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There’s a chance Aleida is going to murder Gloria.
Probably in her sleep. Probably right now.
Nuzzling her head against the woman’s neck, Aleida’s canines glimmer in the soft light of their shared bedroom. She’s half-debating biting down on the flesh, seeing her pulse flicker like that, she’s concretating.
Torturing, more like it.
Her knees dig against the soft sheets, arching herself deeper, “You ain’t bein’ fair,” is what she rasps. Usually, sex is over by now, always has been with her various partners. But Gloria is not like them, not like Cesar, or the men her Mom pushed in her direction.
“You are far too impatient,” Gloria says, tsking. Aleida wants to roll her eyes into the back of her skull at her words.
Getting out of prison, living with Gloria and her soccer team of children while trying to get her own back, experiencing the most confusing relationship of her life, it had not been on the cards for Aleida, even if she and the other woman had been dancing around the lines of platonic and romantic for years. And that was still when they were in minimum security.
“‘M just sayin’, didn’t take too long last time,”
Gloria’s fingers curl up inside her, and Aleida’s knees buckle, a moan sliding out of her as her hips grind down against her fingers subconsciously.
“You--” Aleida hisses.
Gloria grins, kissing the side of her head. “I’m determined to give you the best time, so be patient, huh? Making things so difficult, gotta cum when I say so.”
Aleida grits her teeth, but says nothing more in response, deciding that the best thing is to keep quiet and just roll her eyes. Fine.
She still might kill her, emphasis on the might.
Depends. She likes this, to an extent, though.