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Sometimes, with the two of them, it was slow, languid.
She watched Aranea's fingers press into her hips as they rose, fell, rose again. Crowe fisted the sheets hard with one hand and shoved the other one in her mouth. She wouldn't beg. She refused.
Wet warmth licked up and around her folds, pressing just once on her clit, making her gasp. One firm stroke up her slit made her teeth clench.
“Fuck, ‘Nea,” she moaned, pushing her hand into silvery strands. She felt supple lips smile against her as Aranea's tongue began another slow, torturous circuit, bringing her ever closer but not quite there. She burned with want, every nerve crying out to slip over the edge.
Her body betrayed her, pleading and begging wordlessly in every twist, every drop of sweat, every breathless pant. When she bucked into Aranea's mouth, the devil woman danced back, a playful grin on her face.
Aranea watched the taut body writhe beneath her, tracing light fingers over places she knew Crowe wanted firm pressure, letting her breath fall on straining thigh muscles. Taking her as far as she could, up to the precipice and then stretching even higher, until Crowe was shattering, breaking, falling. That voice, usually so low, soaring, cracking in ways that made Aranea’s own nipples harden, even as she slid a finger inside Crowe and drank her in deeply. She was a gorgeous fucking instrument, hers to be played, and she tasted like sweet wine.
Sometimes, it was fast, hard.
Aranea was barely inside the door before she was slammed back against the wall, an arm at her collarbone and rough, desperate hands clawing at her clothes. Surprised gray eyes darkened with lust. A surging tingle of want started between her legs and swept up through her chest. Crowe chuckled darkly at the deep red flush staining her skin. “You're such a slut for me.”
Slate hues met whiskey ones, issuing a silent challenge. Aranea felt teeth nip along her neck, and heard the rip of fabric as her pants were yanked open.
Sure fingers shoved up her shirt to roll her nipples, and she moaned into Crowe’s mouth, curving her body against her, grasping her ass with needy hands. Lips and teeth were sucking, stinging, marking, and Aranea ground her hips forward, searching for friction.
“I'm going to get you off right here, and then I'm going to take you to bed and fuck you until you can't walk.” Fingers were already rubbing hard at her clit, and Aranea gasped.
“You better.” Greedy lips captured her own then, and fingers slid inside her. Aranea pressed herself down on them, and her suggestion was noted. Crowe went in hard, working her over with practiced skill, hands everywhere, fingers thrusting roughly.
Aranea breathed in sharply, and the staleness of the day fell away as she breathed in Crowe’s scent, leather and almond, inhaling her and exhaling everything else. She felt herself clench down hard and she broke the kiss as a ragged breath tore out of her. She pressed their foreheads together and rode it out, slick fingers pressing hard against her pulsing core. Crowe watched the strong, self-possessed woman come apart around her and thought, Mine. She waited a beat, then three, then kissed her fully with swollen lips. She pulled Aranea down the hall by her jacket, on shaking legs, without breaking the kiss, ready to make good on her promise.