinking about your ex while he does so.

But he just stares. Maybe the alcohol is making you too cranky. Eventually, you let out an awkward chuckle while looking down, ask him, “what?”

“Nothing. Just… you look so hot babe.” You guess all he wanted was an opening to indirectly ask you to have sex because his face is in your neck all of a sudden, and his hands are moving to grip your hips and pull you closer, but he can’t even properly ask for it. You let out a short sigh—you’re not nearly drunk enough for this, actually.

Your hand still moves up to run your fingers through his hair uninterestedly while you look around, distractedly watching random people dance around you. The party is at a full swing by now, having reached the peak where everyone is stupid drunk, sweaty and loud as their drugs take effect and couples begin occupying empty rooms.

That’s when you notice her.

Your face goes slack as you spot her across the crowded room, as if your brain had a spotlight just for her and everything else went dark and blurry as your focus fell on her, annoyingly cocky as she takes a sip from her beer and locks eyes with you. Fucking bitch.

You wonder how long she’s been watching you, if she noticed how miserably bored you were while your boyfriend held you, and what the fuck is she even doing here? With her baggy jeans and her fitted, cropped top that let you and everyone else admire her toned abs, and the muscles of her arms and— fuck.

Of course, she shows up at the right exact time too, when the mood is just right and it feels like the entire party was just waiting for her, like she was the missing piece to make the night feel complete. You think you maybe hate her while you watch her laugh around, run a hand through her hair, nod at random people as they greet her, let a girl hold her arm and wrap her own around her waist, all while looking at you.

You swallow, force yourself to look away and glance toward the empty cup on your hand. You get Rob’s attention by scratching the back of his neck softly, and he moves his head away from your neck to look at you.

You kiss him immediately, let your free hand move up from his shoulder to his face and grab his cheek as you keep him close, let your lips linger on his. “Get me a drink?” You ask him, moving your hand with the empty cup between your bodies to push it lightly against his chest.

He sighs, but nods and kisses your lips one more time before grabbing the cup. “Sure. Be right back.” You watch him as he walks away and makes his way between people dancing, and once you lose sight of him, you allow yourself to turn your attention back to where your entire body screams for you to watch. Lara’s already staring at you with a small smirk, nodding your way before gulping down her beer while that same girl is still glued to her.

You think you might’ve seen her around, might be her girlfriend. You wonder if she had previous plans to bring her to this party or if she called her and asked her to join once she knew you were coming. You shake your head, let out a small laugh over how stupid your thoughts sound.

Contrary to you, you doubt Lara’s life still revolves around you. You don’t doubt that she’s genuinely moved on and has no reason to try to make you jealous or to piss you off like she used to. But why is she here then? You wonder.

Oh well, just Lara being Lara, completely selfish and probably forgetting that you were going to be here in the first place. She was so fucking infuriating. Always thinking about herself and never once thinking about you, or what you might need. Just like she used to when you were dating.

She always made sure to keep you around whenever things were easy but was never around herself when you actually needed her. Not to fuck, not to fight, not to party, just to be there for you when times were rough and you needed someone to comfort you.

You still think about that time she said you were too emotional and sensitive during one of your breakups, always crying over everything. In fact, the words follow you constantly and you think they will for a very long time. You make sure to never cry in front of Rob, never complain or call him when you feel alone. You know that the wounds she inflicted on you still bleed, and you know you should hate her for it.

The fact that you actually don’t makes you hate yourself even more.

It’s unfair.

It’s so fucked up how the minute you catch a glimpse of her you get a tingling feeling between your legs. Even more wrong how you know Lara can sense it, and somehow just knows you’ve spent months without gratifying sex and your body is screaming for her like a bitch in heat.

Lara isn’t strong enough either. No matter who was by her side, she had never been strong enough to resist the temptation of your fevered eyes across any room, even if she wanted to.

Because she knows how wrong it is to be here and disrespect the quiet distance you’ve both decided to take from each other, as boring as other girls are to her. Once she set her eye on you in the dining hall earlier in the week though, hearing you talk about your boyfriend right after looking at her like that, she knew she had to do something.

You don’t notice when she makes her way to you, having resumed your dancing while you waited for Rob to return, being more focused on actively keeping your eyes off Lara than actually enjoying the music.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Until you feel a hand on the back of your waist and someone’s presence behind you, and you know it’s her without delay. You recognize the exact weight of her hand, the rings on her fingers, the warmth of her skin, the smell of her perfume, the subtle delicacy that comes with her and not many can notice; you know it all too well.

Before you can turn around, you feel her breath against your ear. “Come upstairs with me,” is all she says. No hello, how are you, I’m sorry, nothing. She probably knows she doesn’t have much time before Rob comes back with your drink.

You finally turn around, and look at her from up close for the first time in months. A breath escapes your lips and you see her licking hers, tilting her head in silent questioning, will you be coming with her or not?

And really, what are you supposed to do? Say no to the woman you once promised forever to? Yank her hand off your waist when she starts guiding you to an empty room without even waiting for a proper response? Not walk inside the room when she holds the door open for you? No, you both knew there was no getting away from this.

Lara is so aware of it in fact, that she doesn’t even let you say a word or turn on the light after closing the door before she’s attacking your mouth with kisses, pulling you closer to her with a tight grip on your waist.

You let out a small hum of protest, yet your hands move up to clasp your fingers together at the back of her neck anyway.

“Later, yeah?” She mutters against your lips in order to keep kissing you, pushing a chat for a ‘later’ that will probably never come.

God, you’ve missed her voice so much. You nod a little too eagerly and keep kissing her. Her lips are desperate and hurried, like she has somewhere else to be after this and just needs to cross this off from her agenda for the night. The thought makes you try to slow the pace, let your lips linger against hers and move your face for a different angle.

It doesn’t work. Lara pushes her face impossibly closer to yours, grabs your ass and pushes your body closer to hers too, walking you toward the bed. Unsurprisingly, it turns you on how eager she seems to touch you. Maybe she missed you just as much as you missed her.

You sit on the foot of the bed when the back of your knees hits it, and she breaks the kiss momentarily to sit beside you and resume making out. Your hand moves up to cup her cheek and caresses her cheekbone and it makes her kisses rougher. It’s like she has something to prove, like she needs you to know she’s above tenderness. You’re glad you know she’s not, so you keep your hand there.

You jump slightly in surprise when you feel her cold hand touching the bare skin of your thigh, palm cool from the beer she was holding earlier. The touch is insistent as she keeps gliding her palm up your leg, the fabric scrunching around her wrist and sliding up along with her hand, giving her access to more of your skin.

Things are moving too fast and you realize you should probably take things easier, think a little about what you’re doing.

She’s kissing you so ardently, you’re still kind of tipsy, her hand keeps moving higher up, you haven’t properly talked to her, and it’s not a random person you’re in a stranger’s room cheating on your boyfriend with, it’s Lara. The person who has hurt you the most in your entire life, the person that betrayed your trust, made you feel small, used you and broke your heart. Yet, you can’t stop kissing her.

The thought of having to reach for her hand and stop her, or take your hand off her cheek, or move your mouth away from hers… it all kind of makes you want to cry a little. Yes, everything about this is wrong, it’s all too fast, it’s extremely stupid. And you want it so badly.

Outside, the music is still playing, it booms faintly against your ears. The world keeps spinning, even if you’re here with Lara, so, who cares? Why should it matter so much, if you allow her hand to move higher up? If your lips are tingling with how forceful she is with her kisses, like she knew she didn’t need to be careful with you? Who cares if you like it? Who cares if you ache for more, and who cares if you actually get more?

Because inside the room, the sound of Lara’s heavy breathing and your small, pathetic whimpers feel louder and way more important than anything else going on outside, and that’s all that matters.

Lara is trying her absolute hardest to ignore the tenderness with which your thumb is caressing the skin of her jaw. It’s so contrasting to how intensely she’s kissing you and how little breath she’s allowing you to get between kisses, how her hand is squeezing your thigh without care.

The thought of being softer with you barely crosses her mind. Instead, her solution is to grab your wrist and move your hand away from her face, guiding it to her crotch without breaking the kiss to snap you out of the softness. You don’t complain.

In fact, you compliantly let her guide your hand, let her smirk against your lips when she feels no resistance, and moan when she bites your lip right when you feel the strap she’s packing under her jeans.

“Wore it for you." She whispers between kisses. Her breath hits hot against your wet, already swollen lips.

You should be pissed. You should get up and yell at her, for planning to do this tonight and for being so confident that you were going to agree. It should make you feel stupid, knowing she was counting on you whoring yourself out for her while you were dating someone else.

You should tell her it’s not okay to go around breaking your promise to stay apart whenever she feels like it, because you’re not strong enough to resist even if giving in guarantees you ending up alone in a stranger’s bed right after, feeling like the worst person in the world. You still could never say no to her, and she only takes advantage of that.

You don’t say any of those things. Instead, you let your hand squeeze the bulge in her pants, pulling her closer by the shoulder with your other hand when she nuzzles her face into your neck and leaning your head back to expose more of your skin to her. You bite your lip, thinking of how good her lips feel on your neck, instead of R—

“It’s your favorite. The black one, remember? Haven’t fucked anyone else with it since that last time at my place.” She mutters against your neck, and you’re glad the mark he left last week has faded, not because you wouldn’t like to see Lara’s probably hot reaction to it, but because you don’t want any reminders that you’re not hers tonight.

She’s scattering feathery kisses all over skin that shouldn’t be as familiar to her as it is. Unfortunately, she’s well acquainted with it, knows all your sensitive spots and where to find your pulse and where to place hickies so they’re not as blatant.

“You remember that night? How loud you kept begging for me to fuck you harder?” She adds.

“Fuck, Lara.” A needy sigh escapes your lips as memories of that night begin to fill your mind. How she took you without fear of you misinterpreting things, and allowed herself to claim you as hers, only to take it back the next day.

You still remember the softness of her sheets, though, the music she put on when you arrived that stayed as background, and how she tried to go soft before you begged her to speed up. It all makes your hands fly to unbutton her jeans with haste, making Lara chuckle as she looks down to see your fingers dragging the zipper down, licking her lips.

You don’t even worry about pushing her jeans down, you only make enough room for your hand to sneak inside and pull the strap out of her pants. You bite your lip at the sight, looking up at her for a second to catch her dilated pupils.

You move your hand up to your mouth, about to spit on it to lube up the silicone when Lara grabs your wrist again and stops you. You have to hold back from not letting out a desperate whine.

She doesn’t keep you waiting much longer, though, even lets her thumb caress your wrist once when she notices the defenselessness in your eyes. “Get on your knees?” Her voice is low and raspy as she asks, already just as affected as you.

You open your mouth for a moment, about to answer, but soon realize that there are no better words to agree to her suggestion than your own actions. Also, your brain feels like it’s somewhere else and you barely feel capable of forming coherent worded answers.

You nod, and Lara cups the side of your neck to give you a peck on the lips before you move down to kneel in front of her. She’s immediately opening her legs and dragging her butt closer to the edge of the bed, moving her crotch closer to your face.

She’s not as obvious as you are when it comes to showing how needy she is and how much she’s missed this, which is why you make sure to put on a good show for her. You want her to like it, want to get a good reaction out of her.

You want her to touch herself to the memory of this when she’s by herself, and to make her so needy right now that she has no other thought in her mind but to fuck you to oblivion after it.

You look up at her as you drag the jeans down her legs, make sure to keep a mental image of her focused face and the way she gulps, her hands gripping the comforter by her sides, probably to hold herself from shoving the silicone dick down your throat right now.

Once you’ve taken her pants off, you give her a small smile before pressing a few light, open-mouthed kisses to the tip, grabbing it by the base to keep it close to your mouth when you start kitten-licking it teasingly.

Lara only bites her lip as she watches you, and you revel in how harshly she’s biting it, how her hips already seem to be struggling to stay put, how labored her breathing already sounds.

You position your tongue at the base and run it up to the tip, taking it inside your mouth afterwards. The sight makes Lara moan like she could feel your mouth on her. Or maybe it was more the fact that you cared enough about her to be on your knees for her, in a stranger’s room while your boyfriend was downstairs. “Yeah, suck that dick—just like that.” She whispers.

She lets you do your own thing for a while, enjoys the sight as you go up and down the strap and take pauses to kiss the tip every once in a while, your hand covering the part of it that you can’t fit into your mouth. That is until you can.

You let your hand grip her knee instead and drop your head all the way down to her pelvis, your nose touching her lower abdomen as you deepthroat her. “Fuck, good fucking girl. Get it nice and wet for me.” It makes her sit up straighter, grab a fistful of your hair in appreciation as she begins guiding your pace.

She sits there, hissing and moaning as you keep relaxing your throat for her, trying your hardest to be good as she holds your head down when you take her deep. “Bet you don’t even need the spit, huh? Bet you’re so wet you could take it with no prep.” She mutters, entranced by watching you blow it just as her hand on your head dictates.

She makes you deepthroat her a last time, only sets you free when she hears you’re choking on the strap, and lets out a deep groan when she sees all the spit drooling from the side of your mouth. You moan when she drags you away from her dick, pulling you by the hair softly to get a better look at you.

You’re a fucking mess already. Your eyes are all red and glassy, makeup smudged and drool dripping all the way to your neck and still, you look fucking satisfied, even if she hasn’t touched you yet. She damn near loses it.

“Fuck, come here.” She grabs your face, one of her palms can feel some of the drool in your face as she leans down to kiss you hungrily. She swallows a raspy whimper that comes out of your throat as her tongue forces her way inside your mouth.

You open for her without much resistance, letting her tongue hit yours as your head leans up to meet her in the kiss. Lara lets out a satisfied moan when you let her explore your mouth to her will, running her tongue against yours fervently.

Your hands rest at her knees to push yourself up, standing up in front of her. Lara helps you undress hastily from where she’s sitting in front of you and soon you’re sitting on her lap, naked, and kissing her again. Without much preamble you take a hold of her strap, positioning the tip against your wet entrance. You break the kiss to whisper against her ear, “can I?” and press a small kiss behind her ear after.

Lara’s strong hands grip your hips as she looks up at you, nodding. “Go ahead baby.”

You ignore the summersaults your heart makes at the pet name and bite your lip as you lower on the toy, slowly taking every inch inside of you while Lara just watches, stupidly turned on.

“Yeah? Big enough for you?” She asks, voice breathy and hoarse as her eyes move up from the sight of her strap burying inside your pussy to your blissed-out face, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally take it all.

You nod your head, locking your eyes on hers as your arms wrap around her neck, taking some time to adjust to the size of the dick inside of you. “Perfect.”

Lara smiles at your answer, satisfied that the toy she bought for you is still better than your boyfriend. Definitely bigger, too. One of her hands stays on your hip as you begin grinding slow circles against her hips while the other rests on the bed, leaning her weight back on it as she watches.

She’ll let you do the work for now, she decides. If you want it, you can chase it yourself.

You decide to accommodate to Lara’s plans, having expected her to grab your hips and fuck her strap deep into you. Instead, you focus on chasing the pleasure that the stretching fullness is giving you while making sure to give her a nice sight, as you begin bouncing on the strap.

One of your hands moves to pull at the end of her top and she quickly discards it, throwing it somewhere close to her pants and leaving her in her sports bra. She chuckles when you start pulling on that too, and takes it off as well, leaving you both naked.

The room fills with the wet, lewd noises your pussy is making, along with your pitiful whines as you keep your hips moving. It’s not enough though, just having Lara watching you like this without doing anything. It’s not often you get to have her like this and you need more.

You need to feel that she wants you, that she’s just as desperate as you. You grab the hand that’s resting on your hip then, and guide it up, make sure to give her your best doe eyes as you move it to your neck and help her wrap her hand around it.

She takes the hint swiftly and chuckles as she lets her fingers curl around the curvature of your neck, squeezing the sides of it. “Such a fucking slut,” she says while laughing. There’s not much you can say, it’s not like you can deny it, so you just let out a whiny plead for more as you keep rocking your hips, faster now that you feel the soft pressure of her hand on your neck. “Play with your clit for me.”

Your eyes close in relief for an instant when you hear the instruction, glad that she’s finally taken pity on you and decided to give you more. You don’t waste time to sneak a hand between your bodies and start rubbing your clit exactly how you like it, matching the speed of your hips as they chase the feeling of the tip of Lara’s strap hitting your deepest spot.

The combined ministrations make your eyes close in bliss, and the lust makes all your inhibitions loosen as the room gets filled with your moans, your hips gaining speed as they bounce and your pussy starts forming a ring of cream around the base of the toy.

You can feel your climax getting closer with each movement of your hips, with each perfect rub of your fingers against your clit. “Missed you, so much Lars… hm, fuck—no one fucks me like you do… missed your cock, s-so much.” You begin blabbering out filthy words as your brain starts emptying out of logical thoughts. It’s only Lara, Lara, Lara.

Your words are already enough to make her want to thrust up into you to feel the base of the strap against her clit for some relief. The way you say it, like you’re not even thinking about it and it’s just slipping out of your mouth because you’re being fucked stupid, because her strap makes you feel so good that it turns your brain into mush, makes you dumb enough to talk to her like that and let her fuck you after how she’s treated you and with your boyfriend right outside... It makes all her self-resolve evaporate.

You aren’t expecting it when Lara repositions you suddenly, and in a matter of seconds has you on fours after some manhandling. She kneels behind you, immediately shoving her strap back inside of you with a grunt and resuming the pace you previously had. “Yeah? You missed this cock?”

She fucks you with a steady, strong rhythm, letting your hips chase her thrusts while she keeps her hand on your back. You can feel her groaning and huffing and it drives you fucking insane, making you try to speed up her pace by moving your hips quicker. You gasp in shock as you feel her heavy hand slap your ass twice, biting your lip as she squeezes the cheek afterwards.

“I missed this pussy, baby.” Lara mutters, pulling out and rubbing the head of the strap through your folds a couple of times. She pushes inside again without a hurry, lazily guiding your hips to meet her now slow thrusts, silently punishing you for trying to rush her. “Fucking made for me, look at you.” You swear there’s a small whimper after her words, but you don’t manage to really catch it since she smacks your backside again and you moan from the delicious pain.  

She gives you some slow thrusts before you’re rushing things again, chasing your high once more by meeting her hips faster and faster, not caring about the consequences. Lara doesn’t scold you or punish you for it this time, instead she lets you fasten the pace again while she keeps a hand gripping your hip (that you’re sure will leave imprints of her fingers) while the other caresses your back. “Wanna cum, princess?”

“So bad.” You nod, whimpering. Your arms give out, which forces you to hold yourself up on your elbows. The position only gives Lara a more satisfying arch of your back to look at as she fucks you, your ass jiggling each time it meets her hips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—wanna cum all over your cock, baby… please, more.” Your words are all slurred and jumbled together but Lara can understand you perfectly, can feel the trickle of her own arousal sliding down her thigh, losing her own mind over how affected you sound by how she’s fucking you, and she wonders why she ever let this go, feels stupid that she did.

She knows she could tell you, apologize and say it was dumb. But her ego tells her the most logical course of action is to make you feel dumb too, fuck you dumb on her cock just like this until your logic and thoughts are out the window, so that the only thing you can think about is begging her for more and take whatever she gives you. Because you’re hers—you always have been.

The shakiness of your words from the thrusts you’re receiving, the neediness in your tone… “Fuck.” Lara whispers, moving a hand up your back and grabbing a fistful of your hair to push your head down to the mattress. Your arms give out easily under you and soon Lara’s hissing and plowing into you from behind, keeping your face smushed against the bed as your arms lay limply on each side of your head.

Your moans turn into sobs that match with the rhythm of Lara’s thrusts into your pussy, but she’s relentless. The tears that run down your face wet the fabric underneath you along with your drool. “You like that?” She asks you, her breathless voice mixing with the creaking of the bed. “This what you need? To be fucked like a slut so you can cum?”

You obviously don’t mention that you were close to coming from the moment you dropped to your knees in front of her and just nod, or at least try to as best as you can with her hand still pushing your head down. Lara can still feel the movement under her palm, smiling at the state of you, the mess she’s made of you.

“C’mon, take this cock baby… so fucking sexy.” She mutters, breathless from the effort of plowing into you at a forceful, consistent pace, her words more for herself than you.

Lara lets the hand holding your hip slide between your body and the bed to play with your clit, letting her body weight rest on top of you fully as she keeps her hips moving to fuck you. The pace is slightly slower but her fingers on your neglected clit are earth-shatteringly good.

Her hand moves with difficulty, with the little space to move it has, and her fingers aren’t precise or very technical with the way they rub messy, quick circles over your nub. Still, it’s what throws you over the edge, making your pussy contract against Lara’s strap, juices coating it as your eyes roll back.

Lara slows down her thrusts gradually, skillfully letting her momentum help prolong your high as long as possible. She almost forgets she’s still stimulating your clit, only stops once you let out a spent, small mewl from the sensitivity and begin to move your hand to stop hers.

Lara stops before your hand can reach hers, kisses your shoulder apologetically and moves her hand from under you, gripping yours beside your head to keep you from moving as you both recover, breathing heavily with your eyes closed. You haven’t felt this protected in months, with Lara on top of you.

The quiet peace doesn’t last long, however. You feel soft lips press against your shoulder again, this time with more intent, leaving wet kisses on the heated skin of your back and downwards. You whine tiredly, moving your head to the side to try to catch a glimpse of her behind you.

You watch the top of her head descend progressively, feel her kisses trail down your spine. “Lara.” You rasp out admonishingly.

Lara just throws a short look your way, proceeding to ignore you as she moves further down, biting your ass cheek playfully. You hiss at the feeling but choose not to say anything else as she lays between your legs. She repositions your hips to expose your pussy to her, and licks a broad stripe over your slit that has you shivering.

She hums against your folds, lets the vibrations carry over to you. “Tastes so good.”

You hum back, unable to form any other word in appreciation for her praise. “Sensitive,” you explain with a small move of your hips, your voice weakened and soft.

Lara glances up at you again, throws a frown your way before kissing the spot where the marks of her teeth are reddening on your backside. “Shh, baby. You can take it… be a good girl and let me taste you, yeah?” She uses a soft tone while she says it that makes a part of you feel like she’s talking down to you… another part of you only wants to give her what she wants, be a good girl for her and make sure she enjoys you enough that she doesn’t just discard you again after tonight.

That even if she doesn’t call or text tomorrow, she’ll think about you and how you gave her everything she wanted and more, it’ll linger with her for longer than any other girl she fucks. So, you nod along with a pathetic, short whine.

“Words.” You can feel her breath on your core that’s already dripping again in anticipation for her mouth.

“Yeah. I can take it.” You catch a glimpse of her smile before your eyes close as soon as Lara’s tongue is on you again. Your moans are loud and raspy as she devours you with no regard for your sensitivity, clit buzzing in a pain-pleasure seesaw.

She keeps her tongue messy and insistent over your pussy, licking all over and giving special attention to your clit, moving her head side to side as she sucks to give you her best.

You’re a fucking mess. Your moans bounce loudly against the walls of the room, your hips thrash wildly against Lara’s face, squirming and not knowing whether to move away or push her closer. No, you definitely want to push her closer.

You don’t have time to move your hand down to her head before her tongue is suddenly slipping upwards, sliding over your folds and all the way between your cheeks. You gasp, shocked at the unexpected touch. “A-ah, Lara, wait.”

She lets out a small huff but listens to you, backing away slightly. “What, baby? Every inch of you belongs to me, isn’t that right?” Lara dives back in without waiting for a response, knowing that the best way to convince you is to show you just how good it can feel to have her tongue there, to let her have you completely, with no inhibitions or taboos to stand in the way.

She shoves her face close and starts running her tongue over your hole, letting spit cover the area and drip down toward your pussy as she stays between your cheeks. You have to bite your lip to hold a loud moan back. No one’s ever touched you there, not even yourself. You’ve never even considered the possibility, certain that you wouldn’t enjoy it.

Of course, leave it to Lara to make you enjoy anal play. Fuck. Your pussy is dripping and she’s ignoring it fully in favor of tasting you elsewhere, of devoting herself to another hole of yours. “Oh—yes, ‘m all yours Lars.”

Lara perseveres against the smirk that forms on her face at your words, keeping her focus on tasting you fully as her nose smashes into the crack of your ass to be closer. Her tongue licks and prods and her jaw aches from the effort but her attention is on pushing for more of you, of this new taste. “Yeah? Even this tight little ass belongs to me?” She asks between licks.

“Mm-hm,” is all you’re able to give her, brain blown away from the new sensation. You’re sure it’s because it’s Lara. It wouldn’t be anyone else between your open legs and their face buried between your cheeks but her.

She laughs a little, before going back to lick your ass vigorously, maybe as a reward for being so fucking horny and letting her do this. She always loved how lustful you got, how blinded it got you. “You like it, baby?”  

“S-so much, your tongue feels so good—missed it so much.” You answer honestly. She has you squirming and moaning sobbing with pleasure. You had missed her tongue. You had missed her. Will miss her again once the party is over, maybe even before that, because maybe she’ll leave right after she’s done with you and leave you to return to your boyfriend on shaky legs and exit the party how you left; without her.

The air was cold.

That’s what you remember most from that party. Or at least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself you remember most.

There are many small details from that night that you’ll try to erase for months, to no avail. And yet you’ll keep trying. Trying, as exhausting as it is, seems less painful than letting all those memories replay in your head candidly. Maybe you’d be able to get some sleep if you made them go away.

Once you realize the efforts are futile, you’ll pretend. But that you’re used to.

You’ll pretend you don’t keep the date pinned in your brain like the events will repeat themselves next year; November 12th. You’ll brush it off when someone asks why you left early that night, lie and say you were too bored or too drunk to remember much. You’ll ignore the ache in your chest when flashes of her eyes come and go as you try to sleep. Pretend it doesn’t hurt when you hear her words rumble in every corner of your body as you lay awake in bed, too late to do anything but to wallow in the absence of her.

Nothing happened, that night. At least, no one has any record of it. Not even you. Not a picture, not a note, not a mark in your body, not a garment left as souvenir. Nothing.

Or at least nothing that serves as proof that something happened. No paparazzi pictures, no background of someone else’s instagram story. No one saw you talking on the rooftop. No one saw you leave together. No one saw how she grabbed your hand on the way out.

It’s yours, and yours only.

Part of you wishes you could forget. Erase any trace of it from your memory so that it could be like it never happened. So you could keep getting by the same way you were before you saw her again. However, a different part of you fears that your body would remember.

That somehow, after the memories are all gone from your brain, you’ll still feel the phantom touch of her fingertip tracing your moles. Your scalp will remember the gentle slide of her nails against it, along with the not-so-gentle way she pulled on your hair. Your neck will somehow understand that sometime in the past, warm breathing used to hit it rhythmically as she slept close to you.

Your hands will feel empty, and they’ll remember that they used to touch the softest gold of a nameless skin. Your back will feel empty without scratches of acrylics. Your mouth will know it tasted something luxurious once, and never again.

And so the absence would persist, only it wouldn’t even have anything to name it by. To serve as an explanation for why it hurts so terribly. And that seems torturous.

So, even though it hurts, you decide you’ll keep pretending you just don’t remember. You’ll keep it as a secret for yourself. You’ll bask in the fact that everything your body misses and aches for has a name. A name that once loved you.

A name that once called for you.

“Y/N.”

You stood alone on the rooftop, having stepped out of the party to get some air. The night was cold and that’s all you remember. Except you remember every detail:

“Meret.”

The name leaves your lips without a second thought when you see her. You realize within a second you made a mistake.

Only those closest to her call her that, and even though she’s standing right in front of you for the first time in a year, you know you’ve never been more apart from each other. It’s stupid. It makes you want to hit yourself in the face.

Yet all she does is smile, teasing eyes glued to yours like no time has passed, like it’s amusing that you slipped up. It hurts more than it should. Makes you think about all the times she laughed off something you thought was serious, making you feel dumb.

“Hey. You look…” Manon’s voice hesitates as her eyes run up and down your body, taking you in. It makes you feel judged. The fondness in her eyes goes unnoticed by you, as you’re too busy staring back.

Her black dress is hugging her figure perfectly. That’s who Manon is now: flawless, effortless. The fabric ends mid-thigh, which gives you (and anyone that looks her way) an ample view of her toned legs. Her posture is impeccably straight, like she’s ready for someone to take her picture at any moment. Her hair is pressed. Her edges are laid neatly. Her skin shines and reflects the artificial lighting on the rooftop. A coat rests on her shoulders to protect her from the cold.

She looks beautiful. The sight genuinely takes your breath away a little (you blame it on all the time apart), which makes you let out an involuntary sigh. Manon catches it and smiles faintly, and you feel stupid again.

“You came up here to smoke?” She asks with a playful tilt to her voice, like what she’s saying is part of an inner joke that only you and her can understand. You want to tell her no, you’re not the only one that knows I smoke, it’s not some big secret, I have friends and a life outside of you and other people know me like you used to so you’re not special!

You shake your head instead.

“I quit a few months ago.” The look on her face gives you some sort of satisfaction, even if momentary. Surprise colors her features. Faint, but it’s there. There’s something she doesn’t know about me. She didn’t take everything with her. There are still parts of myself here with me.

You clear your throat, snapping out of your thoughts to focus on the conversation. “Why did you come up?” You ask before taking a sip of your drink.

You knew why you were up there. You needed air after noticing her on the dance floor with a couple of her friends. They used to be your friends too, not too long ago when your lives were still intertwined. You went up the stairs to get some air, drink in hand as you excused yourself from your conversation, unaware of brown eyes following you.

And now, some minutes after, you were here. Alone, with the woman you loved for what felt like a lifetime.

“I saw you and figured I’d say hi, y’know, catch up… It’s been a year! How’ve you been?”

The phrasing makes your stomach hurt. You know it’s been a year. You’ve counted the days since she left and hoped she would come back so you could hit play to your life again. What does she gain, pretending she cares about how you’ve been when she decided to leave?

But you just answer, because you understand she owes nothing to you. She’s not the same person you could once say whatever was on your mind to. She’s a stranger now. “I’ve been good.” You take another quick sip of your drink in hopes it might numb you. “What about you?”

You’re expecting a specific answer, waiting for her happiness to hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You’ve seen how well she’s been doing since she left you. It’s hard not to, really, what with Katseye being everywhere lately. You’re happy for her, of course you are. How could you not? The woman you loved was finally getting the recognition she deserved from the entire world.

Still, you didn’t really want to hear it. It would mean hearing her say, in different words, that she was right. That she made the right choice the day she left your shared apartment and ignored your pleas not to leave and try to make things work.

You were convinced you couldn’t live without her. You knew you would prefer to have the worst version of her every single day than to not have her at all. She was an essential part of you, she grounded you and made you the only version of yourself you could bear.

Manon, on the other hand, became bigger than the relationship. Her projects became more and more important, and you became less and less of a priority. You always admired her grit when it came to work, but those last months before the breakup were torture. Scheduled calls missed, scarce texts here and there, and only knowing what she was up to from other people’s posts because she forgot to tell you.

You became so worried trying to collect any fragments of her before she vanished, that you let your career and relevance fade into the background. It seemed worth it since your relationship was much more important to you than popularity, and it was dying. To Manon, the sacrifice didn’t make sense.

She saw the way you looked at her, like she was your entire world. It used to make her believe she would never need anything else, but at some point it started feeling suffocating. Your love for her left no space for her to grow.  She wasn’t going to let anyone drag her down, even if she loved them.

With tears in her eyes, Manon packed her bags and parted from you with a kiss on your forehead, assuring you it was the right thing for the both of you.

It haunts you. The way she decided for you, and how she pretended that it was about you both when she was only thinking about herself. She never thought about you, because if she did then she would understand that there’s nothing more important to you than her, nothing you could ever need or want more.

You’ve seen how happy she is without you because it’s nearly impossible not to. She’s everywhere, so you’re nowhere.

She’s in every friend group hangout, so you’re not. She’s on every trip, so you’re not. She’s in every award show, so you’re not. You’ve stopped existing for her. Sometimes you’re certain it’s worth it, when you see the smile on her face on an Instagram story or listen to her song on the radio. Other times, you can’t help but hate her for being so much better without you, and for taking so much from you.

Manon doesn’t answer your question like you were expecting her to. And really, you should’ve known. She’s not your Manon anymore, you can’t read her mind and anticipate her words like you used to.

She just sighs, looking down at the floor. She seems to be really thinking about your question, and you use the opportunity to take in her face fully. She hasn’t changed much.

After a while she simply looks up and shrugs, giving you a tight-lipped smile. It makes your face fall.

You were bracing for her to gloat. To see her eyes shine in excitement as she told you all about her new adventures, and to see her smile bigger than she ever did with you.

“What do you mean?” The question leaves your lips a little breathlessly, as you look at her in confusion.

You watch as her face mirrors yours, her eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean, what do I mean?” Manon asks back, slightly taken aback.

“What- like what does that answer mean?” you ask, putting your glass down on the floor and gesturing to her shrug with your now empty hand, “are you not happy?”

She scoffs out a forced laugh, her smile dropping immediately after. Then she crosses her arms defensively. “I- I didn’t say that.” Her voice is unsure and you can hear it within the first letter. It makes your blood boil. Is she or is she not happy, then?

“So say you’re happy! Tell me you’re happy right now.” You demand. To an outsider you might have sounded childish, but for Manon, the demand makes her mouth open and close a couple of times only to come up with nothing. “Say you’re happy Manon!” You raise your voice.

“I am! I am happy!” She yells back at you, taking a step closer. She’s angry; her eyebrows are deeply furrowed, her face is reddened, her hands are getting shaky and her eyes are watery. “I’m happy.” She repeats, more for herself than for you.

Finally. The admission makes you let out a relieved breath.

It only takes a couple of seconds of sitting in the silence of the aftermath for you to start feeling stupid. Your heart feels like you just ran a marathon and you’re pretty sure your face has reddened too.

Manon looks at you, then. Her eyes soften as she stares, and the moment your eyes meet hers, you know what she wants to ask. She used to be able to ask things from you without even having to speak, and you would always obey.

When she realizes you won’t talk, she asks the question out loud for you. “Why?” It comes out in a whisper, like she’s scared that if she uses her voice fully, it will break.

You swear that, somehow, you can feel the knot in her throat like it’s on yours instead of hers.

You gulp to get rid of the feeling, looking away for a moment. It’s a nice view. Big city, flashing lights, tall buildings. It only manages to keep your attention for a few seconds before your eyes naturally fall back to the woman in front of you.

Her eyes are soft, glassy and pleading. You understand what she’s asking of you, and you know you’ll give it to her. You could never not try to give Manon what she wants. And right now she wants an explanation for your outburst.

“I need-” You start, but your voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. It’s awful how weak she makes you feel sometimes. “I need it to have been for something.”

You look at her right after, hoping to see a flash of appreciation. For you having done what she wanted you to do. Having laid your pathetic intentions bare for her to see.

There’s nothing. Naturally, you keep trying.

“That… that I’m without you for good reason, y’know? That it was the right choice and the pain is worth it because you’re happy.” You explain.

Finally, it gets Manon’s eyes to soften in that familiar way. When they turn glassy a part of you feels relief. You still have some effect on her and she cares, on some level. You stare at her eyes for a while, and your chest hurts when you realize you can’t read them, can’t anticipate her next move.

It’s sudden and unexpected when her hand goes up to cup your cheek. Yet it’s like a dormant part of you wakes up, and it knows her. It wakes at her touch and immediately feels at home and safe, and makes you lean into her touch. Not consciously, but because part of you will never forget her, will always be programmed to respond to her.

Her thumb rubs at the skin of your cheek. You can only look at her silently. The breath she lets out after feels like giving up, like all her efforts of staying strong and away from you are left at the door now that she’s arrived home.

Manon lets her forehead lean against yours, feeling tired of ignoring the urge to do so. “I miss you.” She whispers. You don’t like how scared she sounds to say it.

You say it back anyways.

“Do you wanna take me home?” is the next thing she says. Her voice is raspy yet sweet, dipped in honey. Your eyes are lidded as you nod against her, foreheads still touching. Despite everything, she smiles.

You leave quietly.

The girls look at her as she whispers something to them. You try not to stare too much, in fear of being obvious. They simply nod and smile at her, kissing her cheek in goodbye. You know she lied to them because you know if she told them her true intentions for the rest of her night, they would tell her it’s a terrible idea.

You say your quick goodbyes as well. After all, there’s no one in the building more important than the prospect of leaving with Manon. You walk to your car with your heartbeat on your ear and her hand intertwined with yours. When you open the passenger door for her you feel younger, like years have been taken off you and there’s a new lightness in your body.

How you didn’t get photographed or spotted, you’ll never know. Paparazzi were around the area, and you didn’t try hard enough to hide. It was a miracle that you arrived to your apartment with no one knowing. Not your friends, not her friends, not management, not fans.

Maybe you should’ve known then. Taken it as an omen of sorts. Once it ended, you were both going to pretend the night never happened because you’ve gotten used to thinking things are only real when they’re under the flashlight.

Manon waits silently as you get the apartment keys out, and watches as you push the door open for her and let her step inside first. You walk behind her, watch as she takes in the state of a place she used to call home.

Not much has changed. Some pictures have been taken down but the walls are the same color, the furniture is all the same, even the smell is familiar.

It’s tidy.

Tidy enough that when she takes her heels off, she feels a silent, pressing urge to hurry and place them on the empty shoe shelf. You’ve always been orderly, but she used to be the one to break that. You picked up her shoes after her, washed her dishes, put her scattered makeup in its place.

She used to laugh it off, say she forgot and kiss your cheek in appreciation, but she secretly felt bad about it. How disciplined you were and how little she cared about those things. She never told you because she was certain you would find a way to feel guilty about it even if it was on her.

Despite being so clean and ordered, the place still felt off. Goosebumps prickled her arms as she took her coat off, and though it had everything a house could need, it felt empty. A particular piece missing. Maybe you should put up some photos or something, she thought.

Manon is broken out of her thoughts when she hears ruffling behind her as you take your own coat off, grabbing hers off her hands to hang it. “Drink?” You ask, walking past her to head to the kitchen.

Even though she used to live here only a year ago, it still feels like she’s walking to the unknown as she follows you. She leans her hip against the countertop, trying to seem relaxed. “Sure. Thanks.” Her stare lingers on your hands as she watches you uncork a bottle of wine (you still drink her favorite one) and grab two glasses, “place looks nice.”

You only hum.

Your fingers graze each other when you hand her the glass, and she notices how you try to hide a smile as you take a sip of your own. “Sorry,” you say after, looking at her, “this feels weird.”

“Yeah?”

“A little.” You shrug, looking down at your glass as you swirl the liquid inside. “It doesn’t feel weird to you?” You ask, mirroring her stance as you lean your hip against the countertop too, standing in front of her.

Manon shrugs too, smiling. She decides, for tonight, it’s better to lie. “Not really.”

Your eyebrows rise and you smile. A tightness in her chest unravels when she sees you. The smile is familiar. In fact, a lot of things about the situation feel familiar. You, in front of her, in your kitchen, drinking her favorite wine, and you smiling at her like you do when you don’t really believe her but don’t want to break her bubble.

She thinks it’s that feeling that makes her put the wine down, lean in and press her lips against yours.

There’s a small sound that comes from the back of your throat. You weren’t expecting her kiss. It worries her how quickly the sound makes her dizzy.

It’s not long before she can feel you untense and kiss her back, your free hand landing at her waist warm and intimate.

Her hands grab your face, and she notices how softly you’re kissing her, letting her set the pace. Your lips feel plushy on hers and she can feel your jaw move against her hand and your hands shake slightly by her waist. She basks in the sweetness, lets it linger for as long as she can.

At some point, when air becomes insufficient, you pull away, licking your lips and placing your glass down on the countertop. She can practically see the gears turning in your head. “Manon, I…” you rub your eye as you think of what to say. She fights the urge to stop you like she used to, and only watches as you accidentally smudge your makeup.

You don’t even know what you want to say, or what you should say. You just know this is wrong. You know she’ll leave in the morning, leave you bleeding while she gets to walk away with her dignity intact, as you lay in the empty bed chasing the warmth her body will leave on your sheets for as long as you can. It’s pathetic. You should stop it.

Manon only looks at you. Her eyes make you weak, they always have. You feel an urgent need to kiss her again and it’s intoxicating.

When she sees your hesitance to speak, her arms wrap around your neck. “If I ask you to stop thinking tonight… you think you could do that?” Her voice makes its way inside you, soft and slightly raspy. You know what she’s doing, trying to lure you into getting what she wants. You know she’ll succeed.

Your hands go to her hips. “Can I ask you a question first?”

Manon nods, her eyes lingering on your lips before looking back up to your eyes. “Anything. You know that.”

You ignore how fake that feels. How long it’s been since that was the case. “Other people you’ve been with since we broke up...,”

She lets out a small laugh and rolls her eyes, looking away, and you relish the reaction. You miss her, and so you miss her happy, you miss her annoyed, you miss her angry, you miss her upset. Her tongue pushes against her cheek while you finish your question, “have they been better than me?”

“Why do you wanna know that?” She asks, her eyes narrowing incredulously, as her hand makes its way to the hair above your neck.

You smile, shrugging as you wait for an answer.

She could be a bitch about it, say yes, she has a really nice sex life, thank you very much, not that it’s any of your business at this point. Luckily, she knows you. She sees the hesitance in how you look at her, sees the fear in what her answer might be in the way your foot moves anxiously against the floor.

You used to be a sucker for her nice words, she remembers that. You liked when she acknowledged you, made you feel appreciated. And she remembers how you used to say it was pathetic. She remembers all those times she reassured you, said she liked it too.

Her nails begin scratching at your scalp as she looks at you faintly. “You want me to say you’re the best fuck I’ve had? Is that it?” She asks you, her voice playful and smooth.

You tilt your head, pretending to be annoyed by her answer as you look down and bite the inside of your cheek. She sees the way you swallow, though, sees your cheeks redden.

“Baby…” Manon calls out, her nails going down to scratch at the back of your neck. Suppressing a shiver, you look up at her again. It’s so unfair how she uses pet names against you. “What if you remind me? Prove to me how good it used to be?”

She watches your eyes darken at her words, your hands squeezing at her hips unconsciously. You falter at the smallest opportunity to please, to put in work for her and prove to her that you’re still good. Manon wishes she could enjoy the thought of that, but it makes her feel sad.

She ignores the feeling when your eyes trace all over her face, like you’re looking for a sign that will tell you she’s joking. “Yeah?” You ask when you find none, the sound of your voice is barely there, and you have to clear your throat after.

Manon only nods, smiling.

Your hand cups the side of her face as you kiss her, with less softness this time. It’s like you’re trying to erase the time you’ve spent apart with the strength of your kiss. A small, small part of her wishes you could.

Her hands come up to rest at your shoulders while she kisses you back, feeling the smoothness of your skin brush against her fingers as she plays with the straps of your dress. Your other hand moves from her hip down to her thigh and squeezes the toned flesh there. She bites your lip in response and smirks when you groan.

“D’you wanna move to the bed-” Manon tries to offer while she slows down her kisses, but she’s interrupted by a worked-up shake of your head and your lips smashing back on hers, your eagerness lighting up a fire in her lower stomach. Soon after, she’s getting lifted and placed to sit on the countertop.

She detests how it easily it comes for her to have her hands rest on your neck and her mouth occupied kissing yours, how insanely fucking uncomplicated it is to get lost in this small, huge thing. As your hand caresses the skin of her thigh, her brain barely registers it, it’s like she’s on another dimension. She forgot how much she missed this.

Manon stops herself from whining when your mouth parts from hers, and that’s when you start dragging your lips down from the corner of her mouth to her jaw. Your thumb pushes faintly below her jaw to push her head back, and she obeys eagerly, giving you more space.

The kisses are sloppy, it feels like you’re trying to cover every inch of her skin, to make sure there’s not a single inch of her neck untouched by your lips. The warm feeling a heavy sigh out of her, and when she tries to squeeze her thighs together unconsciously, you make sure to push them apart to stand between her legs.  

“You change your perfume?” You ask against her neck between kisses. Her eyes are closed, her head thrown back in bliss, and she barely hears the question, so she only nods her head distractedly.

“Why?” Your voice is muffled by Manon’s skin, she feels your breath hitting hot against her throat, and you need to stop asking stupid questions.

She huffs, and you get the message.

Your lips slide down. She encourages the decision by tangling her fingers in your hair. You hum against her and she lets out a satisfied breath at your responsiveness. When your lips reach her collarbone, you stop, move up and plant a kiss to her lips again. “Can I taste you?” You ask quietly.

You’re breathing hard, she can feel it hitting her mouth. You’re too sweet. So gentle, caring, respectful. She misses you and she hates herself for coming home with you. She’s so fucking selfish.

The way you asked though, god. It makes her heady with lust. She can’t not kiss you fervently after that, hold the back of your neck to press you closer to her, her teeth clashing with your lip.

You hiss softly after the impact but keep kissing her, caressing her hips mindlessly with your hands. “Please.” You whisper against her mouth.

In that moment, you wish so strongly you could tell her you love her. It feels so right, as she shoves her tongue into your mouth while you feel the sting on your lip still. You love her. You wish and pray that she leaves bruises tonight.

You can’t smell anything but her new perfume, and even though you miss her old one you know you could get used to it. You could adjust yourself to her new life, no matter if it wasn’t what you were used to. You just need her.

You know you can’t say it, so you just keep kissing her, letting her take the lead and explore your mouth freely while your hand slips between her legs and caresses her inner thigh. She moans quietly, her kisses becoming sloppier.

“Please, baby.” She whispers between kisses, dragging you impossibly closer to her body. You feel her chest against yours and fear she will feel how fast your heart is breathing. You guess it’s not really a secret, though, how affected you are and have always been by her.

You sigh out a small “fuck,” under your breath at the pet name, sucking her bottom lip between yours as your hand finally goes up to trace her slit with your thumb, over her underwear. She moans instantly, biting at your lip again and grinding her hips closer to your hand.

You hum, moving to kiss her cheek as you feel her up. The fabric is thoroughly soaked, and it clings to her pussy as you reexplore the shape of her with your fingers. You cup her core against your palm and she lets out a desperate little whine, resisting the urge to rush you.

You can feel her clenching against your palm. You feel how wet she’s gotten because of you, how pliant her body feels, how she arches closer to you, and you want to tell her you love her again.

It used to soothe you so dramatically, quieting this need you felt to tear your chest apart to be able to reach inside it and tear your heart out to hand it to her. You said ‘I love you’ and you knew she understood everything it meant, so the need quieted down. You have no right to say it now, so you just kiss her temple and remove her underwear, slowly slipping the fabric down her legs.

You drop to your knees right in front of her, looking up while she waits for your next move, and grasping her underwear on your fist tightly, without even realizing. Suddenly, the cold apartment feels like home to you again. You press a small kiss to her ankle, let the underwear fall to the floor, and move your head to press open-mouthed kisses up her inner thighs.

Manon hums feebly, enthralled watching you as her fingers tangle in your hair. The sight makes her gulp, nostalgia hits her suddenly and she feels a knot in her throat not for the first time tonight.

She won’t ruin her chance to have you again tonight, though. She knows if you see her cry, you’ll stop, so she just focuses on guiding you. “You look so good on your knees.” When she feels your smirk against her thigh, Manon calls it a mission accomplished.

Your kisses become more desperate, hungrier, and you’re finally inching up to where she really needs you. Your hands push the fabric of her dress up to rest around her hips, and you take a pause to look up at her, “I always look good,” you joke, smiling up at her as your chin rests on her leg.

She chuckles, running your fingers through her hair as she watches you fondly, her gaze softening.

The look on her eyes scared you a little and so you rush to move your head back between her legs.

You place your mouth over her pussy, your tongue running up all the way to her clit, and you swear something breaks within you. The noisy, sharp moan she lets out is muffled in your ears, since she squeezes her thighs against the sides of your head, effectively trapping you in place. Your hands move to rest on her legs but let her keep squeezing you.

The taste of her is electrifying. As soon as her wetness hits your tongue you’re a different person. Not the one you were a few hours ago before you saw her again, but not the one you were a year ago when you tasted her daily either. You know you’ve been changed because a new wound has been opened and you’re not sure you’ll be able to hide the bleeding this time around.

You’ll never be complete without her, and even though she’s letting you be fulfilled tonight, tomorrow you’ll lose her again. You’ll see her walk out of an apartment that already feels like it belongs to the both of you again for the second time. The thought is unbearable.

You grip her thighs tighter and lap at her clit languidly, sucking it between your lips after and humming as you relish the temporary bliss. “Oh my- fuck!” Manon’s hips thrash against your face at the vibration, smearing your face. You move away for a second to spit at her pussy and watch as your saliva slides down and mixes with her own juices.

You feel like saying I love you again.

Instead, you press a gentle kiss to her clit before you teasingly run your tongue over her entrance. She moans, pushes your face closer desperately, and you take pleasure in ignoring her as you keep licking around her entrance. She needs you. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt something as nice as being needed by Manon Bannerman.

Her gentle hand turns harsh suddenly, and it grabs a fistful of your hair to push your face away from her pussy. You let out a pathetic moan at the force. Another one dies in your throat at the sight of her looking down at you, eyes lidded and fire in her eyes.

Your throat is exposed and so, naturally, she wraps her other hand around it, just holding you. She feels you gulp and smirks faintly. It sends a shockwave directly between your legs.

Her hand sneaks up to your jaw slowly and presses at your cheeks, and your mouth falls open like you’re a programmed toy. It waters at what’s to come. You feel greedy, like you’re asking her for too much, and the fact that you’re not even asking, that she’s offering all of this to you, it makes your heart rush.

She leans down closer to your face, her mouth closer to your mouth. Your eyes fall shut and the next thing you feel is the weight of her spit, heavy on your tongue. A small whimper escapes your throat at the feeling, and Manon watches satisfied as you close your mouth and swallow.

“Be good for me, okay?” She asks, caressing your cheek. You nod while you lick your lips.

“Mkay.” Your mind feels like it’s cotton candy, all messed up by her presence. She’s always known exactly what buttons to push with you. It’s what makes sex with you so much better than meaningless hookups with strangers. You know what she likes. She knows what you like. You know her body. She knows your weaknesses. It makes her feel like a professional. She’s the best at something, at least.

You kiss and lap up at her folds messily for a while before finally letting your tongue push past her entrance. She hisses in bliss, her eyes closing. “Fuck. That’s a good girl.” Her hand pulls at your hair to position your face so that your nose can rub her clit just right.

Your efforts increase as your tongue moves faster, ignoring the ache of your jaw and chasing the moment when you’ll feel her come undone for you again. “Oh, that’s so- I’m so close baby, fuck!” Manon moans out, biting her lip to avoid making too much noise. She still remembers all the neighbor complaints you used to get.

She comes quietly; her eyebrows furrowing, her mouth opening in a silent scream, her limbs tensing, her stomach tightening, her eyes closing. You watch, as you keep your ministrations going to prolong her orgasm.

After, you clean her up gently with your tongue, not wanting to let a drop go to waste. You feel Manon push your face away after a while, overstimulated. You get off your knees to stand in front of her, running a hand against your face to clean yourself off some of her juices, and smiling as you see her blissed out face. She smiles back, letting out a small laugh. You lean in to kiss her nose.

“Good?” You ask, pressing another kiss to her neck before looking at her expectantly, moving a strand of hair away from her face. She just kisses you, humming at the taste of her on your lips while nodding and wrapping her arms around your neck.

Your hands find their place on her hips again, and her legs wrap around you like it’s second nature.

It’s not over yet. You know, and she knows the night is far from ending. It’ll never really be over. The memories will find life in your heart forever, will insist that you look for her in every crowded room, that you go smoke on every rooftop hoping to find her again. Your heart, bruised and bloody and incomplete, will always look for her, unaware of your brain trying its hardest to move on.

There's nothing quite like the feeling of Megan's body pressed against yours, her weight on top of you.

Her skin, soft and warm, bare and touching yours.

Her chest, pressed against yours and breathing in when you breathe out.

Your hands, splayed on her back as your finger writes your names together over and over, like a promise that's sacred because it's being forged on her skin.

Your legs, intertwined with hers on the bed as she traps you with them. You would never go anywhere anyway.

The white sheets, fresh and clean covering your bodies, a layer of protection from the outside world. Because while, yes, you are all alone in the hotel room, the moment still feels too intimate and precious to not try to protect further.

"Hmmm, I don't wanna get up." Megan's voice is groggy against your ear; it almost makes you shiver. Memories of last night replay in your head, of the way her raspy moans bounced against the walls of the room, and heat blooms up your cheeks. You're glad she's still half asleep and can’t see you or else she’d be teasing you already.

"Sophia's gonna start bombarding our phones soon." You argue. Your words scream logic. You should get up and get ready… but your body screams the opposite, as your fingers tracing figures on Megan’s back lure her into further relaxation, her body limp on top of yours.

"She knows where we are. We can take a little more time."

Sophia did know where you were, as did the rest of the girls. They had all teasingly whooped at you two when Megan started getting too tired and clingy last night, and decided to pull you away by the hand, guiding you to her room while flipping them off.

Management really should stop booking individual rooms for you two. Megan would share anything with you, if you asked. Fuck, she didn't even need a toothbrush of her own.

Okay, maybe that was an overstatement. But she has let you steal a lot of her clothes, she lends you her charger, and every bed she sleeps in becomes yours too.

She supposes it has something to do with how close it makes her feel to you, when you guys share. What is hers is yours, and what's yours is hers. She doesn't need anything that's 'only hers' if it means separating from you.

Maybe it's not the healthiest thing in the world. Some people might say you guys ‘lack boundaries’ or whatever, but frankly she couldn't care less.

What you have is special, and it belongs to you two exclusively.

The thought makes her anxiety rest when she remembers. It's just you and her, and you get her. There's no need to try and make other people accept it, or understand.

It's private, and it's sacred, and it's yours.

You press your lips to Megan’s shoulder, and she forces herself to get out of her still-sleepy state. She pushes herself up on her hands, laying right above you, and she has to bite her lip to suppress a smile.

Your hair is all messy and your eyes still hold memories of last night as there’s still makeup clinging onto them. You blink slowly, like you’re trying to fight off the tiredness too.

Maybe you should’ve slept more yesterday. Her eyes fall to a mark that her teeth left on your chest and she thinks, no, yesterday was worth it. As is any night with you. Or afternoon, or morning, or whenever you decide to fuck.

You smile up at her, closing your eyes for a while. When you open them back her smile grows bigger, and you move your hand to push some of her hair behind her ear and see her face better.

“You’re so annoying, how do you look so pretty in the mornings?” Your voice rasps out. You can feel her chuckle rumble against your own belly at your comment, which makes you feel proud for making her laugh. Already a great start to your day.

“I don’t.”

“You so do.” You push, grabbing her face in your hands. You stare, with a soft smile, and she stares back. Megan sighs and lets her forehead fall against yours, her eyes closing again and her long hair cascading and enveloping your faces like curtains. You wish you could stay like this longer.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Oh, you swear by the fact that Megan can read your mind sometimes. In rehearsal, at parties, during events, at the shows. There are occasions where she doesn’t even need to speak it out loud.

She looks at you and you look at her. and you know; she knows what you’re thinking.

And really, you don’t think it’s that crazy of a thing to say at all. She knows you, intrinsically, better than anyone. Knows all your tells, your weird habits, your needs, your mannerisms, your limits and all your wishes.

She knows your heart. Her soul is married to yours. They must’ve married sometime in the past or something, because you’re sure you and Megan are meant to be.

You guys think you must’ve met in a past life, when she was a sailor and you were a lighthouse keeper or something. It doesn’t really matter how it was back then, because you’ve found each other here.

“I was literally thinking that.”

“Oh, I know.” Megan says cockily, opening her eyes, and you laugh. She laughs with you, resting her forehead on your collarbone. “Ugh… we should probably get up, actually.” She groans out after a few seconds, responsibilities sinking in.

You know you were the one saying you guys needed to get up but you still feel the regret deep in your bones when you feel her body separating from yours.

Her warmth lingers in the sheet that’s still covering you but it’s not the same, and the sheets are unquestionably not as soft as her skin. You lay there for a while, watching her bare back as she sits by the edge of the bed, looking down at her phone.

You’re not thinking much when you lean forward to press a kiss on her shoulder blade. You don’t have to think anymore, when it comes to showing your love to her. It comes naturally, like breathing or blinking.

Your love for her is a part of who you are, and you don’t function normally without it anymore. Your heart beats, your body shivers when you’re cold, you yawn when you’re tired, and you love Megan Skiendiel.

“We have two hours.” Megan tells you while she answers some texts. You press your forehead to her back, sighing tiredly. “You okay?” She asks when she hears you.

“Yeah, just tired.” You explain, moving to get your own phone from the table on the other side of the bed.

Megan locks hers, putting it down on the bed and turning to look at you. There are times when you don’t speak with words anymore. It just takes a look for her to know there’s something up with you.

She feels so fucking lucky, that she’s the one that knows you this well. That you’ve allowed her to get so close that she understands you to a level that could be concerning to others, but only feels soothing to her. No walls to put up or to break down, when it comes to you.

And, well, it makes sense that she gets you so well. You are going through some really crazy experiences together, so she knows, when it’s all too much. She feels it too.

Sometimes, she’s glad you two met the way you did. Glad she made it into the band because yes, it’s obviously her dream come true, but also because there’s no one in this world except for you and her that understands (the girls do too but it’s different). No one could replace her, or give you what she offers.

Like right now, she knows what you need. Because she needs it, as well.

It happens often, this sharing of needs or thoughts. It makes her belly tighten up with warmth when she thinks about it. Makes her feel a little insane, how much she loves how the differences between you keep diminishing.

Makes her feel really fucking insane sometimes because when she thinks about it, she finds that she wouldn’t mind being tied up to you, glued together. Sometimes she feels like being as close as possible to you isn’t enough.

That’s when she takes your clothes off, hoping that maybe the fabric is what’s making her feel like you’re not close enough. But it’s never that. She has come to understand that what she wants is to make space for a home under your skin.

When the world is too loud and all she wants is to quit, she wants to burrow herself beneath any layers that separate her heart from yours, let them beat together.

She told you this one night, under the covers and whispering to you like she was scared someone else might hear. She could barely see your face in the dark, but she could have sworn she saw your eyes light up the more she spoke. You kissed her once she finished, said it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you, and then made love to her.

So yeah, she loves you.

Therefore, she knows that all you need is a little more time away from the world. A few more borrowed minutes where it’s just you and her in this hotel room you stepped foot in for the first time yesterday, but already feels like it’s yours. Because anywhere with you is home.

“I’m gonna go shower,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on you. They’re still a little puffy from sleep. “You wanna join me?”  

You look up from your phone at your words, your eyes brightening. “Yeah?” Megan doesn’t think you meant to say it as a question but it’s still cute, how you sit a little straighter on the bed and your voice tints with cheeriness at the prospect.

She nods, smiling at you. “Yeah, we can save some time, right?”

You nod too, already moving to get out of bed. You wrap the sheet around your body as you make your way to the restroom with no time to lose, turning your head to throw her a wink. Your hair is all messy and you have to rush your walk because the floor is too cold for your feet, but she looks at you and all she sees is forever.

She’s going to marry you at some point in her life, she’s sure of it. She doesn’t tell you, but there are times she thinks of you and her brain just assumes ‘wife’. She feels silly when she realizes but part of her knows why it happens.

Her brain, and her heart, and her body and soul already know it will happen, eventually.

She gets up to follow you, laughs along with you after you shriek dramatically once she catches up to you and pulls at the sheet. You let it fall without much resistance. Then, she makes sure the water temperature is just as you like it, giving it some time to reach the sweet spot.

“Okay, yeah.” She mutters under her breath once she’s satisfied enough with it, shaking the water off of her hand.

“Good?” You ask, waiting patiently. She nods and you peck her cheek in gratefulness.

Megan follows you into the shower, carefully stepping inside with a hand supporting your lower back as you walk in front of her. She watches for a few seconds as you let the water hit your face, pushing your hair away.

The water droplets immediately begin running down your shoulders, against your back, your ass, your legs, and all the way down to your feet, and your hair begins flattening as it dampens. You don’t let her enjoy the sight for much longer, as you turn and pull her in by the waist.

Her eyes close when she feels the warm water on her, feeling her muscles relax further and letting her head fall back slightly. She feels your hands push some of her hair off her face. “Pretty,” you whisper under your breath.

Her eyes open and she smiles when she sees you staring at her fondly. “Is the water good?” She asks you, just to make sure, ignoring the heat on her cheeks.

You nod, pressing a quick peck to her lips. She wishes you would’ve lingered a little longer. “It’s perfect.” She wants to kiss you again, wants to feel your body as it’s wettened by the water, but you turn away to grab shampoo.

She watches as you squeeze some on your hand, making sure to emulsify between your palms. “Turn around.” Despite her wishes, she listens and turns to face away from you.

A pout forms in her face unconsciously, disappointed that she doesn’t get to see your face anymore. But it doesn’t last long, as she feels your hands on her hair. A small sound escapes her throat when you begin massaging her scalp, carefully working the shampoo everywhere on her head, your fingers moving gently to really make sure to clean properly.

It was heavenly.

She hears you chuckle softly at her reaction but barely registers it. Her brain is elsewhere, all softened and mushy and unfit. All she could think about was how well you took care of her, how perfectly your fingers made way in her hair.

After a while you moved her a little closer to you, leaned her head back to rinse off the shampoo.

You’re about to grab the conditioner bottle before she stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Hold on.” She turns around so she can face you again, positioning the both of you under the water stream. “Can we just…” her arms wrap around your waist and she presses her body against yours, enjoying how the water feels between you, “stay like this a little bit? Like, hold me for a second.”

Your arms wrap around her shoulders, letting her hide her face on your neck. She stays like this for a little bit, just basking in the safety of having her arms wrapped around you.

After a while, though, she realizes it’s not enough.

Megan takes a deep breath, then dips her face closer to your neck to kiss it gently. It’s just pecks at first, all over the side of your neck. You don’t really react, just keep holding her.

That’s when she moves her face to the other side of your neck, makes it her mission to make you aware of exactly what she wanted. Although she was sure you knew, you just liked making her needier.

Her kisses turn heavier, her lips pressing open-mouthed and sucking gently at your pulse point, making sure not to leave marks. She hears you hiss and smiles, moving off your neck to face you. “Why’d you stop?” You ask. Your voice is so soft that it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the tiles.

Megan doesn’t answer. Not verbally, at least. She just leans in to press her lips against yours, shoulders tightening as she immediately moves her head for a deeper angle.

Her shoulders come back down when your hands rest on them, keeping her close to you as you kiss her back, answering to the familiar fervor in her kisses by trying to slow her down, letting your lips linger for longer and rejecting her tongue.

You hear a defeated whine but other than that, Megan accepts your pace, grabbing your hips to pull you closer and matching you, allowing herself to get lost in the rhythm in which you’re kissing.

It’s easy, this give-and-take, especially since she knows it’s you, and you know exactly what’s good for her. If you want to kiss her slowly, it must be for good reason. And if you allow her hands to travel down your back to squeeze your ass, well, she won’t complain.

It’s then, that you finally give her tongue entrance, weakening when you feel her hands squeeze the skin with little to no hesitation. Your body is hers too, to some extent. You like that she knows that, and feels safe enough to touch you without indecisiveness.

You’re hers, as much as she is yours.

Your tongues play together, getting lost in the sensation of closeness. You’re here, bare bodies pressed together, tongues meeting each other (hers almost down your throat) and it’s still not enough.

Your arms wrap around her shoulders then, hugging her close. Her arms do the same at your waist before she breaks the kiss for air, leaving your mouth still warm from hers, lips still tingling and a string of her spit connecting you to her. The water breaks it before any of you can.

Megan lets her forehead rest against yours, catching her breath. You close your eyes, and only listen distantly when she sighs out an, “I love you.”

Your eyes open then, finding her already staring at you. You smile, because you can’t help it. “I love you too, baby.”

She kisses you again, hoping to make you understand the things you do to her, when you tell her you love her. Hoping that somehow, the tremors in her chest can make her way up her throat and to her mouth, so you can feel them too.

She lets herself be fervent this time, squeezing your hips and sucking your bottom lip harshly.

Thankfully you let her, wrapping your arms around her neck and forgetting about everything. It’s just Megan right now, demanding your attention as she kisses you eagerly, giving you little to no time to breathe while she attacks your mouth lovingly.

There’s no way it gets better than this, you think. The water is the perfect temperature (thanks to her) and it’s hitting you like it’s a massage, relaxing your muscles. Megan is in your arms, her torso touching yours, and her hands are insistent on squeezing you. And her lips, god, her lips.

Her kisses always found a way to make you forget about everything, to empty your mind in the most heavenly of ways, demanding that you’re there, with her.

She’s yours. Sure, some fans think she belongs to them, there are friends that she loves deeply, family that she will always be loyal to. But in your soul, you know that the woman you’re holding is yours. The love of your life, your other half, your best friend, your soulmate.

You know that she will be with you, in your heart, even long after you die. The love you have for her will probably outlive you, you think, will linger in the air of the cities that were witness to you two like golden dust.

Megan inhales sharply when she feels your leg sneak between hers, your thigh pressing against her core. You find her wet, feel how warm she is against your skin, and how she focuses on not stopping the kissing. It makes you press with a little more force.

She moans, breaking the kiss to bite her lip and suppress the sound. You move your hand to hold her cheek and release her lip with your thumb. She kisses the pad of your finger. “Do we have enough time?” She asks.

Megan is rotating her hips gingerly, trying to hide the way she’s chasing friction against you. She slides easily against your thigh, the water and her own wetness making every move feel smooth.

You smirk faintly, caressing her cheek. “Time for what?”

She huffs out a laugh, resting the crown of her head against your mouth momentarily as she looks down. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me beg?” She wonders a little breathlessly, her hips still moving.

You shake your head, now grabbing her face with both of your hands and forcing her to look at you again. “No. Just wanna hear you say what you want.” Your leg presses further against her, and she has to bite her bottom lip again.

She stares at you, steam from the shower all around her and her eyes cloudy with want. She sighs, lets herself stare at your lips for a second while she thinks. You see her gaze light up when an idea comes to her mind, and then she’s moving to whisper against your ear, pressing a kiss on the shell of it. “Want you inside me.”

It makes you smile tenderly and shiver at the same time. “Yeah?”

Megan faces you again, nodding as a smirk takes over her face. She leans in then, runs her tongue up against your mouth teasingly. You laugh before crashing into her lips again. She meets you with hunger, one of the hands at your hips moving up to the back of your neck to keep you close to her.

It’s then that you let your own hand slide down her body, tracing the middle of her toned abdomen slowly, lightly, all the way down to the skin above her center. She shivers when she feels your fingers there, kisses turning sloppier.

She bites at your bottom lip as a way to rush you, and you finally let your hand move down, placing your ring and middle fingers outside the inner lips of her cunt. You feel more than hear her let out a little shaky breath between kisses.

You roll her clit softly between your fingers, swallow a moan when her mouth falls open and you seize the moment to shove your tongue on her mouth.

The kiss turns clumsier, but Megan can’t care less. Not when you’re playing with her clit like that, when the back of your neck is so warm against the palm of her hand, when she can feel your head move along with the pace of your kiss.

It’s not the easiest task to kiss you back while you’re touching her, but she still tries her hardest for you. It turns into a sloppy, wet mesh of tongue and lips that she wouldn’t change for the world.

Her tongue plays with yours mindlessly and she’s pretty sure her saliva is dripping down a corner of your mouth, sounds of wet smacks filling the shower. It’s perfect.

Soon after, you let your middle finger glide down her pussy, grunting softly when you feel the wetness that has accumulated by her entrance. Megan whimpers when she feels you there, grabbing at your shoulder with her other hand to support herself.

She breaks the kiss, looking at you pleadingly when you let your finger loll around without entering her. Her lips are pouty, eyes all soft and you almost drop to your knees right then. But you know she wants you close, wants to be able to hold you.

“I need you...” Megan’s voice is almost a mewl when she speaks.

You swallow a moan after hearing her voice, then push your middle finger inside her, feeling as her warmth immediately engulfs it.

She lets out a broken moan, throwing her head back.

Seeing her throat exposed like that makes you instantly press your mouth to it, covering her neck in airy kisses. Once your finger adjusts inside her you add a second one.

The stretch makes her groan, and you feel the vibration against your lips. You run your tongue over the skin then, down to her collarbones.

Your pace stays slow, caressing her insides with a caring rhythm. It makes her dizzy. A hand goes to grab at your hair, and she allows herself to let out intermittent whines each time you hit that spongy spot inside of her, “ah-ah-ah.”

When your mouth moves down to her chest she can feel how affected you are by this too. You allow yourself to nibble and suck at the skin there, that stays hidden from the cameras and strangers, and leave a reddening mark above her nipple. Megan notices your labored breathing against her chest, knows that this means as much to you as it means to her.

It makes her heart rush, knowing the effect she has on you without even touching you. You love her enough that pleasuring her gets you out of breath.

She smiles at the thought, but the expression is soon replaced by an o-shaped mouth when your lips wrap around her hardened nipple. Her back arches and she whimpers, pushing your head closer to her.

You’re eager in the way you run your tongue against it, suckling messily and stimulating it with flickers of your tongue. “Hmm- shit, that’s so good.” She moans out.

You move to her other breast then, this time gentler, your mouth matching the rate of your fingers inside of her. Megan’s eyes close, allowing herself to revel in the tenderness. You have time. There’s always time, when it comes to you and her.

Who cares, if you have to rush after you’re out of the shower, or if your manager looks at you disapprovingly in the lobby? Right now there’s only you and her, and you’re pampering her with your love, all soft and warm and just for her. So of course, she’ll indulge.

She feels you move up after a while, press a soft kiss to the back of her ear, and whisper an “I love you.” You’re about to move your head back down but she stops you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

You’re closer to her now. It makes moving your hand slightly more demanding, but it only makes Megan more turned on to have your body pressed to hers. So you push through the cramping  of your wrist, fasten your pace, and let your thumb start caressing her clit.

“O-oh my god, baby, fuck! Just like that.” Megan moans out, resting her chin on your shoulder. Her eyebrows furrow in pleasure, eyes closing to focus on the feeling.

You hold her. Your free arm wraps around her waist and you keep moving your fingers in and out of her, constantly hitting her g-spot while you stimulate her clit. You know she’s close; her pussy starts contracting against your fingers, her breathing becomes labored, and her moans start becoming breathier.

Megan’s hips begin twitching, her back arches and her arms squeeze you tighter. “I’m so close.” She whines out.

“Come for me, Mei.” Her orgasm crashes with a sharp inhale. She bites at your shoulder to keep herself from moaning out too loudly. You ignore the pain and keep your fingers moving inside of her while she rides her high.

She comes down from it slowly; her breathing coming back to normal, her muscles twitching slightly as they unclench, her arms softening your hold on you. You remove your fingers from her cunt then, and she kisses the bite on your shoulder before facing you.

“That was…” She tries to find the right word for a while, which makes you laugh. She laughs too, pushes your shoulder playfully. “Shut up! That was insane.”

You hum, pecking her lips. “Good.”

Her hand wraps around your hand, bringing it closer to her face. You watch as she wraps her lips around your fingers, pushing them inside her mouth in hopes that the water hasn’t washed off the taste of her fully.

She makes sure not to break eye contact with you as she moves her head down your fingers, releasing them with a wet pop and a smirk coloring her features.

Your feet are exhausted as you make your way to the door of your apartment.

The world is too harsh on you.

Or maybe you’ve just gotten used to gentleness. You’ve become spoiled.

The air is too cold against your cheeks, the traffic seems never-ending on your way home, the people on the streets are bitter and take it out on others.

You’ve gotten used to the warmth of a home of two with coffee, blankets and shared showers. To the swiftness with which time passes when you’re driving and she’s in your copilot seat singing to Beyoncé. To the tenderness with which she treats you; the delicate way she holds your face, her quiet you okay’s? each time you go out, how her eyes soften every time she looks at you like you’re something precious.

You used to think allowing yourself to get used to it would only make you weak. You tried to fight it for a while, before realizing it was a losing battle. She was your sanctuary, the one thing that brought you genuine peace, the place where you could unwind because there was no fear of being hurt.

You’re glad you decided to trust her, because now you get to do life with her, and suddenly nothing seems impossible because you have her on your side.

You unlock the door to your place and make your way in, placing your keys on the key bowl. “Baby? You home?” You hear Manon’s muffled voice coming from the bedroom promptly, as you shrug your coat off.

“I’m home.” Your voice comes out tired without permission. The heaviness of your day weighs on you too much to hide it. Also, you missed her.

She comes out of the bedroom while you’re taking your shoes off, already sporting a smile. Her curls sit loose and unruly on her head, and she wears a black tank top with a strap sliding off her shoulder and loose grey sweatpants.

Your smile is instant when you see her walk towards you with her arms extended and a loopy grin. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and like magnets, yours wrap around her waist. “You napped without me, Manz?” You ask her, noticing her puffy eyes.

Manon rests her forehead against your shoulder to hide her laugh in shame, although you can still hear her. “I’m sorry. I swear I was waiting for you when I fell asleep.”

You kiss the side of her head, “tough rehearsals?” You were well aware of how Manon exhausted herself for perfection when it came to her own work.

She shrugs, nuzzling her face to the side of your neck to inhale your familiar scent. “Jus’ long day.”

You sigh, running the palm of your hand up and down her back. “Same.”

“Yeah?” Manon faces you again, her eyes scanning your features worriedly.

You nod, pressing a small kiss to her lips after. “But it’s good. I’m here now.”

She stares at you for a little longer, bites her bottom lip as she notices the dark circles under your eyes. She wishes you didn’t work as hard as you did, but that would be hypocritical of her, “you hungry?” she asks instead.

You shake your head. “Not really. Are you?”

She shakes her head too. “Already ate.”

You hum, press your forehead against hers. “Movie?”

Her nose scrunches. “Which one? You always pick the most boring shit.” She says as she finally detaches herself from you, walking to the bedroom with the assumption that you’ll follow her. You trail right behind her immediately.

You scoff, grabbing her by the hips once you’re inside the room to halt her steps. “Excuse me? I have great taste in movies. I just don’t wanna watch Twilight every night.”

She chuckles, grabs your wrists to wrap your arms fully around her and press the back of her body against you. “Why not, dork?” She asks as you rest your chin on her shoulder.

You gasp with fake offense, and she laughs. “You’re calling me a dork? You’re the dorkiest girl I know.” You protest, pressing a small kiss to the side of her neck. You know you’re definitely the dorkiest one out of the two of you, but you also love arguing with Manon about stupid things.

“Bullshit. You’re the dorkiest girl I know.” She retorts while caressing your forearms.

“So mean… napping without me, insulting my taste in movies and calling me a dork.” You mutter against her neck, words brushing the side of her throat. She starts rocking your bodies side to side, her hips moving goofily with yours without rhythm. Just to feel you close.

“And you still love me,” is all she says, smiling.

“And I still love you.”

She turns around then, to look at you again. She loves you so, so much. Her heart feels like it’s about to burst. It’s heavy with adoration for you. For how easily you let her get away with dumb things like choosing the movie you’ll watch and for how much you care about her. You’re her girl.

You kiss her softly, letting your lips press against hers for a moment before moving away, just enough to be able to whisper, “so much.”

Manon has to swallow down when she looks into your eyes again and gets hit with bright tenderness all at once. “You look so pretty today.” She tells you, moving her hand up to play with your necklace. A gift from her.

You smile, wrap your arms tighter around her. “Fine. We can watch Twilight.” You retort with a defeated tone, suggesting she’s just complimenting you to get away with choosing.

Manon rolls her eyes, laughing softly. “Stupid.” She mutters before kissing you again, moving you closer by holding the back of your neck. It’s slow and soft; familiar. “I mean it.” She says between kisses.

“I know.” You mutter back.

She keeps kissing you like that, hand warm on your neck and lips gentle with their pace. It doesn’t take much longer for you both to get lost in it.

You blindly walk both of you forward to the bed, until the back of Manon’s legs hit the edge of it and she lowers on it without much care, with you following. Her tired muscles thank her as she lays down on the mattress, and you’re quick to lay on top of her, holding your weight with your forearms and knees.

She hums, keeps both hands on the sides of your neck as you keep kissing her. “Are you still tired?” You ask against her mouth, kissing her again right after. You want her. You’re exhausted, yes, but not enough. And you want to make sure she’s not tired enough either.

Manon only mutters out a negative ‘mh-mh’ and continues kissing you, her lips soft and languid with their kisses, but heavy with want.

Her hands make way inside your top, caressing the skin of your back and riding the fabric up in the process. “Off.”

You break the kiss, separating from her to rest your weight on your knees and take your top off. She stares for a moment, her hands touching from your waist, along your ribs and to your bra. She squeezes your chest over the fabric, biting her lip to contain a smile.

You let out a huffed laugh when you see her. “Why are you laughing, Meret? Are my tits a joke to you?” You ask playfully.

She lets out a chuckle, shaking her head immediately. “No baby, they’re perfect.” She leans up to leave a small kiss on the skin of your left breast that’s peeking right above the bra. “You’re so hot, come here.”

You lay back down, resting your forearms on the sides of her head again. She kisses you and takes no time to force her tongue inside your mouth this time, swallowing the small sound you make at her eagerness with a satisfied smirk.  

Manon explores your mouth like a starved woman, lets her teeth clash against yours carelessly and runs her tongue against yours, letting the pink muscle massage yours teasingly. She lets herself be imperfect with you; kiss you with fervor and feel like a horny teenager without worrying about you judging her.

When you break the kiss, your lips are all damp. You move down to her neck, pressing kisses down the side of it until you reach the string of her top. Manon lets out a broken, soft moan, and lets her hand caress your shoulder approvingly.

You’re sure she’s enjoying it, which is why you don’t expect it when she flips your positions suddenly, and you find yourself lying on the mattress with her on top of you. “Let me, sweetheart.” She murmurs before pecking your lips.

Her lips hover over the skin of your cheek as she rubs them against your skin tenderly, before pressing a small kiss against your jaw. Then she moves to your neck where she lets herself taste you, sweat and perfume combined on her lips while she presses open-mouthed kisses. Your hands rest at her hips securely, her body heated on top of you.

Her tank top has ridden up slightly, which allows you to feel the skin of her abdomen on yours. Her mouth is even hotter, you can feel her desire to please you as she makes sure to cover the entire area of your sensitive neck with kisses.

“Meret…” You sigh out. Your hand moves up her back to tangle in her curls, keeping her close.

But it’s not enough.

She knows it when you start tugging at her hair softly and your sighs turn into quiet, frustrated whimpers. “So needy,” she teases.

You huff out a laugh, pulling at her hair slightly harder. “Fuck off.”

She laughs too, moves up to peck your lips like second nature. “I’m joking. I love how needy you get.” Her voice is playful while she says it, but it also sounds raspy and cocky and it makes heat roll straight between your legs.

You roll your eyes. “Just fuck me already.”

Manon laughs again, bites her lip while she stares at you lovingly, “see?”

You smile up at her and let your hand that’s on her hair fix some curls sticking out. She leans close to kiss your temple, then asks against your ear. “My mouth?”

You nod, turn your head to the side so you can look at her. “Yeah. Please.” You whisper. She smiles, kisses you again before she’s moving down to get rid of your pants. She slides the fabric down your legs and throws it to the side carelessly. Then her fingers sneak between your skin and your underwear, and she slides them off you too.

Her mouth presses right above your mound, making your hips involuntarily thrust up in anticipation. She smirks, mutters “needy” under her breath, and then she’s gripping your hips and running her tongue flat against your pussy.

You let out a broken moan, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of her. She laps at your slit a few times, getting all of your juices to coat her tongue. “So wet for me,” she murmurs, her voice fragile with appetite, “right?” She asks, looking up at you.

You nod instantly, hand moving to rest on her hand reassuringly while you stay propped up on your elbow, holding eye contact with her. “Only for you.”

It makes Manon smile, satisfied. “Good.” She moves back down to your cunt then, resumes with kitten licks as she readjusts your stretched legs so that your feet are planted against the mattress, knees flexed.

One of her hands caresses your outer thigh while she starts focusing the ministrations of her tongue on your clit. You can’t help your louder whimpering when the tip of her tongue circles it precisely right, slowly.

“God, Manz.” You whine out, biting your lip while you admire her working on making you cum. You can see the slight furrow of concentration between her eyebrows. It softens when she switches her approach to kissing.

Her lips are soft as they cover your puffy, sensitive petals, letting her tongue peak out every so often to further taste you. Her kisses seem reverent, full of care and attention as she lets them play with your sex, looking at you to occasionally to gauge your reactions.

Then, those kisses turn to gentle suctioning. Your breathing gets more labored when it happens, when she begins allowing her lips to close around you and suck for a second or two before moving away, back to just kissing.

“More, please, baby.” You sigh out, and she answers by sneaking the hand that’s not occupied holding your thigh between your legs. She separates her face from your core momentarily, to run two fingers up your slit.

The pads of her fingers collect your wetness before she positions them on your entrance. She lets a glob of her saliva fall on your pussy from her mouth for extra lubrication (not that you needed it, but it was still hot, thinking of her fingers and her spit inside of you), and you let out a whiny moan when her two fingers slide inside you.

“Hmm, shit.” You moan, and she smirks while holding eye contact with you as she starts moving her fingers in and out of you.

“You take my fingers so well.” Manon murmurs, barely audible under your moans, but you hear it anyway. Soon, her lips are on you again. This time she suctions your clit with more force and her tongue flickers against it eagerly. It makes your vision go blurry.

“Ah-ah, holy fuck, Manz! Just like that.”

She squeezes your thigh at your encouragement, moving her fingers rhythmically at the speed she knows drives you crazy, and curling them just right to hit your most sensitive spot. The combined efforts make the feeling of pleasure heighten, and you feel your orgasm approaching.

“I-I’m gonna cu- gonna make me cum, Meret, gosh.”

“Good- fuck, cum for me then, baby.” Manon’s words come out muffled, her mouth still half-glued to your pussy.

Everything hits just right, at the exact correct moment; her fingers filling you up, her mouth devouring you, her hand gripping your thigh, the vibration of her words against you, the fact that she’s getting you off, yes, but you’re pleasuring her by letting her. That this is as much yours as it is hers. Your eyebrows furrow and you cum with a drawn-out, satisfied groan, your muscles stiffening as it hits you at once.

Manon is eager to receive the evidence of your pleasure on her tongue, as she keeps moving her fingers steadily to prolong your orgasm. When your muscles untighten, her movements begin to slow and her fingers move gently until they finally leave you empty, and she drags her tongue through your folds a couple more times to make sure she’s gotten everything.

Then she’s giving a small rub to your thigh before moving up your body, planting both hands on each side of your head to support her weight as she looks down at you. Your hair splayed freely on the duvet, apples of your cheeks all reddened, lips swollen from her kisses, chest heaving up and down, and that stupid, perfect smile on your face.

“How was it, hm?” She asks, lowering to kiss your warm cheek as her smile mirrors yours: silly, impossible to fight off, satisfied. It makes her feel all mushy inside, her instincts telling her to hide before someone can see her like this. All weak for you.

And, well, she doesn’t necessarily have to ignore her instincts. She could just hide her face on your neck, let your heartbeat soothe her so she can remember it’s okay, when it comes to you. She’s safe with you.

But she doesn’t want to listen to those thoughts, not tonight, she doesn’t want to hide from you. The fear of missing out on a reaction from you overpowers every concern or doubt. Because, what if your smile tilts a little? What if it turns into one of those smirks that drive her crazy in the best possible way? What if you shift and your hair falls differently on the duvet? What if you decide to bite your lip and it’s sexy? Or worse, what if you bite your lip and it’s goofy and she can’t laugh with you?

She can’t miss a thing.

So she stays put, right above you as some of her curls tickle your collarbones, and watches you as she waits for an answer.

It comes in a beautiful form and she’s glad she’s there to see it. Your smile grows into a grin, an impossibly louder red paints your cheeks, and your eyes close. You’re being shy. Fuck, you’ve known each other for years and you still get shy around her and it still makes her heart race.

You rasp out a little sound of agreement, your throat dry after all your moaning, “so good.” You confirm in a whisper.

Your eyes open then. Manon has to swallow down. Your eyes are all bright and happy and in love, crinkling at the corners from your smile, and it’s because of her. You’re looking right at her, like that.

She lowers herself to the mattress too then, right beside you, feels the relief in her arms from not having to hold her weight anymore as she lays on her side facing you. You mirror her position.

Her hand moves up to cup your cheek and she lets it linger for a moment, lets her thumb run against your cheekbone in quiet bafflement, when had you become hers? And what had she done right, to deserve it?

You move your head, press a kiss to her palm. “You okay?” You ask her softly.

Manon nods, takes her hand off your face to place it on your bare hip and gives you a light smile to reassure you. “Yeah. I just love you a lot, that’s all.” She declares. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth afterwards as she stares at you. It’s a bad habit she’s been trying to break for a while now, and you know it.

Which is why you let your thumb naturally gravitate toward her face, where you can pull her bottom lip from the grip her teeth have on it. “Don’t.” You whisper mindlessly, eyes trained on her mouth as you rub the pad of your finger against the surface of her lip soothingly.

Manon just keeps staring at you, silent.

“I love you too.” You mention after a few seconds, like you just remembered she had said it and you had to say it back. You say it with a small laugh, rub the side of your face against the duvet tiredly after.

Maybe a different person would’ve been upset that you forgot for a moment, but Manon knows you didn’t.

She knows that you never forget about your love for her. You carry it with you all the time, everywhere you go. She knows that your thumb on her bottom lip is evidence of it. The way you’ve learned her habits, and how you look after her.

It’s part of the reason why she lets her jaw fall open to the point where she can take your thumb fully into her mouth, rest the pad of it on her tongue and wrap her lips around it without breaking eye contact with you. It’s also partly because she’s still horny.

Either way, she gets your attention; a small, needy sound escapes your throat involuntarily after the action. Your eyes are clouded over with lust now as you stare at her, hooded and fixed on how her lips envelop your finger, and how warm her tongue feels.

You lick your own lips, take a deep breath as you push your thumb a little deeper, experimentally. It makes Manon smirk. She sucks the digit deeper into her mouth, and lets her tongue run circles around it as she moves off of it, releasing it with a pop.

“God, you drive me insane.” You groan out, grabbing Manon’s face to pull her in for a kiss. She answers eagerly, hands sliding up your torso to sneak under the fabric of your bra and knead at your breasts while she’s kissing you back.

You moan against her lips, desperately pulling at the flimsy fabric of her tank top. You need to feel her. Manon, craving it just as much as you, pulls away from you to yank her top off and goes back to kissing you without delay.

Her warm hands move up your back until they reach the clasp of your bra, undoing it and pulling it off you fervently. You’re so fucking glad she’s not wearing one because you can finally feel her pressed to you; the skin of her stomach, her tits soft against yours, her hardened nipples rubbing on your skin. She hums at the feeling, arches her back to press herself closer.

She gets rid of her sweatpants and her underwear in one go swiftly, barely breaking the kiss as she drags the fabric down her legs. Her bare leg is wrapping around your hip an instant after, pushing you closer with the heel of her foot against the back of your thigh.

Her fingers brush against your nipples teasingly as her hands make their way to your shoulders, holding them as means to pull you closer into her. You comply without much protest, arching your back and angling your hips to press toward hers.

Manon can feel your hands gripping her hips, holding her and keeping yourself glued to her, can feel the intake of breath you take each time you break the kisses as well as your exhales hitting her lips. The AC is making a gentle hum across the entire apartment, your lips taste faintly of your strawberry chapstick, and she can feel your muscles and your bones move under your skin when you switch positions to straddle her and her hands stay on your shoulders.

She’s so in love with you it hurts. She loves her life, but home with you is everything she needs. Having you like this, knowing you like this, touching you like this… well, she’s not sure what she would do without it.

She feels you adjust yourself on top of her, moving your hips and your legs so that your thigh is between her legs and her thigh is right between yours. She moves her hands then, grabs your face for a moment before dragging them down to your hips.

Your forearms rest on each side of Manon’s face, and you break the kiss only to watch as you start moving gently. Your hips grind, and your thigh drags, and both your mouths are opening in quiet pleasure at the same time.

You smile at the synchronization, while Manon’s eyelids drop when you keep moving. It’s a slow grind, lazy and tame, but she’s so fucking turned on. You can feel her wetness smearing your thigh, revel in it as you think about being stained by the proof of her lust for you.

You press a kiss to her cheek and keep moving, your cheek pressed against hers. Manon’s breath hastens and her grip on your hips becomes steadier, guiding your movements smoothly. “Look at me.”

You move promptly to face her. Her entire face screams desire, eyes heavy-lidded and darkened and heavy exhales. “You love me, baby?” She asks to get you talking. She wants to feel your body, to see your face, to smell your perfume, to hear you speaking to her.

“I do, so much.” Your voice comes out whiny, already feeling the ripples of the friction on your still-sensitive pussy. “Wanna make you cum so bad.”

The words make Manon let out a small groan, speeding the grinding of your hips with the guidance of her hands. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration and she licks her lips as she watches how your body moves to pleasure both of you. “Yeah? You sure you don’t just wanna make yourself cum?” She asks teasingly.

You shake your head earnestly, then drop your head so your forehead touches hers. “No. I can stop if you want.” She can tell by your voice you don’t want to. You’re worked up again, already chasing friction with hunger as you move striving for all the right angles. But, she also knows you would, because you would do anything she asks.

“No, don’t.” She decides without difficulty, “I like to see you like this.”

“Like what?” You ask breathlessly.

“All desperate for me. Made a mess by me.” She huffs out, a little breathless too as the pleasure that the grinding is causing heightens.

The words make you grunt desperately, your hips moving faster as you feel your own wetness seeping out of you. “Yeah, yes. Fuck, I love you so much. I need you so badly.” You blabber, moving your forehead off hers to readjust, trying to focus on making sure that Manon was also being stimulated by your movements.

She moans once you find the right angle for your thigh, eyelids dropping for a second in pleasure. “Fuck, yes, just like that. Stay just like this.”

She grips your hips firmly, keeping you angled exactly as she needs you and speeding up your grinding while she starts moving too, chasing her high by buckling her hips so that her core can catch your thigh better each time you move.

The room is filled by the sounds of your heavy breathing and your insistent moaning, and Manon is certain, as she lays there in your bed beneath you, that there is no better feeling than this. No better way to get tired than to make each other feel good. One of her hands moves to grip the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss.

It’s heady, all hasty as it matches your breathing and your moves, and only lasts so long before you’re breaking the kiss to moan freely. “I’m so close, Manz.” You say, voice breathless, and lean your forehead against hers again.

She makes sure to keep you there this time, holding the back of your head and tangling her fingers on your hair to have a grip on something. “I’m close too. Please, just keep- Ah!” Her peak reaches her unexpectedly as you apply a heavier pressure to your thigh’s ministrations, and it prolongs as you keep them steady while she grunts and lets out a dragged out “fuckkkk.”

The warmth travels all over her body until it settles easily at her stomach, muscles relaxing and sounds rushing back into her ears after the high settles. She watches then, in bliss, while you finally focus specifically on your own pleasure and ride her thigh shamelessly, orgasming after a few more jerky movements.

You look at her after, quiet and breathless until you’re not, until you’re laughing and she’s laughing with you, feeling the shake of your body as you drop your head on her shoulder tiredly.

“Fuck.” Manon sighs out, breath still recovering. You adjust yourself so you can lay more comfortably on her chest, and her arm wraps around your waist soothingly. She moves her arm behind her head, resting it on her hand, and her mouth rests on your head. “I love you so much.” She whispers.

“I love you too.” You mumble back, voice already sleepy again.

Manon chuckles softly. “Let’s go get cleaned up before you fall asleep.”