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If it weren’t for Margo leading her, Sophie knows she’d get lost in this house. Because it’s fucking huge—she’s pretty sure the first floor alone could swallow at least 3 of their cramped 2 bed 1.5 bath apartment back in Boston—with more nooks and crannies then she’d ever need and well, Margo’s mouth hasn’t left her neck since they collapsed into each other as soon as the front door closed.
They take a scenic route, stumbling into side tables, pausing against doorframes, and falling into multiple chaises. Sophie doesn’t care, doesn’t care as long as Margo doesn’t stop touching her.
That visceral hunger simmering inside her body since that night at Coyote Joe’s and every subsequent time they’ve been alone together boils over and rises up through her until Sophie’s whole body is buzzing underneath Margo’s on the couch.
The only other time she’s felt this drunk on something was a hazy night over ten years ago that ended with Sophie twisted up in the sheets of her college roommate’s twin bed.
“As much as I’m lovin’ seeing you underneath me on this couch, my hips just aren’t the same anymore,” Margo breathes out and Sophie can see the awkward position Margo’s body is hovering over hers. “How ‘bout we take this to a big girl bed?”
__________
After her fourth orgasm, Sophie is convinced Margo is trying to kill her. It certainly feels like her heart is beating out of her chest as Margo crawls back up from between her legs.
“You’re insatiable,” Sophie tells her. And it’s true. Graham would regularly go down on her when they would have sex—though he hadn’t since they moved down to Maple Brook—and Sophie always enjoyed it when he would, but when Margo is in between her legs, it’s a whole other feeling.
It’s all-consuming.
“No need for the SAT words,” Margo laughs, enunciating each syllable, the A drawn out long, as with all of her vowels.
“I just don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”
“What the ol’ hubster never did that to you? Damn shame,” Margo says, wiping the wetness off of her own bottom lip. Sophie immediately zeros in on the movement. “And I thought y’all were liberals.”
There’s the tell-tale shiver that goes down Sophie’s back whenever someone talks politics here, but this time she can tell by the glint in Margo’s eyes that she’s teasing her.
“Shut up,” Sophie rolls her eyes.
“I’m just saying. Even Jed, and he’s about bright red as you can be, he still knows how to—”
“Oh my God.” Sophie, fed up with the teasing, climbs on top of Margo and pushes her hand over to close her mouth. Either Margo lets her or she’s stronger than she thinks, but Sophie surprises herself either way and she knows it catches Margo off guard because her eyes widen and Sophie can feel the air she let out against the hand that’s covering Margo’s mouth.
She’s suddenly very aware of their bodies, how this is the first time she’d been positioned over Margo in a bed like this, how she’s straddling Margo’s torso, the phantom thrusts of Margo’s hips that make Sophie want to grind down against her. Sophie can feel the wetness between her legs, both from her own body and Margo’s saliva, and where her body is making contact with Margo’s, right below that damn belly button ring.
“Well, someone’s feeling big in her britches,” Margo drawls and Sophie knows she has the upper hand. Margo’s accent is always thick and sweet as honey, but Sophie’s noticed when she shows her own confidence, Margo’s voice gets even sweeter. And there’s been a dusting of pink across her cheeks since Sophie’s been on top of her.
“I just…I just wanted to tell you…” Sophie trails off, trying to figure out what words to use for how she’s feeling.
“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now,” Margo says.
“I was just trying to say Graham has done that to me before but it’s never, never felt like that.”
“No wonder, you can barely get the words out,” Margo laughs again, the movement of her stomach sending jolts of heat from Sophie’s core all the way up her spine. “It’s cute, though.
“The first thing you need to know about sex is if you can talk about it, it makes having it a whole lot easier. Which is lucky for you, because I could talk all day about how good you taste,” Margo punctuates the last few words with percussive taps of her finger where her hands are resting on Sophie’s hips.
That does make Sophie grind down onto Margo’s stomach, the skin too slippery to provide any sort of relief to Sophie’s pounding clit.
“Yeah, Graham I don’t really talk about that stuff,” Sophie admits, or anything else that isn’t about drinking or his job, she thinks to herself. “Like we were having sex the other day and he thought I was really into it, but I mean it was missionary so how into missionary can you really be, right? And he noticed I was acting differently but it was just because I was thinking about how you looked at me that, uh, that first time…”
Shit.
She tries to act like she didn’t just admit to Margo she thinks about Margo around her husband, replacing him with Margo while they have sex. Sophie didn’t mean to let it slip out, truly, but Margo has that effect on her, and having her naked underneath her with her hands drawing relentless, mindless patterns on the curve of her help, well that’s not exactly helping her mental clarity.
Of course Margo notices her slip up. Almost instantly her face breaks out into a mischievous grin. She looks like a cat who’s just caught a canary.
“Were you now, naughty girl?”
“I couldn’t really tell him that,” Sophie grits out, accidentally shifting and getting some almost non-existent friction. It makes her want to abandon all pretense and grind against Margo’s stomach until she comes with Margo watching her, strong hands guiding with precise movements.
God, she’s starting to think maybe four orgasms isn’t enough.
“Touche,” Margo grins, “okay no more talkin’ ‘bout husbands. When you’re in my bed, I want to focus on you.”
Sophie whines, can’t help the needy sound that escapes her throat. But the other part of her that’s not distracted by Margo, the part of who she used to be before Maple Brook, before her false murder conviction, and maybe the new part of her that came out of those experiences not entirely unscathed, that part of Sophie that itches to retaliate, pushes back.
“You’re the one who brought them up,” she says, playfully indignant.
“I suppose that’s true, but now I’ve changed my mind.” Margo’s hands leave their resting place on Sophie’s hips and before she can miss them too much, Margo interlocks their fingers together and pulls.
Sophie lets herself be pulled until she’s properly leaning over Margo, her hair making a curtain, shielding them from the sunlit room. Their own private sanctuary.
Margo’s own hair is fanned out beneath them, the auburn and natural blonde highlights look like a sunset and Sophie can’t help but stare a little.
“Like what you see?” Margo asks, eyes searching Sophie’s face. It’s the first time all day (and one of the only times) where Sophie has sensed a hesitation, an insecurity, in Margo. To think Margo would be insecure about something, would search for Sophie’s approval when she seems to have everything and everyone in her back pocket is almost inconceivable. “Kyle used to say my hair was the color of the dirt outside our single-wide.”
“He’s wrong,” Sophie blurts out before she can stop herself.
“I appreciate that,” Margo says, “but talking about my brother is worse than talking about husbands.
Sophie can’t believe her. “You did it again, you keep talking—”
Margo surges up and swallows the words coming right out of Sophie’s mouth. She can taste herself on Margo’s lips and moans, the other woman’s expensive perfume mixing with the heady scent of sex and covering them like a blanket.
They pull apart and Sophie knows she’s got a dumbstruck look on her face, but she can’t help it. Suddenly, what they were talking about fifteen seconds ago doesn’t matter, nothing does except the feel of Margo’s lips on hers.
“You’re right, maybe we shouldn’t talk about that,” she agrees, addressing Margo’s lips more than the rest of her face.
Margo lets out a laugh, loud and unashamed, and the sound of it makes Sophie’s stomach flip in an entirely different way. She’s beautiful, Sophie thinks, and loves seeing this more relaxed, unguarded version of Margo, with minimum makeup and crow’s feet that peek out onto her temples.
“Now you’re getting it,” Margo whispers. Her hand reaches up and cups the side of Sophie’s face, rings warm against the heat of their bodies. It can’t be more than thirty seconds since they last kissed, but Sophie can’t ignore the anticipation churning restlessly in a pool at the base of her spine.
“How about we don’t talk at all,” Sophie leans down and slots their mouths together. A strand of her own hair gets caught in between them and Sophie pulls it out with huff, annoyed at its existence for the interruption.
They kiss fervently, sloppily, as two people who share a familiarity with each other that goes deeper than physical and Sophie can’t get enough of it. Margo’s tongue enters her mouth at the same time she slides her hand from Sophie’s cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her even closer. The other hand stays anchored on Sophie’s lower back.
They’re both slightly out of breath when they break apart.
“Confidence looks good on you, Boston,” Margo says, inches away from her face. Before Sophie can stop her, before she knows what’s happening, Margo’s fingers are sliding through her folds. She swipes her thumb across Sophie’s clit and Sophie jerks, canting her hips down against the pressure. “Feels even better.”
“Fuck, Margo.” Sophie gasps against Margo’s lips.
“You like that, baby? Are you ready for me to touch you again?” Margo asks.
Feeling all of her muscles go slack, Sophie nods and relaxes into Margo’s touch. She buries her face into Margo’s neck, heat flaming on her cheeks.
“No, that won’t do,” Margo pushes her shoulder gently, her voice sounding like a parent reprimanding a child. It makes Sophie burn. “Use your words.”
Sophie opens her mouth but no sound comes out. She tries again, but the words get stuck in her throat. To say what she wants out loud…is harder than she realized. Sophie can’t remember the last someone asked her what she wanted (in her marriage, in life) before Margo a few days ago, and to ask her for it out loud, this woman who seemingly has control of everything in her life, controls the whole town really, is not exactly easy.
Margo must sense this in some way because her voice softens, “Come on, baby. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
“I need,” Sophie gasps into Margo’s mouth, “I need you.”
“Good girl, now we’re getting somewhere,” Margo says. “What do you need?”
Sophie lifts her head back from its hiding spot in the crook of Margo’s neck and kisses her soft and quick, pretty opposite of their usual meeting of lips, and as she’s pulling away, Margo rises up to meet her mouth with her own again. It gives her the confidence to say what she needs, right up against Margo’s lips, where she can feel the need in every shape her mouth makes.
“I need your mouth on me. With your lips around my clit until I come.”
Sophie feels Margo’s groan before she hears it, the vibration rising deep from Margo’s chest to tickle her lips. “Fuck, well then. Yes, ma’am ”
“Come up here,” she tells Sophie, voice ragged with want, and situates Sophie hovering over her face, Sophie can’t breathe. She doesn’t want to hurt Margo, but it seems Margo doesn’t really care.
She hooks her hands over Sophie’s hips and pulls down hard. The movement of it makes her stutter, hips jerking against Margo’s face. Sophie tries to apologize, but Margo waves her off, tongue licking broad strips of heat across Sophie’s clit.
Underneath her, Margo is nothing but ruthless in her claim of Sophie’s orgasm. Her nails sink into the tender muscle of Sophie’s inner thighs, gripping and holding Sophie against her mouth, and she’s not willing to admit the pain is what is getting her off. She’s close again, hurtling towards the inevitable; Margo, swallowing her whole.