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“Oh my god, Mila, I’m so happy!” Sara said, flouncing back onto the bed and bouncing with a happy little wiggle.
“I know,” her girlfriend said, following her down, cuddling up under her chin.
“Both our brothers are finding love! Sweet Yuri, finally getting together with Otabek,” Sara crooned. “They’re so cute together. It’s about time, too.”
“Please, we have no room to talk,” Mila said, getting up as she heard the pair coming down the stairs. She slid Yuri’s bag out the door and winked at them, promising not to be too loud. Sara was giggling when she returned to the plush comfort of the bed and her girlfriend’s exquisite breasts. She buried her face between them, wrapping her arms around Sara’s laughing sides.
“You’re right,” Sara hummed. “We wasting forever trying to figure out if we were both just being friendly women or being totally gay for each other.” She sunk her fingers into Mila’s red hair, following the curls down to the ends, combing out any tangles.
“It’s a common problem,” Mila acknowledged, turning her face to kiss the rise of her breast through her shirt. “Until you got drunk and kissed me in that elevator.”
“And still you weren’t sure!” Sara mocked her.
“You were really drunk, and you kind of slid your mouth over my face,” Mila teased back. “It could’ve been a sweet drunk girl’s attempt at a cheek kiss, I didn’t know. It wasn’t very sexy.”
“I’m always sexy,” Sara grumbled, shifting as if to remind her partner that she was buried in her chest.
“Yes, you are,” Mila said without a fight, bringing one hand up and around to cup her soft flesh, thumb trailing over where she knew her nipple was hiding under her shirt and bra. “Even with your drunk face smearing all over mine,” she teased again, nipping at her softly through her clothes. “Then you grabbed my tit and I was pretty sure we were on the same page.”
“Yeah, and then,” Sara said, trying to flip them over, but only half succeeding, her drunken limbs not quiet behaving as expected. Mila laughed and tried to follow her guiding, clumsy hands. Eventually Sara wrangled herself more or less on top of her girlfriend and collapsed there. “And then,” she said, picking up where she’d left off, hiccupping slightly. “You walked me to my room,” she walked her fingers up Mila’s stomach, going from exposed skin to the dark material of her crop top shirt. “And you left me there, being sober and gallant and not at all taking advantage of my supple body.”
“Mhmm,” Mila hummed, capturing her hand and pushing her back onto her back. Sara went with an easy sigh, content to be moved, dark hair spilling over the pillows like ink. “What would you have had me do?” Mila asked, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You were too drunk, I wasn’t going to fuck you then.”
“I’m drunk now, and you’re going to fuck me,” Sara said with certainty, winking with both eyes and attempting a sexy eyebrow wobble.
“Oh am I?” Mila entertained, loving the sound of her girlfriend giggling.
“Aren’t you?” Sara asked, suddenly hitting her with the big, wide, puppy dog eyes that she has. “Don’t you want to make me come?”
“You know I do,” Mila said, caving easily, cupping her cheek and pulling her into a kiss. Mila had meant it to be sweet, but the Italian had other plans. She flicked her tongue into her mouth, one tan hand holding her close with a handful of red hair. She arched her back, pressing her breasts forward, turning onto her side to hook a leg over her partner’s hips. Mila gave as good as she got. Her hand on her cheek slid to the back of her neck, holding her close and angling for a deeper kiss, letting her tongue curl into her mouth.
Sara hummed against her and grabbed her hand, pulling it from around her neck, and sliding it down her body to grip her ass. Mila laughed against her lips, pinching her flesh gently before she did as she was guided to do and allowed herself free range of the woman plastered against her. She slid her hand up the back of her shirt, teasing over her skin before trailing back down over he ass, grinning into the kiss when her muscles twitched, the sides of her ass ticklish and sensitive. She walked her fingers down the toned lengths of her thigh, grabbing her by the knee and hitching her further up over her hip. Sara moaned into her mouth and Mila made a hum in reply.
She slid her palm down the length of the underside of her thigh, tasting Sara’s gasp when her fingertips brushed her center, already warm through her leggings. She teased, running her fingertips up that center seam, just the hint of pressure. Not enough, judging by the way Sara’s hips jolted, chasing the sensation. Mila had lost focus on the kiss, now just lazy presses of spit-glossed lips.
She drug her fingers up the curve of her girlfriend’s ass, biting the gasp out of her mouth, before slipping her hand under the band of her leggings.
“You should be naked,” she said, rolling her partner back onto her back and yanking her leggings over her ass with the same movement. She pulled the black fabric off her legs, appreciating the view when Sara flexed her abs enough to pull her shirt over her head. “How do you always match?” Mila asked incredulously, pulling the straps of her purple bra off her shoulders, unhooking it at the front and sucking a nipple into her mouth. Sara struggled to get her elbows out of her bra straps, distracted by the slow swirl of her girlfriend’s tongue. It only got more difficult for her when Mila ran a hand down her flat stomach, teasing at the line of her purple panties.
“Off, off, off,” she said, and Mila listened, pulling back to yank her panties down over her hips before helping her navigate her alcohol loose limbs from her bra.
“That better, dear?” she asked, a little patronizingly. Sara just nodded and spread her legs, one hand cupping her own breast, the other sliding down between her folds. “Fuck,” Mila gasped, laying down next to her again. Sara tried to turn onto her side, reaching for her, but Mila kept her on her back. She drew one of her legs up over her hip, leaving her splayed open, hips twitching against the cold air.
Mila held her by the thigh, tonguing at her nipple, the arm supporting her weight turning in to cup the back of her partner’s head. She drug her hand slowly down the length of her thigh, somehow always perfectly smooth and shaven, before walking her fingers ever closer to where she was wet and waiting.
“You have to be quiet,” Mila said, her own voice barely a whisper. “Yuri is right outside.”
“He’s probably busy choking on Otabek’s massive cock,” Sara said giggling, one hand closing on Mila’s wrist, trying to push her hand closer. Mila resisted, a teasing smile on her face.
“Is that what you’re thinking about?” she whispered into the dark mass of her girlfriend’s hair. “You thinking about that thick cock instead of me?”
“No,” Sara sighed, tilting her head back, eyes closed, tits on display. “I’m thinking about your perfect little hands and how well they know me.” She looked at Mila through her lashes, purple eyes gleaming. One delicate hand came to trace lazy circles over the swell of her own breast.
“I know you’re manipulating me,” Mila said frankly, dropping her mouth onto her tit again and sinking a finger into her. “But I’m letting it work.” She pulled her finger out, sliding teasingly over the opening, collecting slick, before tracing that familiar path through her folds. She circled her clit and Sara moaned. “Quiet,” Mila hissed, biting her nipple too harshly to be teasing. “Cover your mouth, love.” Sara did as she was told, easy obedience that only existed because of how drunk she was. If she was more clearheaded, she would’ve snarked at Mila to make her, shooting her a dangerous smirk and moaning even louder, just for show. Mila loved her so much.
Drunk Sara was great, too, though, biting into her hand to stifle her sounds as Mila plucked her apart like a melody. Mila pressed kisses all along the underside of her breast, tracing her tongue over the beauty marks on the side, fingers working in quick circles over her clit.
“You look so good like this,” Mila whispered to her sternum, pressing her cheek to her soft flesh, watching as her thighs began to tremble.
“Mila,” Sara whimpered, taking the hand from her mouth to fist in her girlfriend’s hair, dragging her up into a kiss that was not gentle or coordinated. Mila flinched at the tugging of her hair, and her change in position made her fingers loose that perfect rhythm. Sara whined into her mouth, hips searching out sensation. Mila kissed her calm again and got back to work. This time, she sunk two fingers inside her, shuddering herself at feeling those walls ripple around her, and pressed the heel of her hand to her clit. Each searching thrust of her fingers ground against that perfect bud of nerves, and Sara was arching into her touch, whimpering into her mouth.
She shattered, thighs quaking, hands clenching in the bedsheets and Mila’s hair. The Russian’s fingers were glossed with a fresh gush of hot slick, so she slid them back up to her clit, flicking and twisting over her skin. Her hips bucked, her stomach clenching, whining into her mouth in shuddering sighs, almost dislodging Mila’s grip on her. But she held tight, pushing her past the overstimulation into another, searing orgasm.
The Italian woman relaxed like her strings had been cut, exhausted and gasping for breath, each exhale a little moan. Mila kissed around her face as Sara came back down, until she turned into it, opening her mouth lazily for her tongue.
“Good?” Mila asked with a smirk, knowing full well that it had been. Sara nodded anyway, lips catching on her smile. “Good,” Mila affirmed, sliding her wet hand up to tracing glistening stripes up her stomach and around her breasts.
“What do you want?” Sara asked, voice scratchy and breathy still.
“You’re drunk,” Mila said with an indulgent smile.
“Yeah,” Sara agreed easily, a sex-drunk grin on her face. “But you can still rub off on me.”
“Oh, can I?” Mila asked, a smile on her face, sitting up and pulling herself out of her clothes. Sara watched with abject awe and appreciation as Mila pulled her crop top over her head. Reaching her back to unclip her nude bra, the Russian liked the way Sara’s eyes went immediately to her pink nipples, perched atop perky breasts. She reached up, tan skin looking even darker against Mila’s milky white. Her fingers ran up the hard planes of her stomach, tightened from skating, to the delicate curve of her breasts, a perfect fit against the palm of her hand. Mila shifted out of her grip just enough to wiggle her jeans down her legs, easily discarding her light blue boyshort panties with them. Sara grabbed her hips and pulled her impatiently to straddle her waist.
“Yeah, just like that,” she murmured to herself, pulling her girlfriend’s hips down enough to settle against her. Sara’s hipbone stood out in sharp contrast to her toned stomach, roped in muscle and adding an accent to the softness of her hips. And when she tugged on Mila’s waist, she settled right on top of the curve, lips parting delicately as she ground her hips.
Mila hummed, a sound of pure contentment as she circled her hips, grinding down against the solid heat of her partner’s body below her. She went down on her elbows, kissing his girlfriend with lazy pulls of her lips that matched the slow twist of her hips. Sara kissed back, sloppily and distracted, endorphins still singing through her veins, and her gorgeous girlfriend rutting slowly against her.
Mila was always quiet. Usually Sara complained, wanting to hear what made her feel good, wanting to know where to touch. But this time, with Yuri and Otabek on the other side of the door, in a house that didn’t belong to either of them, Sara let her be quiet. She ran her hands over her skin, soft in some places, scratched and dry from the ice in others, all so perfect. She didn’t shave her legs often, and had soft little silver grow lines on her thighs, stretch marks from where her muscles grew faster than her skin, another trophy from skating. Sara traced them, entranced, as her legs started to quiver. The Italians skin was slick now, wet from Mila dripping on her.
Mila closed her eyes as she got closer, a hot ache starting to form in her stomach and lower back. She twitched when Sara’s hand fell heavily against her ass, gripping harshly and helping her move, grinding up a little in sharp, uncoordinated rolls of her hips. Mila came, the orgasm falling down her spine in a cascade, hands clenching in the pillow, strands of dark hair caught in between her fingers.
“Gorgeous,” Sara whispered into his mouth. “My little snow princess.” Mila huffed a laugh against her, still shivering. “Wanna go again?”
“My legs are still shaking,” Mila said, a red curl caught in the corner of her mouth.
“Come sit on my face,” Sara said, tugging on her hips. Mila followed, not needing any more convincing. She planted her knees on either side of her girlfriend’s head, taking care to sweep her dark hair out of the way. Sara pulled her down with hungry hands, tongue reaching up in sloppy stripes. Mila clung to the headboard, letting her hair fall around her face as she watched Sara between her thighs. She slurped, messy and sloppy as she tongued into her partner’s opening, sucking gently at the glossy pink tissue.
“Fuck, Sara,” Mila groaned, before biting her lip to stop any more sounds. Her hips started to twitch again. She wasn’t like Sara, she couldn’t come twice within seconds, she needed at least a minute or two to calm down before she could come again. And even drunk, Sara knew exactly how she liked it.
She slid up to her clit when she knew she was ready, sucking it into her mouth and shaking her head side to side, grinding her face against her. Mila dropped one hand into her hair as she felt her next orgasm building, this one taking its time crawling through thighs and circling around her core. She buried both fingers in those long dark locks, holding her right there, right there, as she came, forehead banging against the headboard as her body curled forward, gasping too loudly in the quiet room.
“So good, so good,” she panted, leaning back enough to let her girlfriend breathe. Sara just grinned up at her, mouth and cheeks wet and shiny, one hand petting up Mila’s trembling thigh, the other working in slow circles between her own parted legs. The Russian turned around clumsily, knocking her partner in the cheek gently with her knee as she straddled her again.
This time she came down on her elbows over her body, keeping her hips within tongue-distance as she pulled those tan fingers from her folds, replacing them with her own. She jolted, digging her teeth into her girlfriend’s hipbone, sticky and salty from her own slick, when Sara’s tongue flicked over her slit. Feeling swollen and heavy from all the blood rushing through her body, even the most delicate touch was shocking, stimulating like electricity.
They worked methodically, both hazy from alcohol and orgasms, each encouraged by the other to keep going, matching pace with each other, mirroring patterns with fingers and lips. Sara came first, clenching around Mila’s fingers and moaning unabashedly into the night air. The Russian quieted her, sitting down on her mouth to muffle her cries, and grinding down on her tongue as soon as it was returned to her. Sara brought shaking fingertips to circle clumsily at her clit from one side, and her asshole from the other. The dual sensation, matched with Sara’s breathless, quiet moaning and the insistent swipe of her tongue, brought Mila off again, gasping and wheezing as her body contracted painfully, wringing pleasure from her every nerve.
She slumped to the side, taking a moment to lay the wrong way in the bed, needing to catch her breath. Sincerely hoping Sara was done, was tired and wouldn’t ask for more, Mila reached over and tangled their sticky fingers together.
“You’re amazing,” Sara said, lips swollen and loose around her words. “You always look so fucking good when you come. Seriously, if you smothered me to death under your ass, I would die a happy woman.” Mila laughed, breathlessly, at her partner, who always looked so innocent but said the filthiest things.
Between the two of them, Mila was by far the more experienced, but Sara was more adventurous. She always blamed it on her parents and Michele, keeping her sheltered and controlled for so long. She said she had to make up for lost time. Mila thought that they didn’t need to rush, not if they were going to be together forever. But that wasn’t something she was yet brave enough to say.
“I’m so happy for Mickey,” Sara said suddenly. Mila groaned, finally drawing enough strength to sit up on the bed and turn enough to collapse with her head on her partner’s shoulder.
“You just came multiple times and your first thought is about your brother?”
“I’m just hoping he had as good of sex as I just did,” Sara said with a grin, entirely unapologetic.
“What a good sister,” Mila said, rolling her eyes even as she pushed up on an elbow to kiss the girl she was mocking.
“Don’t you hope Yuri is having good sex?” Sara asked giggling against her lips, still sounding so drunk and young and joyous.
“I hope Yuri isn’t having any sex at all,” Mila said, seriously, as seriously as you could with a beautiful woman nipping at your shoulder. “He’s too young, he and Otabek better wait until he’s ready.”
“You sound worried,” Sara said, her voice quiet and with a sense of clarity to it that she had lacked after her fourth drink.
“I am,” Mila confessed quietly, brushing fingers through her girlfriend’s hair. “Yura is the type to push himself to meet people’s expectations. You should’ve seen him when we first started playing that game, Sara. He looked so small, like he was embarrassed for being younger, less experienced. I’m just afraid he’ll jump into things just to prove he can handle them. He’s still so young.”
“Hey,” Sara said, a single finger on her chin enough to direct her attention to those violet eyes, focused and serious for the first time tonight. “Yuri is a smart boy, smarter than you and Viktor give him credit for. You’ve treated him like a little brother for so long that you haven’t noticed him growing up.” Mila tried to look away, knowing she was right, but Sara brought her back, cupping her cheek gently. “He’s not some reckless fifteen-year-old anymore. He’s grown up and he’s crazy about Otabek. They’ll take care of each other. Just like you and I do.”
Mila smiled at that, dipping her head down for a kiss that tasted to each other and love.
“They only wish they could be like us,” she said with a grin, hugging the other girl tight and relishing in the sweet laugh she felt dance over her shoulder. If Yuri and Otabek had half the luck in love than Mila did, then they were going to be just fine.