𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓐𝓼 𝓘𝓬𝓮 [𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖊]

22

Okay I slightly gave up with this chapter *shrugs* don't care. And I wrote this with a pokerface the whole time pff-ft and in front of my little brother while he was eating but never mind that

Anyways enjoy reading

--

She was hoping she'd wake up instantly, order her to get out of her bed, and she would leave, grateful. But I stead she reached out for her, her hands cool on her heated skin, and she buried herself against her, her wet face pushed up against her shoulder, and she clung to her, still crying.

She held her, what else had she expected? She mocked herself. She pulled her into her arms, wrapping her larger body around hers. She was wearing just about every stitch of clothing she'd bought her, thank God, because even so, her body against her bare skin was agonizing in its ability to arouse. What the hell was wrong with her? You'd think she was the one who'd gone three years without a lover. She was just one of a hundred women, a drive-by fuck, nothing special. And she was everything.

She tried to pull away, but she clung tightly, whimpering in her sleep. Since she didn't really want to let her go she stayed where she was, gently brushing the tears away from her face as she slept on. She was an idiot; he wasn't the answer to her nightmares, he was the cause of them. If she opened her eyes and saw her she'd start screaming, and that's what she needed to do, wake her up before it was too late, before she was in too deep.

It was even easier to make up a woman than to knock her out, and she used the sane trick, just a different pressure point, and a second later her tear-drenched eyes flew open, staring into hers, barring her soul.

She didn't scream, didn't even speak, her silence more disturbing than any protest as she simply looked at her in the darkened room, so close. Finally, she spoke.

"Nothing special?"

"Nothing at all," she said, a d kisser her, as she'd always known she would. She rolled onto her back, taking her with her, and kisses her back, her arms around her neck, her mouth full and sweet and generous, and she knew she was doomed.
And it didn't matter. She didn't say a word as she stripped off her clothes, she kept her mouth busy with hers, and even when she wasn't kissing her they were silent. It was in the dark, a dream, they weren't doing thus. But if they spoke it would suddenly make it real, and the price they would have to pay was enormous.

She didn't resist when she pulled the last piece of clothing, the plain black underwear that she'd foolishly thought wouldn't be sexy, down her seemingly endless legs. She remembered everything she knew about her, including her sexual history and the things she didn't like, and Rosé knew she was going to do every one of them and like it. She was going to be on top of her, and she was going to go down on her, and she was going to tell her she loved her. And she didn't know what would cost her more.

Her skin was cool against her warm flesh, and it tasted like soap. She kissed the side of her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath her tongue. She knew her own pulses were racing and she didn't give a shit. Her breasts were full and taut, the nipples hard against her fingers, and she arched up when she touched them, making a whimpering sound of need in the back of her throat, a sound that changed to a cry when she it her mouth over one, drawing the nipple deep into her mouth, and sucked at her.

She could make her come this way, she realized. She could make her come any way she wanted, she was trembling with need and ready to fall. But the linger she waited the more powerful it would be for her, so she reluctantly lifted her mouth, blowing softly on the wet, distended peak of her breast.