Chapter Text
Mira’s observant. Always has been. Perhaps it’s a leftover instinct of the household where she grew up, always listening for the sound of doors opening and footsteps creaking up stairs, a deep-rooted vigilance she can’t shake even though it’s unnecessary now. Perhaps it’s a product of her training, of always scanning her environment for anything out of the ordinary, prepared to spring into battle at a moment’s notice. Perhaps it’s just how she is.
And so she notices things.
She notices that the most sensitive part of Zoey’s whole body is her neck. How she arches her spine and makes the sweetest sounds whenever she’s kissed and touched there. Even the slightest amount of contact when Rumi or Mira adjusts a necklace or piece of clothing never fails to make her blush and have a harder time finding words than usual.
She notices that Zoey likes praise – and at first she thought, yeah, okay, well, who doesn’t? But Zoey likes praise a lot. A lot, a lot. An excessive amount. She goes all soft-eyed and slack-jawed when it’s subtle, and wonderfully noisy and needy when it’s not. Sometimes, it’s even been the very thing to tip her over the edge to her climax.
But the biggest tell comes when they visit a local sex shop wearing their signature disguises of oversized hoodies and brimmed hats. It’s just the two of them, looking for a gift to surprise Rumi with for the holidays, pointing out possibilities from the racks and displays and musing about what their girlfriend would enjoy. And Mira notices when Zoey’s gaze lingers for a couple of heartbeats on a certain item hanging from one of the walls.
Mira goes back alone, later. She peruses through the selection, but nothing she finds satisfies her. They’re all so dainty, so soft, and she doesn’t want something she’s worried about breaking.
She arranges to have one custom-made instead.
The next few weeks of waiting are agonizing. After the initial cutting of the leather, Mira declines in-progress pictures, favoring a surprise. When she gets the tracking number, Mira checks it obsessively, refreshing multiple times a day as if that will make it come faster.
The day it’s due to be delivered, Mira waits impatiently on the living room couch, scrolling on her phone and listening for the mail carrier. It’s in the late morning when it finally arrives, and she opens the door to a mailman holding a deceptively regular-looking package and asking for a signature. She signs in a rapid flourish, snatches the package, and slams the door in his face.
Mira sets the small box down on the kitchen counter and retrieves a box cutter. A couple of slices later, and she’s holding a tissue-paper-wrapped bundle, surprisingly light. She unfolds the paper, lifts the work of art into the light.
And smiles. It’s perfect.
Zoey hums to herself as she jots down a handful of potential melodies. She taps her pen, which has a little panda on the top, against the page. She tries one rhythm. Another. Adds a line, a handful of lyrics. A happy, thoughtful sort of energy buzzes along her skin as she lounges in the chair, one foot bouncing aimlessly in the air.
She’s interrupted by a knock at the door.
Zoey doesn’t even glance up as she calls out, “Come in!”
The door opens, and she knows it’s Mira from the weight of her footsteps on the floor before she even speaks. “Hey, Zoey.”
“Hey, Mira.” Zoey flashes a brief smile at her girlfriend before returning her attention to the notebook at hand. She doesn’t ask why Mira’s here, because Mira’s the kind of person who will tell you exactly what she wants you to know, at all times. And besides, even if she visited Zoey for no particular reason, Zoey would be happy to just hang out and enjoy her company.
Mira steps delicately over the floor, avoiding piles of scrawled notes and her abandoned keyboard. She slots herself behind Zoey’s chair, but Zoey’s too busy adding another line to pay much attention – that is, until she feels the featherlight touch of trimmed nails skimming along her exposed shoulder. Zoey pauses, her pen hovering above the page. She feels Mira lean over, those fingers tracing up her shoulder and closer to her collarbone. “It’s been a long day,” Mira murmurs. “I was wondering if you wanted…” confident but soft hands skim over bone, linger over the hollow of her throat. “A break?”
Zoey nibbles on the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to lean backwards into Mira’s touch and let her girlfriend give her a very… revitalizing break. Rather, she says, “I’m getting work done, Mira! Now is not the time.” She doesn’t make any attempt to shake off Mira’s hands, though.
Zoey fully expects Mira to push. And maybe that’s part of the fun – knowing that her girlfriends will give chase, not be deterred so easily by her tendency to burrow into work, or social media, or whatever else. They always know just how to redirect her tunnel vision, to give her an outlet for that energy when it seems like it has nowhere else to go. It makes her feel wanted, and of course it’s just enjoyable.
But today, Mira’s hands withdraw without fanfare, leaving her feeling colder than she had a moment ago. Zoey glances up questioningly, but Mira’s expression has been carefully schooled into one of neutrality as she says, smoothly, “Oh, alright. In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” Mira presses one kiss to the crown of Zoey’s head, her lips lingering there for a brief second, the only indication that she doesn’t want to leave just yet, before she steps back over the cluttered floor and to the exit.
Zoey blinks once. Twice. Registering the situation. This isn’t how it goes, she thinks for a fleeting, irrational moment. Mira’s not meant to leave like this. She’s supposed to stay and make her take that break.
“Wait.”
Mira pauses, one hand on the doorframe, and turns back to look at her. It would be innocent enough, if not for the faint twinkle of amusement in her gaze that makes Zoey very aware that she knows exactly what she’s doing. “I thought you were busy,” Mira says sweetly. “Shouldn’t I let you work?”
Zoey huffs, the pen rolling around in her palm, already forgotten. “I’m not that busy….”
“I think you are,” Mira counters lightly. “You seemed quite focused when I came in. I wouldn’t want to interrupt that, now would I?” A teasing lilt accompanies her voice, but there’s something a little curious there too. As if she’s wondering what will happen now that the ball’s in Zoey’s court.
“It’s not a big deal. I can come back to it.” Zoey sets down the notebook and pen on the floor and glances up hopefully at her girlfriend.
Mira peers down at her and lets out a hum.
“I could make you wait for it.”
Zoey sucks in a breath, not sure if she’s opposed to that idea (or if some part of her loves it), but Mira’s not done. “But I won’t. Not today.” Before Zoey can decide if she’s disappointed or not, her girlfriend takes a step back into the room, and then another. She stretches out a hand and brushes Zoey’s cheekbone. Zoey’s breath stutters underneath the slight roughness of calloused fingertips. Mira murmurs, “You’re lucky I want this so much right now.”
Zoey feels the heat rush to her cheeks, but Mira doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she moves her hand down to Zoey’s hand, tugging her out of the chair and into the hallway. She’s ushered into Mira’s bedroom, and her eyes widen at the sight.
The overhead lights have been turned off, leaving only the soft glow of Mira’s desk lamp and a string of fairy lights on the opposing wall. The bed is made and there’s a half-folded blanket arranged on the floor by its edge. There’s a warm smell in the air, like a spray or two of vanilla perfume, and it’s obvious to Zoey that Mira set this up, that she planned it. It’s so sickeningly, endearingly sweet that Zoey opens her mouth to say something playful but appreciative, when Mira swoops down and kisses her.
The kiss is hot and open-mouthed, taking in a way that feels like staking claim. She doesn’t hesitate to push her tongue into Zoey’s mouth, and is only emboldened by the embarrassing noise that Zoey makes in response.
“Impatient,” Zoey grouses good-naturedly the second Mira pulls back – less to give her a breather, she suspects, and more so to take the opportunity to kiss along her jawline and up to her ear.
“Careful,” Mira mutters into that patch of skin, her breath sending goosebumps down her spine. “I could make you regret that.”
Zoey lets out a husky laugh. “Probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re pretty needy right now.” She raises her own hand, lightly drawing a finger along the rigid muscles of Mira’s arm. Is it a bluff? It’s hard to tell, even for her.
But either way, Zoey’s not entirely wrong, and so that’s all it takes – just the smallest tease, and Mira snaps. Her eyes narrow, and all she says is, “I did warn you,” before her hands are on Zoey’s waist and she’s being manhandled onto the perfectly-made bed. Their rough landing disrupts the sheets, but Mira doesn’t spare them even a glance as she pins Zoey to the bed by her shoulders and dips her head down until her lips brush her collarbone.
“Guess you just want it so bad you can’t help but push me until you get it,” Mira says, and a hand skirts dangerously down her frame and slips in-between her thighs. She presses two fingers against Zoey’s core, not moving, just exerting a steady, maddening pressure, and Zoey lets out a rather undignified noise as she arches her hips.
“I think you’re projecting,” Zoey breathes out, still trying to cant her hips upwards and get the movement she craves.
Mira tuts, a slight scolding that makes Zoey’s breath stutter in her chest. She moves her hand, just a little, adjusting the pressure. “Says the one rutting into my hand like a dog.” The words are playful, but there’s something weighted beneath them.
And Zoey gasps, her head rocking back against the pillows in a way that’s going to be hard to play off as… well, anything but a reaction to that.
Mira’s quick, though. Her dark gaze latches onto Zoey’s face, something like satisfaction curling on her lips. She leans in, whispers, “You like that, don’t you?”
And Zoey wants to argue, she really does, but right then Mira moves her fingers, swipes them up and down just right, and it robs her of any ability to form a proper response. Mira’s eyes sparkle knowingly as she purrs, “You like being called a dog?”
That prompts a response. Zoey chokes out, “N-no–”
Mira cuts her off with a low laugh. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
“I–I’m not,” she rushes to deny, avoiding eye contact even though she can feel Mira’s heavy gaze on her. “I just don’t, I’m not–”
“Shh,” Mira coos. “You can’t hide it when I can feel you trying to get me inside of you already.”
Mira shoves at Zoey’s shorts, only managing to get them partway down her waist before she pushes a hand down her panties. Impatient, Zoey thinks fondly, until Mira actually touches her with firm strokes that send electric sparks radiating outwards. Zoey bites down on her lip hard to muffle the sounds building in her throat as her hips move unbidden in tandem with the touch. Mira’s other hand snakes up and grabs a fistful of dark hair, not yanking but just holding, using her grip as leverage to tilt her head and expose her neck. Mira litters warm kisses over Zoey’s collarbone, mouth brushing against the hem of her shirt. Mira huffs against the barrier of fabric, like it’s an inconvenience that she wishes she’d accounted for earlier.
“You can admit it, you know,” Mira says in-between kisses. A blissful fog creeps in around the edges of Zoey’s mind with every stroke of those calloused fingers against her core, every whispered word that glides along bone and muscle, making everything a little hazier. Mira’s thumb brushes against her clit, and Zoey cries out, hips bucking involuntarily.
One finger, and then two, slip inside of her and pump in and out at a tantalizingly slow pace. Zoey makes a sound of muffled protest, the pleasure almost what she needs but not quite, the edge of what she wants right there, close much faster than usual.
“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you,” Mira breathes, and honestly, Zoey has already forgotten what Mira was talking about in the first place. It’s all just too much, and so close, and–
“Please,” Zoey begs, the sensations building up inside of her, making her head spin.
Mira’s fingers brush against that hypersensitive spot inside of her, and Zoey moans roughly, a helpless noise falling from her lips. Her spine arches, her lips parting, and–
Mira takes out her fingers, drawing them out of her panties entirely. The waistband snaps against skin, cruel but not painful, and Zoey let out a small wail at the loss of sensation.
“Mira–”
“We can’t have you coming too fast,” Mira teases, arm snaking around her midriff, clearly up to something although Zoey can’t tell exactly what. “That would ruin my fun.”
“Mira, please–”
“Hush. Be good.” Without warning, Mira lifts her up a little, just enough to fully remove her shorts and panties in an impressively smooth one-handed motion. Hands slide underneath her shirt next, whipping it off along with her bra, leaving her bared while Mira remains fully clothed. The imbalance rings through Zoey’s head, tastes sweet and sharp on her tongue as she bites down on the inside of her cheek, nudging her further into that fog.
Mira sits up, keeping Zoey pressed against her the whole time, positioning her near the edge of the bed and onto Mira’s lap. Zoey whimpers when she’s settled into place by a firm grasp to her shoulder guiding her downward. The movement rocks her core against Mira’s leg, right below where her yellow skirt has ridden up.
“You going to hump my thigh?” Mira murmurs into her ear, moving her once more so that she’s straddling one thigh. Zoey tries to resist at first – something about maintaining what little dignity she had left, perhaps – but when she sinks down onto hard muscle her eyes practically roll back into her head and a breathless little moan leaves her lips, and it’s all over.
“Go ahead, love,” Mira urges her on, and Zoey obeys, letting her hips fall into an uneven, stuttering rhythm. The wet slide of her pussy against clenched muscle, the way she can feel her slick slowly drenching Mira’s thigh, leaves her head spinning. She can feel herself falling deeper and deeper into that perfect, wonderful haze, her mind going pleasantly blurry with every bolt of pleasure working through her body.
Hands reach for her hips, and she feels Mira lean even closer. “You doing alright there, angel?” The words are low, teasing.
Zoey only grinds down harder, another moan escaping her mouth.
“You seem a little…” Zoey feels, rather than sees, Mira’s lopsided smirk. “Out of it.” Even through the fog, Zoey knows Mira means out of it in a pathetic sub kind of way, not a bad way, and she vaguely registers making a noise of disagreement.
That’s a mistake. “Oh, you’re not?” Mira hums, giving her no time to process before she’s pushed off of Mira’s thigh and onto the floor. Her knees hit the blanket placed there – intentionally, she realizes from somewhere far away – but that’s not the reason she whines up at her girlfriend. No, she whines because she’s cold now, and aching, and–
“My bad,” Mira drawls, reaching out and seizing her chin with a hand. Trembling faintly, Zoey is drawn into eye contact with her girlfriend. There’s a knowing glint in those dark eyes, a familiar quirk on her lips. “Funny how all that bratting is gone now that you’re on your knees for me.”
Zoey whines again, clenching around nothing.
Mira only huffs out a laugh, stroking her jawbone, looking down at her like she’s something to be taken apart piece-by-piece. “I have an idea I think you’ll like,” Mira says slowly, and then her touch is demanding, instructing, as it pulls her closer. It clicks in Zoey’s brain as she’s dragged towards the apex of Mira’s thighs what might be happening, and she eagerly wiggles forward, mouth parting in anticipation, not even caring that Mira still has pants on.
In her excitement, she lowers down a little too far, and her core brushes against the edge of Mira’s boot. A ragged gasp tears from her throat, and she freezes, caught in the sudden sensation.
When Zoey glances back up hesitantly, she doesn’t miss the way Mira’s pupils have dilated, flooding with heady arousal. “Cute,” Mira whispers, almost awestruck for a moment, but it’s gone the next time she speaks. “You really would take anything I give you, wouldn’t you? What wouldn’t you rut against?” Mira’s voice is edged, teasing, but there’s also a musing there, an edge of curiosity and knowing at the same time. “I bet you’d even take my boot and be grateful, hmm?”
And then Mira lifts up her boot, pressing the tip of her boot against Zoey. She gasps again, sharp and sudden, and her hands scramble to the floor, searching for purchase. They fist into the blanket, her grip white-knuckled as Mira dragged the edge of her boot back and forth so, so achingly slow.
And then she stops. Before Zoey can protest, or think about the fact that she’s upset about losing Mira’s boot against her of all things, an effortless command washes over her.
“You want it? Do it, then. Grind.”
And she doesn’t even think. In her half-melted, fogged-up mind, she just listens.
The slide is perfect, the smooth leather already somewhat wet, and she’s too far gone to think about how she’s degrading herself, stooping so low that she’s getting off on Mira’s boot of all things. She just lets her hips rock back and forth and grind down, and she cries out when the tip of the boot catches against her clit. It’s all so good, so fucking good, and she doesn’t know–
Zoey doesn’t even notice Mira reaching for something until hands are weaving around her neck, and there’s a soft, echoing click.
Zoey’s hips falter, and she reaches up one hand, and it takes much longer than it should for her to realize she’s touching leather. Supple, soft leather.
She’s stunned into silence.
Another click. Hazy, blinking, Zoey stares up at Mira, finding her smirking and holding something. Not just anything – it’s a leash that’s wrapped once or twice around her palm, secured firmly in her grip.
When Zoey’s hazy mind connects the dots, her reaction is undeniable. Unhideable, although she might try. She feels blood rush to her face, a helpless whimper spills from deep in her throat, and she shakes just a little. An instant mess, she thinks distantly.
Mira doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just drinks her in with a greedy, all-encompassing sort of look, and then reaches down with two fingers and swipes them lightly against where Zoey’s core is still on top of her boot. Mira’s findings must satisfy her, because she lets out a pleased hum when she withdraws her fingers, both of them glistening.
And still, she says nothing. Instead, she maintains eye contact, and–
Tugs. Just a little bit, just enough to catch against her throat and tilt her forward slightly. Zoey moans, her eyelashes fluttering.
Mira leans forward, maintaining a gentle but intoxicating pressure on her collar, and nips at Zoey’s ear. “So I was right.” She’s smug, clearly proud as her thumb finds Zoey’s pulse point. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “You do want to be my pet.”
Zoey whimpers.
“Isn’t that right, puppy?” Mira’s thumb lowers, brushes the edge of the collar. Zoey shivers, all her words long gone. She nods quickly, far beyond caring at how desperate she looks.
Mira laughs, low and teasing, but not cruel. “Keep grinding on my boot then, like a good dog, and I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”
Zoey’s already humping Mira’s boot again before she even finishes speaking, her movements frantic and rough. The pressure is intense, and she yelps whenever the leather slides hard against her clit, but she can’t bring herself to slow it down, too lost in the ache and tension.
“God, you’re so hot,” Mira breathes from above her. She barely hears the words, too focused on grinding, on the task that she’s been given, on doing it well, and–
She whines and moves her hips a little faster. She can feel her edge approaching again, and she chases it mindlessly, letting the clouded feeling take her over.
Mira knows her a little too well, though, because she groans out, “Okay, that’s enough. I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself.”
And – and Zoey doesn’t hear. Or rather, she does, but she doesn’t care enough to listen. She doesn’t want to stop, because it feels good, and–
“I said, stop.”
There’s a much sharper tug then as Mira yanks on the leash, and Zoey’s pulled forward by the collar with a cry. “You’ll stop when I tell you to,” Mira growls, not lessening the pressure, and Zoey nods jerkily even as she whines. Guilt floods her as she realizes she’s done something wrong, something bad, and now Mira is upset with her.
Mira seems to be able to see where her thoughts have gone, and soothes her with a scratch on the top of her head. She coos, “It’s okay, pet. You can make it up to me. Get on the bed.”
Zoey immediately perks up at the prospect and rushes to obey, scrambling up onto the covers. Mira keeps her leash gripped in one hand, taut but not pulling, just enough for her to feel the pressure like a reminder, and pushes Zoey down onto her back with the other. She goes willingly, quivering slightly, waiting for more instruction.
“Don’t move until I say that you can,” is all Mira says before she’s kissing Zoey’s collarbone and her spare hand, the one not occupied with her leash, snakes between her thighs. She palms at Zoey’s clit, and she immediately swings her hips upward with a choked sound. That’s punished with a bite against bone, one that will surely leave a mark.
“Come on, puppy,” Mira goads, almost as if she wants Zoey to fail. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”
Zoey whines again, because she does, she really, really does, but then Mira strokes her up and down, gathering slick before pushing two fingers inside of her, and it’s so good and so much that she can’t help but buck into it again.
Mira chuckles against her neck. “You’re bad at this, aren’t you?”
Bad. Bad. Zoey chokes, willing her trembling body to go limp, to stay still and be good like Mira wants. As if sensing her distress, Mira stills. “Don’t worry,” she says, a hint of gentleness peeking through. “You’re perfect like this.” Mira pulls back just a little, just enough to rake her gaze over Zoey – undoubtedly flushed and shaking, she knows – with genuine reverence. “Perfect,” she echoes, before thrusting her fingers forward again, hard, and Zoey gasps as she fights to stay still.
Mira’s sweet but not gentle, punishing her by stopping whenever she moves too much, leaving Zoey panting and desperate. She soothes Zoey’s worries with kisses and murmured reassurances that border on mean and taunting, but doesn’t go even a little faster than she pleases, no matter how much Zoey looks at her with begging eyes.
Mira drags her fingers up and down, thrusting deep but slow, hitting the exact spot that makes her see stars. Zoey whimpers, gasps, keeps her hips pinned to the mattress by some feat of sheer will alone. The pace is bordering on unbearable, and she needs more. Through the fogginess, Zoey mouths a word, trying to speak. She tries and fails multiple times, Mira’s well-timed thrusts throwing her off.
Finally, she breaks. “Sens...itive,” she gasps out, the word uneven and halting. Mira presses a placating kiss underneath her collar.
“Shhh, puppy. It’s okay,” Mira says, her voice so soft while her fingers maintain that tortuous pace.
Zoey whines, her head shaking, feeling a bit of drool fall out of one side of her mouth.
That doesn’t escape Mira’s notice. “Messy puppy, huh?” she taunts, the hand still holding her leash darting up to swipe up the drool with a finger. “You’ll be good and clean up your mess, won’t you?”
Zoey nods automatically, and to her delirious joy, that seems to please Mira, who lets out a groan. “Good girl.”
“Ah,” Zoey cries out, not just from the fingers pumping in and out of her.
“Oh, you like that.” Mira’s quick to catch on, her eyes glinting with delight. She adds a third finger, seeming to relish in the way Zoey moans and tries so hard not to squirm. “Yes, you’re a good girl. So perfect for me.”
Zoey wails, caught between pleasure and desperation. She loves it, but she needs, she needs–
“Now prove it to me, and come all over my hand,” Mira orders, and that’s all it takes. Zoey cries out, her back arching as her climax shudders through her, raw and powerful. She feels a sudden tug on her collar and nearly screams, pleasure racing through her bloodstream, igniting every part of her. She comes down gradually, twitching in the aftershocks, and mercifully, Mira slows down her thrusts in time with her before pulling out. Zoey collapses against the pillows, chest heaving.
“It’s time to clean up your mess,” Mira says, lifting her fingers to Zoey’s lips, which part without hesitation. Mira shoves all three into her mouth, and Zoey licks them sloppily. She’s not sure if she’s doing a good job, but she’s trying, and the heated gaze she can feel on her tongue as it laves over her fingers tells her she’s likely pleasing Mira – a thought that warms her from inside-out.
And just like that, the ache between her thighs is back. Zoey feels herself flush as she sucks on Mira’s fingers, and she can’t help but squirm a little underneath that intense attention, craving all over again.
Mira cocks a brow. “Oh, somebody wants more already? Greedy puppy.” She pulls on the leash, not overly harsh, but enough to ease another whine from her throat. “Do you think you deserve more?”
Zoey’s not sure of what the right answer is here, so she nods, the motion wobbly and hesitant.
“Hmm, maybe if you behave,” Mira muses. “Open wider.”
She tries. Mira pushes her fingers back further, and they’re still faintly dripping with Zoey’s arousal. Zoey gags a little as they press down on the back of her tongue. She feels Mira’s heavy-lidded gaze on her, watching her take her fingers, and swallows back a moan. Mira moves her fingers back and forth, thrusting shallowly, as if she has no destination in mind, as if she’s just content to sit there and keep gently fucking Zoey’s mouth with her fingers forever.
“Would you let me use you to get myself off, puppy?” Mira whispers, and Zoey catches a flash of teeth. “Would you open your sweet little mouth for me to grind on?”
She can’t hold back the moan, this time. She nods as best she can with three fingers in her mouth, her head lolling slightly to the side.
Mira chuckles. “I know you would. That’s a good girl. My good girl.”
Mine. Mine. Hers. Hers. Zoey loves that thought. Contentment washes through her. Her eyes slide shut of their own accord, and she feels more drool slip past her mouth, dribbling down her chin.
Mira stills, and Zoey hears why a second later.
The front door’s open.
Zoey looks at Mira, that sweet, warm fog still surrounding her mind. She waits.
A smile creeps across Mira’s lips. She withdraws her fingers from Zoey’s mouth, wiping them off on her own pants as if it’s second nature. “Oh, would you look at that. Rumi’s home. Stay right there, pet.”
And then Mira gets up and leaves her still shuddering on the bed, waiting.