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It’s a gift to see Adaire pull her gloves off to reveal her clever fingers. Hella can’t call her girlfriend’s skin bare—tattoos and scars cover her—but it is intimate and the moisture in Hella’s mouth escapes to her cunt. “Fuck,” Hella breathes, pulling her legs even wider apart. She’s not articulate at the best of times. Adaire kneeling in front of her, hands nude, means language has escaped her entirely.
“That’s the plan,” Adaire says, straightforward as ever. Her tongue is sharp, most of the time, but right now it’s soft as she bends down to kiss Hella’s folds. She nuzzles against Hella, tongue flickering into her opening—a tease and a promise of more to come—before moving up slightly to wrap her lips around Hella’s clit.
She barely taps her tongue against it, but it’s enough to make Hella groan and fight the urge to drop her head back against the pillows. She knows Adaire wants her to watch, and Hella’s happy to do as Adaire wants in this matter; she loves to look at Adaire, especially at times like this, when Adaire’s golden hair is bright between Hella’s thighs and her pale hands are gentle on Hella’s inner thighs as she traces stretch marks down to Hella’s cunt.
“Fast or slow?” Adaire asks, her breath cool against the heat of Hella’s clit.
Hella can’t rock her hips up into Adaire’s touch, not when she’s been told to keep her legs out of the way, and so she’s forced to use her words. That’s hard, because she’s already whining at Adaire’s touch, panting like she never does in battle. But Adaire has always known how to sneak around her armor and find where she’s vulnerable, and Hella wants her here, calm and in control and smiling at her with lips wet from Hella’s arousal.
“Fast,” Hella says, because she’s already aching. She’s not quite flexible enough to hook her elbows around her knees and still reach her chest; she can’t do anything about the way her nipples are hard and her cunt is blossoming with desire. She needs Adaire to help her, as she always does.
Adaire grins at her, smug, and one of her hands begins to press into Hella’s cunt. “I hoped you would say that.” Her other hand smooths across Hella’s stomach, up to the softness of her breasts. “Tell me if it hurts.”
It’s a stretch. Hella breathes, reminding herself to relax, and then she yelps because Adaire pinches her nipple. “That hurts,” she says, and Adaire shrugs, still smiling at her. “Do it again.”
Adaire does, and her hand slips further into Hella’s cunt alongside the distraction. Hella’s good with bodies, at least; she knows exactly how wide Adaire’s fingers are, and the shape of her palm, and the way she holds her fingers together when she wants all of them inside Hella.
“Fuck,” Hella says again, as Adaire begins squeezing her tits in rhythm with the pulse of her hand against Hella’s opening. “I want—”
She loses her words again, because Adaire changes her angle and buries her hand up to the knuckles. Hella groans, her own hands tensing around her thighs, blunt fingernails digging into skin, more pinpricks of pain that distract her and let her relax into how Adaire’s opening her up.
“So do I.” Adaire kisses the back of Hella’s wrist. “Almost there.”
Hella nods. Adaire’s rocking into her cunt with all the careful delicacy she uses to undo a lock. Soon she’ll slide home, and then then real fun will begin. Adaire looks soft—and she is, plump and round and unassuming—but beneath that is muscle and coordination that means she can fuck Hella hard.
She doesn’t need to wait much longer.
Adaire’s thumb slips fully into Hella, and Hella squeezes around Adaire’s wrist with a loud moan. Adaire lets out a shuddering breath of her own, leaning against Hella, and then says, “Ready?”
“Please.” Hella tries to relax into the intrusion of Adaire’s hand, but it’s hard when she’s so full, when every little motion of Adaire’s presses into her and makes her clit ache. She’s never been able to come just by being fucked, which is why Adaire loves fucking her until Hella begs for relief.
Adaire braces herself on Hella, fingers splayed across her chest between the softness of her breasts, and draws her hand out with a wet sound. Then, before Hella’s cunt can adapt to the emptiness, she thrusts back in.
Hella curses, or maybe prays; either way, she can feel Adelaide’s attention humming in the air now. Her pleased hum accompanies a cold line drawn down Hella’s throat, a fingertip scraping across her collarbones to idly swirl around her nipples. It’s so gentle in comparison to the way Adaire’s fucking her. Hella’s back arches as she chases Adelaide’s teasing and opens herself wider for Adaire’s fist.
She’s wet, loose with desire, and Adaire’s praising her for how well she takes this beating. Adaire’s knuckles hit her in just the right spot, and then her hand rotates and her fingertips keep the pressure until Adaire’s hand is almost entirely withdrawn, and then she fucks in again, and again, and again, endless waves of not quite enough.
Adelaide’s hands ghost across Hella the entire time, soft on her breasts, gentle as they caress her ears and jaw, tracing the curve of her lips as Hella pants and whines in response to Adaire’s ministrations. There’s only so much she can do while away, but it’s enough to pull Hella’s attention away from her cunt and to the way the rest of her body is taut with need as well.
Her clit is hard enough that it hurts. Every heartbeat pulses through it in a reminder of the one place she’s not being touched. If Hella dropped her hand, she could fix this, but if she dropped her hand everything else would stop and that would be worse.
Hella sobs as Adelaide squeezes her tits. She’s come from having her nipples played with, but she’s seen Adaire’s smirk; that’s not going to be allowed tonight. Even if it were, Adelaide’s insubstantial right now, and she can’t do more than tease and remind Hella of what she could have if both her girlfriends were home.
“Do you want something?” Adaire asks, the sweetly impersonal tone at odds with the ferocity of her fucking. “Use your words, Hella.”
“I need—” Hella loses her speech again as Adaire pauses to almost-gently rub her fingers against the most sensitive spot beneath her clit, little maddening circles that make her clench uselessly around Adaire’s hand.
“What you want,” Adaire corrects patiently.
Hella nods. She’s going to have bruises in the shape of her own hands on her thighs. “I want to come.”
“What do you think?” Adaire asks the air around them. She sinks her hand into Hella and leaves it there, stretching her fingers a little. “Has she waited long enough?”
Adelaide laughs, warming the air around them. If she says anything, she says it for Adaire alone; all Hella gets is the brush of Adelaide’s lips against her own.
“Ask us again,” Adaire says, trailing her fingers down Hella’s thigh in promise.
“Please,” Hella begs immediately. Shame is never something she’s felt when in her lovers’ arms. “I want you to touch my clit. I want to come, please let me, fuck, I want to come on you, around you.”
Adelaide’s hand reaches her first. Her fingers aren’t really there, but that means they can pass not just along her clit but through it with an icy buzz that shoots through Hella and cuts off her words. She gasps, writhing, the fiery heat of her blood cooled temporarily, the edge taken off even as she gets what she wants.
“Good,” Adaire says, and then she pulls out from inside Hella. There’s a moment of emptiness, and Hella whines, frantic and needy, before Adaire’s other hand takes its place.
Adaire’s hand is slick with Hella’s own arousal. She slides her palm down Hella’s stomach, along the rough hair leading to her clit, and then her fingers encompass Hella with a slickness Hella usually only feels from a lover’s mouth.
Hella moans, eyes closed, unable to keep them open when Adaire’s caught her clit between two fingers and started jerking her off. It’s an alternating rhythm with the little thrusts of her hand between Hella’s thighs, a one-two punch that’s got Hella on the edge already.
Adelaide’s touch is almost an afterthought in comparison. The humming weight of her presence sings around Hella’s nipples and shivers along her throat, and Hella whines and wishes she could capture Adelaide’s mouth in hers, taste the raspberry-frost of night of her tongue. She can’t, not right now, but the desire pulls her taut as Adelaide grinds against her stomach, insubstantial as morning dew.
“Come on,” Hella says, incoherent. “Please, come on, I wanna feel you.”
It’s never a sure thing if Adelaide will touch herself while she’s only a projected presence, but today is Hella’s lucky day: Adelaide’s hands withdraw from Hella’s chest, and Hella blinks her eyes open to see Adelaide’s ghost drawing up her star-speckled skirts to dip her fingers into her own cunt.
Hella can see Adaire through Adelaide, open-mouthed and flushed. She’s watching Adelaide with as much avid joy as Hella is, and Hella realises after a moment that Adaire’s hands have slowed to match the way Adelaide’s touching herself.
“Fuck,” Hella says, because she’s so close and now that’s going to simmer inside her for minutes longer as Adelaide gives them a show.
It’s worth it. Adelaide’s gorgeous, dark as the night and with long graceful fingers. They plunge into her, draw out strands of slick like spiderwebs, and guide them up to the beautiful nub of her clit. She can come from Hella fucking her, if Hella tries hard enough, but she’s caught onto Adaire’s scheme. Her fingers curl around her clit, soft in the way that Hella knows her lady loves, but it’s not enough when Adaire’s mimicking it on Hella.
Adelaide’s breathing grows quicker, and her hips move along Hella’s stomach, leaving a trail of condensation behind, the ghost of the arousal Hella wants to taste. Her lips part as she fondles her own breasts, pushing them just out of the bounds of her dress, revealing thick nipples Hella wants to suck on but can only look at as she pants with desire.
She knows Adelaide is listening to her thoughts, because Adelaide smiles at her and leans down until those beautiful breasts hang in front of Hella’s lips. She opens her mouth for them, licks at the mist of their presence, feels the idea of their curves on her tongue. She wants more; she can have this, and she wants it, and she keeps going, kissing Adelaide’s breasts with all her devotion.
Adelaide moans, and so does Hella, and then Adelaide’s forehead drops down to meet Hella’s and her hips press into Hella’s abs.
Hella wants to admire Adelaide like this, tell her how wonderful she is, but then Adaire twists her hand inside of Hella in just the right way as she drags her fingernails across the head of Hella’s clit and the world whites out as Hella comes with a jerk and a shout. Her cunt tightens around Adaire’s hand, and then opens up in a soaking rush as she thrusts her clit harder into Adaire’s hand, gasping, chasing sensation, needing more.
“Beautiful,” Adaire murmurs. She keeps stroking Hella’s clit, fingers moving faster than Hella can keep up with, and Hella groans and bucks into her again, another squirting gush escaping from around Adaire’s hand as Adaire keeps fucking into her, urging out every bit of come she can.
By the time she’s done, Adelaide’s faded. She’s a breath of wind around them, nothing more, when Hella drops her legs. The bed’s wet with her juices, but Hella is too worn out to care. Adaire comes to lie on the bed too, smug and satisfied as she drapes herself across Hella and kisses her cheek.
“You good?” Hella asks, because she has no idea what Adaire’s done for herself, if anything. Sometimes she doesn’t want anything at all. Sometimes she rides Hella’s face hard enough that Hella can barely breathe. Hella’s sort of hoping it’s the first, tonight.
Adaire hums and lies her head down on Hella’s chest. “I can wait until morning.”
Hella nods and wraps her arm around Adaire’s shoulders. “Wake me up if you need me,” she tells Adaire, and she’s out before Adaire finishes laughing.