Chapter Text
Lying on a king-sized bed in a hotel room in Seoul, two things happened in very quick succession that Becky would never have guessed in a million years: Freen leant in to kiss her, and Becky stopped her.
“Wait, you were being serious?” Becky asked.
Freen reclined back onto the mountain of pillows against the head of the bed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Like, a hundred reasons,” Becky said. “Like that”—she gestured to the two empty wine glasses on the small dining table—"and that”—the Welcome Freenbecky gift package beside them—"and the fact that I didn’t just spill my guts to you about hating being twenty-one and too busy for dating and—and other stuff so that you would offer to do it with me!”
Freen waved a dismissive hand. “We had one glass, and you said it yourself, your schedule for the next nine months is packed. You barely have time to maintain the friendships in your life, let alone date, let alone go on enough dates to consider sleeping with someone. Unless you’ve rethought your stance on one-night stands? We do have an extra free day here given the airports have closed for the storm. You could definitely find a nice—”
“Oh my god, no!”
“Well, then, sounds to me like you can either accept your ongoing sexless fate for the rest of the year, or rip the band-aid off with someone you already know and trust. Although, I don’t think Tispky will be into it.”
Becky guffawed and rolled off the bed into standing. For her part, Freen seemed totally unfazed by her proposition, even though it had just flipped Becky’s world upside down. Who was this pod person in her hotel room that had replaced her friend? Her best friend who, while drop-dead gorgeous, was hardly forthcoming about her own sex-life and had never expressed any overt interest in Becky before?
When Becky began to pace the length of their room, Freen gave a little laugh. “You can just say no, you know. Promise I won’t be offended, even though you did just catapult out of bed.”
Becky sighed and climbed back onto the bed. Noticing that Freen was biting the inside of her cheek, Becky poked it with her finger. “Stop that,” she said, softer now. “And I didn’t mean to freak out on you, you just surprised me. Like, really surprised me.”
“In a bad way?”
Becky shook her head. “In a confusing way. I don’t understand why you would offer to...I mean, you’re not even attracted to me.” A moment passed where Freen only looked at her, and Becky felt something jump in her gut. “Wait, are you?”
Freen tucked her feet beneath her and fiddled with the hem of her soft, tracksuit pants. “Are you going to freak out again if I say yes?”
“No,” she said, trying to school her voice. “But I will have many follow up questions. Like, to start with, since when?”
With a small huff, Freen got up from the bed and took the bottle of wine from the ice bucket. She poured just half a glass, lifting it in Becky’s direction.
“Please,” Becky said.
Freen poured another half glass and climbed back into bed. After handing Becky hers, Freen tilted her glass forward for a toast.
“What are we toasting?” Becky asked.
Freen clinked their glasses together. “To finally having this conversation.”
As they sipped their wines, rain pelted down on the windows of the hotel room, the wind whipping it into violent, horizontal slashes. Every so often, thunder rolled and lightning lit up the skyscrapers outside in brilliant white. For all the noise of the raging storm, the room seemed stiflingly quiet. Becky took another sip, citrus tingling the hinge of her jaw, then rested the wine glass in her lap.
“Are you avoiding the question?” Becky asked.
“No,” Freen said. “I'm just not sure when it started for me.”
Becky waited for Freen to go on, and when a minute had passed, and Freen was only tracing the stem of her wine glass with her fingertip, Becky downed the rest of her wine and deposited the glass on the bedside table.
“Want me to go first?”
Freen glanced across at her, brow jumping in surprise.
Becky shot her a look. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Was my baby crush not the biggest known secret of the first six months of our friendship?”
The corner of Freen’s lips quirked.
Becky went on. “I was attracted to the easy way you laughed, and the way you would tilt your head back when you really laughed, and I liked how you looked in that blue school uniform. Now it’s your turn.”
“Lots of past tense in that sentence there.”
Becky gave Freen a gentle smack on her thigh. “Don’t leave me out on a limb.”
Freen considered her, and at another time, Becky might have squirmed to be considered so intently by those deep, brown eyes. These days, however, after everything they had been through, there was little she feared when it came to Freen; even, it turned out, when it came to confessing her earliest attractions.
“It was later for me,” Freen said. “You started holding yourself differently, with more confidence and grace. Might have been around the fourth hair colour change, I can’t remember. But I found that confidence attractive.”
“Found?”
Freen tipped back the rest of her wine. “Find, then.”
The admission sent a flutter deep in her belly. Had someone told her, even yesterday, that this is the conversation she would be having with Freen tonight, Becky would have laughed. It was surreal, and the fact that Freen had started it made it even more so.
“What’s something you find attractive about me right now?”
Freen deliberated, then swallowed. “Your voice. The fact you just asked me that without even thinking. You?”
“Your hands. They’re pianist hands.”
Instinctively, Freen slipped her hands between her thighs, then seeming to think better of it, brought them out once more. The slim and delicate length of her fingers was something Becky used to think about a lot. Every time Freen touched her – whether it was a hand on the small of her back as they walked, or Freen playing with her hair in a mindless gesture of comfort – Becky would drink them in like a mid-afternoon milk tea. Over time, and Freen’s relationship with Seng, the excited buzz in her stomach those touches once stirred had faded into a simple warmth, like coming home from the airport after days abroad, but now, as Becky imagined those fingers reaching out for her bare thigh across the small space in bed between them, she stirred again with that familiar flickering flare of potential.
“You offered to sleep with me,” Becky said. “Explain to me why again?”
“Because I know there are parts of all this that frustrate you. Like the fact that you can’t date easily, that you don’t get to go to university and mess around and make mistakes like a normal person.” Freen held her gaze. “I know you’re ready to have sex. I know you want to. This seemed like a good solution.”
“Seemed?”
Freen rolled her eyes. “Fine, seems. To me, anyway.”
“You don’t think it would complicate things?”
“No,” Freen said. “Apart from my mum, you’re the most non-negotiable person in my life. We wouldn’t let it complicate things, and it would just be a one time thing.”
For the first time all evening, Becky felt a skitter of real nerves beneath her skin. Were they actually considering this? “But what if...what if it makes us awkward? What if I suck at it and it ruins our on-screen work forever?”
Freen shot her a dubious look.
“I’m serious,” Becky said. “You know how little I’ve done. With anyone.”
“Exactly. Who better to explore with than me? Unless you’re just not attracted to me anymore.”
Becky let out a small scoff. Her voice went hushed. “Not the problem. I’m just not sure what you would get out of it. The thought that this might just be another way of you taking care of me or looking out for me...”
“It isn’t,” Freen said. She paused for a moment, then went on. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Seng and I broke up. To be honest, I miss having sex.”
Becky had guessed as much. As much as they could talk about anything with each other, Freen had always been relatively private about her sex life. Now that they were finally speaking about it, Becky pounced on the opportunity to know more.
“What do you miss about it?”
“A lot of things,” Freen said, shrugging her shoulders. “I miss the closeness of it. I miss how surprisingly fun it can be, how you can be laughing one second and intensely into it the next.” Her eyes went to her lap. “I miss how good it can feel, being touched like that.”
The final few words, spoken almost wistfully, and the image that flashed through her mind of Freen tipping her head back in pleasure, of a beautiful sigh falling from her mouth, sent a pull of desire so deep and sharp through Becky it caught the breath in her throat.
“Are you thinking about touching me right now?” Freen asked.
She thought about denying it. “Yes,” she said instead, the word slipping out in a breathless rush.
Freen shifted on the bed, tucking her feet further beneath her. “Have you thought about touching me before tonight?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she quashed the urge to fidget. “How honest an answer do you want to that question?” she asked.
“As honest as you want.”
“Then yes,” Becky said, keeping her voice even. “I’ve thought about it. A lot in those first few months.”
“Would you want to now?”
Though the whole conversation had been leading them back here, Becky couldn’t stop herself from looking away and running a skittish hand through her hair. It was lain out on the table, for real now, and just the thought of what that meant, of getting to touch Freen, of being touched by Freen, even if it was only for a night, made her head spin.
Freen put a hand on her knee. “I don’t want you to feel pressured at all, and if you say no, it honestly won’t be a big deal. But if you’re still worried about my reasons for offering, just know that this isn’t some weird selfless act. I’m attracted to you. I know I would enjoy it.” Freen tapped her knee until Becky looked back up. Her level gaze held no judgement, only an openness that beckoned Becky inward. “Would you?” Freen asked.
Her answer, when she glanced down to Freen’s mouth, red and glistening as she wet them in response, became obvious.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Freen asked.
Becky gave a muted nod. Then Freen smiled, and that enticing curve of her mouth pulled Becky forward like she were a stone rolling down a hill. Perched on her knees, she brought both hands up to Freen’s face, palms to the warmth of her round cheeks, and the momentary stillness of Freen’s chest as she waited to be kissed by Becky made her pause in kind.
“Are you sure?” Becky asked.
The answer was a hand around the nape of her neck, those delicate fingers she had so often thought of tracing a shiver up her spine. Becky was urged downward to where Freen rested back on the pillows and when their lips touched, it was achingly soft, so familiar and yet so new, and everything in her world narrowed to Freen, to the lime and orange blossom of wine still lingering on her mouth, to her quiet intake of breath and the way she seemed to melt into the pillows beneath them. As Freen sank deeper down, Becky was pulled with her. Then Freen put a hand on the crook of her knee and gave a gentle tug, and Becky followed the guidance, sliding her leg across Freen to straddle her.
Before the kiss deepened, Freen pushed Becky into sitting by her sternum, and for a brief instant her heart thumped in panic against her ribs.
“One ground rule,” Freen said. Becky nodded at her to continue. “We talk. We tell each other what we want, what feels good and what doesn’t. This should only feel good, and if it doesn’t, we stop.”
Breath shuddered from her lungs. God. They were actually going to do this.
“Anything you want to add?” Freen asked.
Becky shook her head. “I’m good.” Then a flash of excitement shot through her as, with darkening eyes, Freen tracked her gaze down her body, idled at the meeting of their hips, and came back up again.
“I’ve thought about you like this,” Freen said, brushing her thumbs beneath Becky’s shirt.
Her throat went dry. “On top of you?”
Freen nodded and gave her a smile that was both endeared and touched with hunger. “What have you thought about?”
This, and a thousand other things, Becky thought. She lay her palms flat against Freen’s abdomen and shifted so that her weight settled more fully on Freen. She didn’t miss the hitch of breath beneath her, or the sudden flare of want in Freen’s eyes. It swept her with a keen self-assurance she was unaccustomed to, and she found she liked the heady rush of it.
“I’ve thought about this, too,” Becky said. “I like how you feel beneath me.”
The soft groan that came from Freen surprised her, sending another delicious twist low in her gut, and before she could think twice about it, Becky surged forward and kissed Freen again. Hands leapt into her hair and Becky felt herself held fast to the kiss, which deepened far quicker than before. The first glance of Freen’s tongue against her lip cracked a whimper from her throat, and she welcomed the gentle exploration, so different from how they had kissed in the past, so much eagerness brimming in the tug of her hair, the press of their hips.
Freen broke the kiss just enough to whisper. “We can do as little or as much as you want.”
The words were ragged with desire, and Becky clenched her thighs on either side of Freen. “I want you,” Becky said. She sat back up and, ignoring the anxious flutter in her belly, pulled her shirt overhead. “I want your hands on me.”
Freen scorched a path over all the skin Becky had just bared, and there was a delicious dichotomy to the way it felt to be so brazenly observed, which was at once both vulnerable and compelling; Freen hid none of her want, and Becky craved more of it, wanted to indulge in her attention like it was dark chocolate, delectably sweet and moreish.
Lifting her hand, Freen touched the edge of her sports bra. “Take this off.”
The breathless request eased a sliver of her nerves. Gripping the band of her sports bra, Becky stripped it off herself and threw it to the floor. She barely had time to register the look on Freen’s face before she shot up, wrapping her arms around Becky. Becky grabbed at the hem of her shirt and, when Freen lifted her arms over her head, Becky stripped her, too. Unlike her, Freen wore nothing underneath, and the sight of her skin and breasts burned fast through Becky, like she were paper on a naked flame.
“You’re so beautiful,” Becky said. “It’s kind of ridiculous.”
A grin teased the edge of Freen’s mouth. “You’ve seen me this naked before.”
With one hand, Becky traced the tips of her fingers along the outer curve of Freen’s breast. Her mouth watered as she watched her nipple tighten. “Not like this, I haven’t.” Her gaze swept over the rest of Freen, memorising the curve of her collarbones and ribs, the jagged rise and fall of her chest, unblemished and golden-fair, and Becky vibrated with a want so intense it almost frightened her, so charged her muscles felt poised with it, as if she were kneeling on a starting block awaiting the fire of a gun.
Freen leant in close to her ear, voice honey-like. “Are you nervous?” she asked.
“A bit,” Becky said.
“That’s okay. I am, too. We’ll go slow.” Freen danced her fingertips down Becky’s spine and across her lower back, and when she pulled Becky flush against her, slow was the last thing Becky wanted. Anticipation – impatience – was burning bright beneath her skin.
“I don’t think I want to wait,” Becky whispered.
“What do you want then?” Freen asked.
The question left Becky at a loss. She had no idea what she wanted. What would feel good. If she thought about it too explicitly, her stomach tied itself into knots. Maybe what she wanted was to not think, to not plan every next step to obsession like she always did. She wanted to feel. She wanted gunfire and release and Freen surrounding every inch of her like she was liquid fire.
“I want...” Her hips rocked into Freen, seeking and urgent. Heat bloomed between their bodies, and Freen pulled her closer.
“Tell me.”
Buried in the white musk and jasmine of Freen’s hair, with fingers digging softly into her hips, Becky felt almost light-headed. Nothing had ever felt like this before, and they weren’t even doing anything yet. How was that possible?
“Remember the rule,” Freen said. “Talk to me.”
The words were soft as a caress. The fog in her head grew thicker, and a beat passed as Becky searched through the haze of lust for cohesive thought.
“I want...I want to feel how much you want me.”
For a brief instant, Freen stilled, and there was nothing but the battering rain and the hammering of her own pulse in her ears. Then Freen slipped her hand up Becky’s bare outer thigh and disappeared beneath her loose sleep shorts. The grip she took of her ass was gentle, then firm, and she dragged Becky in tight until her core was pressed against Freen’s abdomen. Becky let out a clipped whine, and the urge to move against Freen, to chase her own pleasure, was razor-sharp. She stifled it, but barely; her self-control was a fast unravelling thread, and she ached for Freen to take her frayed edges and pull her apart completely.
“Please, Freen,” she said. Gathering her courage, she leant back and found the anchor of Freen’s eyes. “Show me.”
The gun went off.
Becky was drawn down so fast she had to stop her momentum with her hands on the bed, either side of Freen’s head, and every touch that followed was a new discovery, a lesson in the things that she liked: the bite to her bottom lip, the scrape of nails along her back, the feather-soft glide of fingers toward her nipple and the pinch that ripped free a quiet moan. Freen was everywhere. Encompassing. As certain as the storm outside. And her mouth – her mouth was molten-hot, ablaze against her neck and chest, down the slope of her breast, and Becky was enraptured by the glistening peak of tongue, its butterfly touch against her nipple which made her buckle. Tremble. It all felt so new. So indescribable and new.
Winding a hand through Becky’s hair, Freen recaptured her lips. This kiss was different again somehow, more assertive, a demanding push and pull that spoke of an acute need – of Freen’s need – and the thought that Becky could be the one to meet those needs sent a spike of adrenaline through her veins. Freen broke the kiss, her stare heavy-lidded and intoxicating. They shared a moment without speaking, brown eyes darting between her own like Freen was searching for something, but before Becky could even think to ask for what, Freen put a thumb to her mouth and traced the bow of her lip.
“I want to make you feel good,” Freen said. Her other hand lingered at the waistband of Becky’s shorts, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin beneath her navel.
“I want that.”
There was a loaded pause – a few seconds where Freen was giving her the option to change her mind – and then Freen edged her fingertips beneath her shorts and underwear, turned her hand, and slid down those last inches until Becky felt the delicate cup of her hand, a surge of satisfaction that was at once both full and unfulfilled, and her own sheer, abundant wetness. Fuck. Had she ever been this wet before? A flush of heat climbed up her chest and cheeks. Becky went to bury her face in the safe crook of Freen’s neck, but Freen held her still.
“Stay,” Freen said.
Their gaze locked, and Becky fought her instinct to look away or close her eyes. Below her, Freen seemed to be drinking in every glimpse of her pleasure, her beautiful eyes a dancing, crackling fire across Becky’s brow, her lips, her throat. That dizzy feeling returned, shrouding Becky like thick incense, and as Freen slipped deeper through her wet heat, her mouth fell open and a broken exhale shook from her lungs. Each gentle, exploratory stroke drew her body in tighter spirals, and Becky was stunned; she never knew it could feel like this. It never had before. It was worlds apart from touching herself, and for the first time ever, Becky felt an emptiness, a new and undeniable craving.
“Can you...”
“Anything,” Freen said. “Ask me anything.”
The edge of desperation in the request dropped the last of her inhibitions.
“In—inside.”
Freen didn’t hesitate. The press of her finger inside Becky wrenched her gut, and unable to hold her weight on her hands a second longer, Becky crumpled. She lost herself in jasmine and warmth and this newest revelation: in all the times she had touched herself, not once had she ever hungered for this. Sure, she had tried it, sometimes even enjoyed it, but it was never what she needed to come. It was never this. This was everything.
Unthinking, Becky spread her legs wide, shorts stretching at the cut of her hip and thigh, and Freen wrapped a strong hand through her hair again, pulling her in so close Becky could feel a thunderous pulse against her lips.
“Is it good?” Freen asked, her touch still soft. Still tender. “Tell me how it feels.”
“It feels—” Becky choked on a moan, the words snatched from her throat as Freen brought her palm flush against Becky.
“I want to know,” Freen said.
Her mind was thick and reeling; trying to answer Freen was like wading through mud. “It’s”—Freen quickened her hand—“fuck, it’s good. So good.” Becky grasped at the sheets, hips rocking with each drive within her. “I didn’t know...”
“Didn’t know what?”
Anything, Becky thought. She didn’t know anything before tonight. Didn’t know she could ache like this. Didn’t know this feeling of fullness, or that she could climb so quickly.
A one-time thing.
The flash of Freen’s words was lightning-quick and sobering. How much she wished the storm outside would never end, that they could stay locked away together in this hotel room for days or even weeks, that she could feel like this not just for one night, but again, and again, and again.
A one-time thing.
Too close. Fuck, she was too close. She wasn’t ready for this to end. Panic seized her chest but her body paid that no heed; Freen was a fuse on its fast, inevitable approach, and in her arms, riding her touch, Becky had all the potential of black powder.
“Slow down,” she breathed out.
Freen did, almost to the point of stopping altogether. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Becky said, pressing her open mouth to Freen’s neck in assurance. “Nothing, I just—you’re going to make me...”
Freen let out a tiny noise, then moved her hand faster again, like she was mindlessly chasing her own desires. “Don’t you want that?” she asked.
“Yes, but—”
“I have thought about making you come for months.” The words were a rich, low rasp against her ear, and they drew Becky in like an undertow of water. “What you would look like. The sounds you would make.” Freen thrust harder, deeper inside her. “How you would feel around my fingers.” Becky buckled, clenching her eyes shut. “I’ll slow down if you ask again, but fuck, Becky, I want to make you come so badly.”
The choice was stripped from her. Hearing Freen – modest, demure, measured Freen – be so bold and unrestrained made Becky quake. Freen had thought about her – for months. How was that even possible? That was—Becky felt herself stretch around a second finger and let out a muffled cry. Freen was deliberate. Rhythmic. It was too much and nowhere near enough, and if Freen slowed down now, Becky thought she might cry. Or beg.
“Okay,” she whispered, her own voice sounding strange, as if it were carried on wind from a distance.
“Okay?”
She nodded into Freen’s neck, frantic and on edge. The heat there was almost stifling, but she couldn’t move. She could barely think. All she could do was relinquish herself to Freen, to the insistence of her touch and the uphill course they raced, their togetherness its own small world beyond which Becky had no sense of. Everything was beneath her. Freen was beneath her. And everything around them was dark until it wasn’t, until there wasn’t an inch of room left in her body to place this agonising bliss Freen filled her with, that she strained toward and against in equal zeal and apprehension, until a last moment of thought – remember this – and all that built within her spilled over like sunlight on the east horizon, the bright oranges and pinks of morning, of citrus wine and strawberries, fresh and ripe and new. Freen held her tight. Throat caught on her name. The sweetness lasted longer than it ever had before, and her descent, when eventually it came, wasn’t a collapse but a gradual unfurling, slow as a lotus bloom in June.
Freen pressed a long kiss to her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. It held a note that, through the still-dissipating fog, Becky couldn’t place but right now she didn’t care to; the same sentiment for Freen swept through her body, igniting her anew.
Their next kiss was the kind that could tear open the sky, and there was nothing more delicious than Freen chasing her on every small retreat, neck craning, head lifting from the pillow as if she couldn’t bear for it to end. But then—
“Sit up. Let me see you.”
The instant Becky did, a moan tore from her mouth. Freen was still inside her, fingers curled. She shot Becky a curious look and curled them more.
“Oh—” Becky canted forward, bracing her palms against Freen’s ribs.
In the low lamplight, Freen was watching her with wide eyes. “Is that...”
Becky stalled. Was it? She had always kind of thought it was a myth, or maybe just didn’t apply to her. “I think so?” she said.
Freen lit up. “Can you go again?”
“I...” Becky thought the answer was probably yes, but instead of saying so, she guided Freen’s hand from her shorts, took the drawstring of her pants, and pulled. “In the interest of following the rules...” She gave Freen a moment to nod, then undressed her completely. “I want to touch you,” she said, “however...however you want me to.”
Freen glanced down at her mouth. “You decide for me.”
“You aren’t following the rules.”
A beat of silence passed.
“I’m exactly following the rules,” Freen said, and though their gaze held, her voice gave a small waver, the corner of her mouth went tight.
Becky searched for a reason why but came up short. “You’ll have to be a little more explicit than that,” she said.
A faint blush crawled up Freen’s cheeks, and Becky stirred at the sight of it. Still, Freen didn’t speak.
“Just say it once,” Becky said, stroking a warm thigh. “This is a one-off, right?” Her throat closed over the words for a second before she pressed on. “Just say it – whatever it is you’re thinking – and I’ll give it to you.”
Freen gave her response to the ceiling. “It’s your first time.” She huffed a laugh. “I don’t want to push. I want you to be comfortable.”
“And I want to make you feel good.” Becky took Freen by her chin, neither gentle nor hard, and drew her back down. A visible shudder racked through Freen, and unbidden, her words from earlier returned to Becky.
Your confidence. I found that attractive.
Your voice.
You decide for me.
There was a charged silence, then Becky took a leap. She turned Freen away so her cheek pressed against the pillow and fixed her mouth to her jaw, her neck, the cinnamon space below her ear.
“Am I on the right track?” she asked.
Freen let out a trembling exhale. “Yes.”
Steeling her nerve, Becky firmed her grip just enough to hold Freen in place. “And now?”
“Fuck, Becky—”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
Becky stared at Freen’s profile for one moment, two moments. She may not have much experience – or any of it at all – but Freen, she knew, and she had years of experience meeting those needs Freen was either too afraid or wilfully self-sufficient to speak.
Gently, Becky turned Freen back to her. “I’ll decide for you,” she said, “but you still need to talk to me.”
After a pause, Freen nodded. “Only if you want this too.”
The flicker of uncertainty in Freen only hardened her resolve, and when Becky answered, it wasn’t with words but the fervour of her mouth, the slow traversal of her hands, far less hurried than she yearned to be, but if tonight was all she had with Freen then she would take her time, would wring dry these precious few hours of every single, possible second they could offer because she did want this – wanted every hushed curse and salt-pricked dew of sweat, wanted Freen to clutch her, to shake in pleasure beneath her, wanted more than she ever would have guessed, so long had it been since she’d put these feelings to rest. Fuck. Hadn't she put these feelings to rest?
She slammed the door shut on that thought.
“Do you always like it like this?” Becky asked. A good distraction. Abdominal muscles clenched beneath her lips.
“Not always,” Freen said, her eyes shut, head tilted back. “Sometimes I like the opposite. Sometimes I just want to be...”
“Want to be what?”
Freen stared down at her in a heated glaze and then, seemingly overwhelmed, her head thumped back to the pillow. Her voice, when eventually she spoke, was a murmur so soft Becky couldn’t make out the words.
“Louder,” Becky said. “So I can hear you.”
Freen threaded their fingers together and squeezed. “In someone else's hands.”
Something took root inside of Becky, resolute as oak, and as she turned Freen onto her stomach, the very last of her nerves died out. Shedding the rest of her own clothes, Becky crawled on top of Freen, one knee between her thighs, one hand holding hers outstretched overhead, the other playing through soft, silky locks as she leant down.
“Someone else’s hands?” she asked.
Like a cresting wave, Freen rose and gave way beneath her, the taut muscles of her shoulders unwinding. Yielding.
“No,” Freen said. “In yours.”
This was a dream she’d had before, Becky was sure of it. Her heart swelled, full and bright in her chest, and had she felt half as consumed right now, she might have tampered it down. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to. Instead, every dormant, wanton thought she had ever had of the two of them together erupted in her mind, and Becky lost all sense of time as she tasted every inch of cream-pearl skin laid bare before her, holding nothing back, taking from Freen until she was a quivering mess beneath her, until, in the ruinous second she slipped inside of Freen from behind, there was only the burning edges where their bodies met and the realisation that tenderness and firmness could go hand in hand, the weight of her forearm across Freen’s shoulders offset by the nuzzling of her cheek, the fleeting whisper of her kisses. The privilege of this moment was like a heavy anchor, grounding Becky in each sound – each decadent fucking sound that spilled sugar-sweet from Freen – and all of a sudden, as Becky watched her face morph from pleasure to that beautiful point of breaking to something near serenity, what had once felt impossible now felt inevitable. Was this not inevitable? Was making Freen shatter like this – come like this – not inevitable?
Were they?
Her stomach churned in a whirlpool. Still breathless, Freen went to turn onto her back but just the thought of meeting her ever-perceptive eyes right now made Becky seize, her heartbeat galloping against her ribs, and without thinking, she pushed Freen back down.
“Not yet,” she said.
Freen gave a dazed laugh. “How are you making me feel like I’m the one who hasn’t had sex before?”
It should have felt better than it did. Her mind and insides were still scrambled, so she focused instead on the small notches of Freen’s spine, her lithe form warm and alive under her hands. It swept her with another surge of need, nothing like the slower crescendo of when Freen first touched her but a rising, violent rapid, and before she could even think to voice her want, to follow the rules, she took Freen’s hand, placed it palm up on the small of her back, and straddled her.
“Like before,” she urged, and prayed Freen understood what she meant.
Of course Freen did. She pushed inside and curled her finger, and the deep tug rocked Becky forward. Planting one hand in the centre of Freen’s back to steady herself, Becky brought her other between her own legs, fingertips brushing against Freen’s palm. For a moment, there was the dim thought that perhaps she should go slowly, ease them both a little more gently through these waters, but then Freen spoke her name with a fevered sigh and it was clear neither of them wanted any part in slow. Submergence. That was what she needed. And so she chased it with abandon, unthinking, fast through her own slick desire toward the edge of a wide, yawning trench. It should have scared her. It did scare her. But her own reckless yearning took her then with greater force and she succumbed, eyes fixed to Freen as she rode the warm swells of her body.
Let those old aches pull and suck her deeper, and if later they drowned her—and everything they'd worked for—then so be it.