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“Heeeeey Lysithea,” Hilda lilts in that telling way of hers, the I’m going to ask you a favor voice. Because when isn’t she asking for something? It’s a shame rent in their neighborhood is so damn expensive; if Lysithea could afford to live alone, maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with the most high-maintenance roommate of all time. In addition to all the other shit she has to do.
“Hello, Hilda,” she sighs, eyes on her computer screen. Seven different people are messaging her about something or other, ensuring that her afternoon will be busy. Case in point. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Somehow, she can hear Hilda twirling her hair through the phone. “So you know how the electricity in the apartment has been all finicky lately?”
Lysithea knows all too well. It’s the reason she’s in the office right now, rather than working from the comfort of her room. Flickering lights, inconsistent Wi-Fi… It’s been a pain. And her packed schedule has made finding a technician nigh impossible.
“Well, good news!” Hilda chirps. “I found someone who can fix it for us tomorrow afternoon.”
Lysithea raises her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair with pleasant surprise. “That’s great.”
“Right? But I have, like, a thing that day, so…”
Ah. That explains why she called instead of just texting. She is asking for a favor. “You need me to stick around in the apartment to let them in.”
“Could you?” Hilda says—very convincingly blithe, as if this wasn’t her goal all along. “Otherwise I’ll have to reschedule…”
“Yeah. Sure. I don’t have any plans.” Nothing but a new book and a box of funfetti cake mix she’s been saving for the weekend, anyway.
Hilda lets out an amused hum, almost a laugh. “You never have plans, Lys. It’s convenient this time, but you really should get out more, y’know?”
Lysithea rolls her eyes. Hilda’s been frustratingly persistent lately, trying to drag Lysithea to bars and clubs and other loud places, where they’ll presumably sip on too-expensive drinks (well, Hilda probably doesn’t pay for hers) and socialize with strangers. Also known as her nightmare—and the reason she gets to have the apartment all to herself most nights, which is the only positive about this entire situation. But the pestering never stops.
“Why don’t you come with me to Jolene’s tonight? They’re—”
“Not gonna happen,” Lysithea cuts in, terse and decisive. “You’ve asked me three times this week already—and miraculously, my answer hasn’t changed.”
“Lysithea! I’m telling you this as your friend. Because I care about you, okay?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “You need to get laid.”
The tell-tale signs of a migraine pinch at Lysithea’s temples. “What I need to do is get back to work, Hilda.” And take an ibuprofen. “Thanks for scheduling the electrician.”
“Hold on—”
She hangs up without a second thought.
—
Lysithea isn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the woman standing in her doorway right now.
“You must be Lysithea,” she drawls, head cocked to the side and hands stuck inside the pockets of her overalls. Her voice is on the lower side, casual and almost nonchalant, yet somehow still professional. There’s a certain surety to her words that makes her immediately trustworthy. She withdraws a hand from her pocket and offers it, cracking a smile. “Leonie Pinelli, at your service.” She sounds particularly proud about the last part.
“N-nice to meet you,” Lysithea manages, tentatively taking Leonie’s hand and receiving a firm shake in return. “Come on in,” she adds, getting a better look at her guest as she waltzes across the threshold.
Ginger bangs fall disheveled around Leonie’s freckle-splashed face; the rest of her hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, so Lysithea can see the undercut peeking out on both sides. Worn denim overalls are partially covered by an open flannel, which Leonie immediately removes to tie around her waist—showing off an impressive set of muscled arms. The kind that don’t just happen as a consequence of manual labor—no, that definition is intentional. Hopefully. It would be so unfair if Leonie was that toned without trying.
Not that Lysithea really cares about that kind of thing.
“I forgot how warm Hilda keeps it in here,” Leonie says, planting her hands on her hips.
Lysithea furrows her brow, deductive reasoning kicking in. “Wait. You’ve…”
“Been here a couple times, yeah,” Leonie confirms. “Did Hilda not mention that?”
“That can’t be right,” Lysithea mumbles. Without thinking, she adds: “I would’ve remembered you.”
Leonie shoots her an inquisitive look, chewing her bottom lip before replying, “I think you were out of town. Visiting your parents, if I recall correctly?”
The gears in Lysithea’s head turn a bit faster. That was a few weeks ago. Hilda had actually picked her up from the airport, looking pleased as punch—more so than usual. Lysithea never cares to hear about Hilda’s weekend adventures, but that’s never stopped the latter from regaling her anyway. It’s always minor variations on the same theme: a wild night out, amazing dancing, and ‘mind-blowing’ sex, to use Hilda’s own words. Other favored phrases include ‘soul-shattering’, ‘body-rocking’, and ‘bed-breaking’. The last one sounds less sexy and more inconvenient, in Lysithea’s humble opinion.
Anyway.
Lysithea thinks back to Hilda’s coy laughter and unwavering smile during that car ride. Most of the details elude her, but one stands out. Wanna know the best part, Lys? She doesn’t want anything serious! You know what that means.
Actually, Lysithea isn’t sure she knows what that means—aside from the fact that Hilda’s seemingly responsible behavior booking an electrician is, in fact, a consequence of the opposite.
“So,” she starts, realizing Leonie has been waiting for her to speak. “Not to be rude, but… Are you a certified electrician?”
“What?” Leonie’s mouth twists, and fuck, good going Lysithea, you’ve offended the girl who’s here to fix your stupid electrical problem. “Oh, I get it,” Leonie lilts, in a light tone that relieves some of the sudden tension. “You’re worried Hilda’s just asking me to avoid having to research other options. Which is probably true, but I am an actual electrician.” She reaches into one of her pockets, handing Lysithea a business card. “There you go.”
Printed onto orange cardstock are the words ‘Leonie Pinelli, Residential Electrician & General Handyman’, along with several contact methods and, most notably, a cartoonish drawing of Leonie in a Rosie-the-Riveter pose. A speech bubble hangs next to her winking face that says ‘We can fix it!’ “Cute,” Lysithea murmurs, before looking up at the real version in front of her. “And Hilda is paying you, right?”
Leonie snorts. “She better be paying me.”
Lysithea has the common sense to not ask whether the form of payment is money.
“And I charge by the hour, so we should probably get a move-on.”
“Shit, of course,” Lysithea says, scanning the foyer frantically. “Um, what do you need—”
“Relax,” Leonie cuts in, “I was joking. I mean, I do charge by the hour, but small-talk with cute clients doesn’t count.”
Lysithea isn’t sure which is more shocking: the words themselves, or the fact that Leonie says them with a straight face.
“If you want to get a move-on, though, you can start by showing me where your breaker box is.”
Lysithea nods and leads her down the hall.
—
As far as minor moral dilemmas go, Lysithea could do far worse. That doesn’t make her feel any better about having a sudden, crippling crush on her roommate’s booty-call-slash-electrician. She’s making herself comfortable on the living room couch while Leonie works her magic in the utility closet, trying to process the events of the past forty minutes.
She starts with the easy facts: Leonie is hot—tall and athletic, with an easy smile and a can-do attitude. It took her all of ten minutes to diagnose the problem—something about needing to replace a couple of their circuit breakers, the details aren’t too important—and give Lysithea the low-down on how she was going to fix it. That effortless efficiency is really doing it for her.
Is there a word for that? Attraction to hyper-competent people? Probably, but Lysithea isn’t going to look it up. It’s bad enough knowing she gets off on the idea of a handsome woman fixing her circuit breaker. Or that Leonie’s cadence is so hypnotic and pleasing to the ear that she can make inscrutable technical jargon sound hot. Sorry, I can really get into the weeds with this stuff. You must be bored out of your mind.
No, Lysithea is far from bored. Distracted is more accurate: by Leonie’s deft-looking hands, her bright messy hair and her… collarbones, for some fucking reason?
Ugh. Hilda is right. Lysithea needs to get laid. She needs to fuck someone without having to drag herself to a stupid bar. She needs to seduce her electrician.
It’s a stupid idea. A conflict of interest. Not to mention the fact that Hilda is already hitting that, a reality Lysithea is doing all in her power to ignore. But isn’t it already unprofessional enough that Hilda hired a girl she’s slept with? And is she really the type to be against sharing? Hell, she doesn’t even need to know. She isn’t home. This is on her—
“All done!”
Lysithea straightens in her seat, watching Leonie stride into the living room. “A-already?” she stutters, devastated to find that Leonie looks even better with a thin layer of sweat shimmering on her tanned skin. “I mean, that’s great. You work fast.”
“Part of my appeal,” Leonie quips back, stretching her arms. “Most of the time, anyway.”
Something in Lysithea’s brain has ceased working. Her tongue is heavy in her mouth, even as she scrambles to find the magic words that will keep Leonie in her house just a bit longer.
“You know, I don’t have much else going on this afternoon,” Leonie says. “And I’m pretty handy around the house. Maybe there’s something else around here that I can fix?”
“I have a squeaky door!” Lysithea chirps, immediately and far too loudly. “In my room,” she adds, her heartbeat pounding loud in her ears. She pushes to her feet, smoothing out her skirt—anything to calm her restless hands. “The closet door could probably use some, uh…”
“Oil?” Leonie asks.
“Yeah, that.”
Leonie presses a knuckle to her lips, letting out a contemplative hum. “Sure, I can take a look. It probably just needs a little TLC.”
Lysithea can think of something else of hers that could use some TLC, too. She just needs to figure out how to make that happen.
—
“What got you into this, anyway?” Lysithea asks. She’s perched at the foot of her bed, watching Leonie take a screwdriver to one of her closet door hinges. The focused look in her eyes fills Lysithea’s stomach with butterflies, and with every second that her gaze lingers on Leonie’s arms she worries she’ll be caught staring.
“Being an electrician, you mean?” Leonie replies, nudging some kind of metal pin out from the door. She turns towards Lysithea, who quickly directs her attention to the wall. Luring Leonie into her room seemed like a good idea earlier, but she hadn’t considered the potential embarrassment of her decoration choices: her collection of stuffed animals, for example, or the poster of Annette Dominic hung up by her desk. Good taste, Leonie had remarked upon seeing the latter. Not super familiar with her music, but she’s nice to look at.
As are you, Lysithea thinks but doesn’t say. “Yeah,” she confirms, remembering the conversation she started. “Do you really like circuits or something?” Stupid question. Idiotic.
Leonie glances up from the hinge pin that she appears to be… polishing? Lubricating? Neither of these words help Lysithea keep her cool when Leonie flashes her an amused smile. “Mm, not particularly. I guess it’s more about fixing stuff. My family didn’t have a lot of money growing up—so when things stopped working around the house, we tried to handle it ourselves.”
“Sounds… potentially dangerous.”
“We had the common sense to seek out a professional when needs called for it,” Leonie assures her. “Like when our power got busted, for example. We shelled out the cash for an expert, and the guy who showed up was…” Leonie’s whole face lights up, her eyes bright and dreamy. “I thought he was the coolest person on the planet. I wanted to be him. I was also eight. But hey, sometimes a brilliant electrician walks into your house and changes your whole life, y’know?”
Oh yeah. Lysithea knows.
“I would pester him like crazy,” Leonie continues. “He was such a good sport about it, though. And it paid off, because once I was old enough, he took me on as an apprentice.” She slides the pin—now shiny and clean—back into the hinge, swinging the door back and forth several times to test her work. “Hell yeah. No more squeaking.”
Lysithea lets out some kind of non-committal hum, debating whether she should just cut to the chase and ask Leonie out to lunch. Or get her phone number. Both options are way harder than they sound.
“Hey, you alright?” Leonie asks. “You’re looking a bit… dazed.”
“Oh, um.” Lysithea runs a hand through her hair. “Well, I had a long, busy week, and my brain is a bit fried right now.” Not a complete lie.
“Fried, huh,” Leonie lilts, a playful curiosity in her voice. She sits down beside Lysithea, close enough that their legs are almost touching. “Sounds a bit like a burnt fuse,” she adds with a wry smile. “Maybe you need some rewiring.”
Lysithea manages a laugh that isn’t too frayed by nerves. It’s a terrible line, but Leonie makes it work—and Lysithea would be angry with herself for letting it, if she weren’t so damn horny right now. “Oh, possibly. Electrical isn’t really my forte. But you are the expert, so… You could be onto something!”
Leonie narrows her eyes, smiles. Wait, did she say something smooth? She wasn’t even thinking. Maybe that’s the key here. “Yeah. I definitely am.”
There’s a moment of charged silence, prolonged eye contact. Lysithea can’t remember the last time someone breached her personal space like this, save for the living room movie nights that Hilda loves to insist on cuddling during. The difference, of course, is that Lysithea wants Leonie to inch forward, to flutter fingers along her arm and seed shivers down her spine. To take hold of her and press her into the bed, trace her nails along the hollow of Lysithea’s throat, drawing a line down the center of her chest and…
Part of her is even bold enough to think that Leonie might want that, too.
Warm breath tickles her skin as Leonie heaves a sigh and leans back. “Look, Lysithea. I’m gonna be blunt. I think you’re very cute.”
It takes Lysithea a moment to realize she didn’t just imagine that. “What?” she squeaks, in what must be the least sexy voice of all time. “You—you do?”
“I do,” Leonie says, half-chuckling.
“Oh,” Lysithea says, half-whispering. “That’s… That’s great, actually. Because…” Leonie’s face is inches from hers, now, every little freckle dotting the bridge of her nose visible in full, detailed clarity. Her burnt-orange eyes are half-lidded. Lysithea’s already-soft voice manages to drop even lower. “Because you’re…”
Leonie matches her volume—words hushed, tinged with a soothing buzz akin to radio static. “I know what I am, Lysithea.”
The first impression Lysithea has of Leonie’s lips is that they’re gentler than she’d expected. That, or she’s simply numbed—like the prey of some venomous spider, its fangs dosing pleasure and pain in equal measure, dulling her senses so she has no idea she’s even being poisoned.
Seconds later, she regains feeling in a sudden delayed burst, and she’s the opposite of numb.
Leonie cradles Lysithea’s jaw, padding calloused fingertips along soft skin and bone, sliding back to brush over Lysithea’s ear and roam into her hair. Lysithea is a wire conducting far too much current at once; she is a blown fuse waiting to happen. She wishes with everything she is that she could stop thinking of stupid electrical puns. But there’s no better description: Leonie is surging into her, coaxing her back to the head of the bed until Lysithea is pressed against her pillows, and every brush of friction—coarse denim against bare leg, a hand sweeping down her side—is charging her with static.
“How do you want me to do this?” Leonie asks, trailing kisses from the corner of Lysithea’s mouth to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Fast or slow?”
“Um.” Lysithea whines when Leonie sinks her teeth into her neck, her breath turning ragged. She’s sinking into the bed, impossibly heavy and weightless at the same time, trying to figure out what to do with her hands. “Slow, I guess?”
“Sure thing,” Leonie murmurs, tracing her tongue over Lysithea’s carotid artery. Her face is buried in the crook of Lysithea’s neck, the rest of her slotted perfectly between Lysithea’s legs. She wants to enjoy this. She wants some time to process. “You can always let me know if you change your mind.”
“Mm…” Lysithea tenses and shivers, cradling the back of Leonie’s head to encourage her further. She traces the cool metal of her overall clasp, thoughtlessly unhooking the strap. One, then the other, until the fabric is falling forward to reveal a black crop top underneath. “Fuck,” she mutters, admiring the defined contours of Leonie’s abdomen. Of course she’s perfect everywhere. Lysithea pinches Leonie’s bare waist, bucking her hips.
She gasps when Leonie pulls back, meeting Lysithea’s eyes at the same time she curls fingers around her wrists. “Easy,” she says, pinning them down before promptly returning to sucking along Lysithea’s throat.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, a pang of disappointment in her stomach. Her fingers twitch with a need to touch Leonie’s chest, to learn how soft she is, to follow the topography of each individual muscle. But there’s something thrilling, too, about being told to wait—about being told to do anything at all. Lysithea is usually so adamant about not taking orders from anyone—and in a twist of irony, the dissonance between her stubborn streak and the way she withers in the wake of Leonie’s assertiveness triggers some previously-unknown switch in her brain. A switch labeled very turned-on.
So Lysithea lies there, staying put even when Leonie releases her hands. She closes her eyes and lets Leonie wash over her like a wave: a leg swinging over to straddle her thigh, a knee pressing softly into her groin. She’s so sensitive, even through the fabric of her skirt, and distracted enough that she lets out a surprised yelp when Leonie’s hand creeps up over her chest and squeezes. And Leonie laughs—a playful giggle, more comforting than not, but Lysithea hums in frustration anyway.
“You’re jumpy,” Leonie says, twisting onto her side and positioning her lips by the shell of Lysithea’s ear. Their legs are tangled together, and Leonie is drawing slow circles around Lysithea’s now-erect nipple. “Not that I’m surprised,” she continues, pinching the nub—Lysithea bites her lip to stifle a whine. “Hard-working girls like you never know when to relax.” Her hand moves down Lysithea’s centerline, her nose nudging Lysithea’s temple. “I enjoy a good challenge, though.”
“D-do you?” Lysithea huffs, struggling to get the words out. Her tongue is heavy in her mouth; she focuses on Leonie’s hand resting atop her inner thigh, fingers cool against the skin when they slip beneath her skirt. Is this really a challenge, the way she yielded so easily? Leonie teases the elastic of her underwear, traces lines over the fabric. Going unbearably slow, as requested.
She shifts again, pressing a kiss to Lysithea’s temple as she does. “Look at me.” Lysithea flutters her eyes open to find Leonie looming over her, smiling. Her hair has fallen loose of its ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She lowers slowly, the hand still between Lysithea’s legs palming her cunt, taunting her with more caresses. She brushes over Lysithea’s clit for a moan-inducing split-second. “Goddess, you want it bad, don’t you?” Leonie asks before giving her an open-mouthed kiss. Lysithea moans into it as Leonie draws quicker circles.
“Yes,” Lysithea gasps when they part, bucking her hips to grind into Leonie’s hand.
Leonie kisses her neck. “Say please.”
“Please,” Lysithea says without missing a beat. Then Leonie’s pretty laugh is tickling her ear again; she scrunches her nose in frustration for the briefest moment before Leonie dips her hand into Lysithea’s panties, slipping easily between her folds. All to the tune of an overwhelmed “Fuck!” followed by a litany of unsuppressable moans.
“Something very cute about you cursing,” Leonie says, maneuvering two fingers into Lysithea’s cunt—no more than a fraction of an inch, circling the entrance with a cruel amount of restraint.
“I curse all the time,” Lysithea shoots back. “Don’t patronize me—ee!” Her back arches against the bed as Leonie plunges deeper, fingers curling upward and pulsing.
“Very good, Lysithea,” Leonie hums, finding a leisurely rhythm: fast enough that Lysithea is tongue-tied again, and slow enough that she’s on the verge of begging for more. If she were less stubborn, maybe she would—but this pace is fine, she thinks, melting into the bed. Eyelids drooping. “There we go,” Leonie murmurs, low and hypnotic. “Let me take care of you.”
Lysithea falls into a trance: unable to do anything but whine and moan, growing comfortable with Leonie’s weight and the steady pump of her fingers. Occasionally her thumb brushes against Lysithea’s clit, a feather-light pressure that draws an extended sigh from her lips.
Her heart stops when she hears the sound of the front door opening.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “Is that—”
She’s cut off by Leonie’s hand clapping over her mouth, faster than she can blink. It makes her go rigid with surprise—and, much to her dismay, she shivers with excitement.
“Oh, my,” Leonie whispers in fascination.
Today is just full of discoveries, isn’t it? But Lysithea doesn’t have time to ruminate on the fact that she’s thrilled by a pretty girl making her shut up. They have another more pressing problem.
“Hellooooo?” Hilda calls through from the other room. “Lysithea?”
Leonie moves her hand from Lysithea’s lips; the other is still three knuckles deep in her. “You should probably go out there,” she says, voice hushed. But she doesn’t remove her fingers; in fact, she starts pumping in and out again, which is very counterintuitive.
Lysithea hums in some twisted combination of annoyance and pleasure. “I’m—mm—getting mixed signals here—Ah—” Her breath hitches when Leonie presses a thumb to her clit.
“In a minute,” she says, wearing an amused smile. “You seem to enjoy the idea of getting caught.”
“I… That’s not…” But her brain won’t let her commit to the denial, not when Leonie has said the quiet part out loud.
“I mean, I don’t mind either,” she says with a shrug. “All I’d have to do is press a little harder…” She demonstrates what she means, and it takes all of Lysithea’s willpower not to make a sound. “Move a little faster…”
“L-Leonie…”
Just as Lysithea thinks she can’t take it anymore, that she’s about to burst and alert Hilda to this very personal moment, Leonie withdraws her hand—which almost makes Lysithea scream in protest rather than ecstasy.
“Go,” Leonie mutters, climbing off her. “I’ll pretend I’m in the bathroom.”
Right. And Lysithea will just pretend she isn’t all worked up, and convince Hilda that they aren’t doing anything unprofessional back here.
“Don’t worry,” Leonie says with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll finish the job later.”
Lysithea’s whole face heats up, but the promise is exactly the motivation she needs. She slides off the bed, smoothing out her skirt. Nothing out of the ordinary here, no. She slips out the door of her bedroom, down the hall to the living room.
Hilda is lounging on the couch, flicking through the HBO selection with a bored expression. “There you are,” she drawls, tossing the remote aside.
“Need something?” Lysithea asks, slipping into the usual exasperation she wears around Hilda. She resists asking more prying questions, like what the fuck are you doing here and so you and Leonie still aren’t doing anything serious, right?
“No,” Hilda says with a pout. “I just ended up with a little extra time between my engagements, and figured I’d stop by the house to see how the electrical was holding up.”
Lysithea rolls her eyes, motioning to the television. “Quite well, as you can see.” Now move along, so I can get back to being fingered by the hot mechanic.
Hilda tilts her head, flashes her a strange smile. Lysithea’s stomach fills with butterflies—has she somehow been figured out already? Hilda does seem to have a sixth sense for sexual shenanigans, and she’s fully aware of how irresistible Leonie is. But no, there’s no way she’s onto Lysithea already. “Well that’s good,” she lilts. “And did Leonie head out already, or—”
She’s interrupted by the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by a door swinging open and footsteps padding down the hall. Hilda’s eyes light up, and Lysithea turns around to watch Leonie waltz into the room. “Hey, Hilda,” she says, crossing her arms. She’s a way better actress than Lysithea is—it almost makes her wonder if this is a normal occurrence for Leonie. And if that’s the case, is Lysithea just another notch in the bedpost? Actually, she doesn’t care. She can be cool like Hilda, and not want anything serious. It’s worth it.
“Well, Lysithea?” Hilda asks, and she snaps back to attention, completely unaware of what’s being discussed. “Leonie is pretty handsy, isn’t she?”
“I think you mean handy, Hilda,” Leonie cuts in.
“I know what I said.”
Lysithea swallows. “Handy is the word, Hilda.”
Hilda scrunches her nose, but appears to let the matter slide. “Whatever. Either way, I’m super glad the electrical is working again!” She picks up her hot-pink tote and pops to her feet. “Does the rate we discussed when I called still work?”
Leonie hums. “I think I can give you a little discount.” Her eyes meet Lysithea’s as she says it.
They finish their transaction without much fanfare, and Hilda slings her purse over her shoulders. “Alright. I should get going. It was nice seeing you, though, Leonie! As always,” she adds, casting a knowing glance in Lysithea’s direction. “And I’ll see you later, Lys.”
“Totally,” Lysithea says by way of goodbye, her heart beating faster with every step Hilda takes toward the door.
“So loooooong!” Hilda calls before the door clicks shut—which is also a perfect description of how agonizingly slow she seems to move.
Lysithea quickly forgets about her roommate, though, because Leonie whirls on her as soon as the former is out the door. Lysithea presses a finger to her lips and shakes her head. She nods towards the door, listening to the sound of heels clacking on the pavement, growing quieter. Leonie draws closer and rests a hand on Lysithea’s hip, sliding around and down to squeeze her ass. As silence falls, Leonie gently guides Lysithea’s finger away from her lips and into Leonie’s mouth.
Lysithea shivers at the sensation of Leonie’s tongue tracing her knuckles, the pressure of her grip on Lysithea’s wrist. She withdraws slowly, eyes fluttering open. They’re alight with hunger—the only warning Lysithea gets before Leonie takes her by the waist and backs her into the wall. Lysithea’s breath catches in her throat, further halted by Leonie’s lips on hers.
“We’re going fast now,” Leonie says, her voice husky and commanding as she slides down the straps of Lysithea’s dress. “No arguments.”
“O-okay,” Lysithea manages, too turned on to be mortified by how weak she sounds. She is weak compared to Leonie, a wisp of a woman yielding easily. Don’t worry, Leonie’s earlier reassurance echoes in her ear. I’ll finish the job later.
Well. Later has arrived, and Lysithea is ready to go.
—
“You good, Lys?”
“Y-yeah,” Lysithea manages, wishing she weren’t so tongue-tied. But she’s far too eager to think—lying against her pillows, same as before, though significantly less clothed. Her cunt trembles with the aftershocks of an orgasm, breaths coming out in shaky huffs.
But she’s not thinking much about herself right now. Her eyes are on the foot of the bed, where Leonie has one knee pressed into the mattress, poised to move in. Unlike Lysithea, she isn’t completely naked: just the oversized flannel from before, hiding her beautiful arms in favor of a full view of her figure. Lysithea scans the length of her: tall, lithe, a happy trail leading down to the prize: an impressive-looking strap-on that matches her hair. Because of course it does.
“I can’t believe you just had that in the back of your car,” Lysithea says, even though she definitely can. After this afternoon, she’s far more open to the possibilities of the universe.
“Never know when you might need it,” Leonie lilts, inching closer.
Lysithea rolls her eyes. “Right. Yeah. Makes complete sense.”
“Sarcasm,” Leonie huffs, slotting herself between Lysithea’s knees. “Love it.” She leans forward, hesitant for the first time—as though puzzling over how she wants to do this. Her eyes flick up to meet Lysithea’s. “Do you wanna suck on it a little? Or should we cut to the chase?”
Both sound great. “Whichever you think is best. You’re the professional here.”
“Professional mechanic,” Leonie corrects, leaning forward and planting her hands on either side of Lysithea’s waist.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Lysithea purrs—a sultry tone of voice she didn’t realize she was capable of. Amazing what a strap brushing against one’s cunt can do. She bites her lip as Leonie grinds against her, gasping when strong hands grip her hips and slide her forward so her back is flat against the duvet. “Fuck—”
Leonie cuts her off with a sloppy kiss; Lysithea bucks her hips and reaches up to tangle her fingers in Leonie’s hair, craving more.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and take that as a compliment,” Leonie growls, right before delivering her first thrust.
Lysithea sees stars, mouth falling open against Leonie’s lips with a piercing cry. She swells like a wave, back arching with desperate hunger, honing in on the sudden and jaw-dropping sensation of fullness. Leonie stays seated inside her for what seems an eternity, letting Lysithea savor every inch. “Leonie,” she whines, her eyes fluttering closed.
And there’s that laugh again; light but commanding, a reminder that Lysithea is exactly where Leonie wants her. And judging by the shivers dancing along Lysithea’s spine, she’s never been more excited about being helpless. “You like that, hm?” Leonie murmurs, beginning to pull back. “We’re just getting started.”
The second stroke hits her deep, a satisfying thud that vibrates through her body. Leonie leans forward so she’s pressed against Lysithea, skin slick with sweat. Lysithea takes her face in her hands and pulls her into a kiss, savoring the sweetness of her tongue as she takes Leonie’s strap. “That feels—” She sinks her teeth into Leonie’s lower lip, chest heaving. “So good—Ah!” Her head falls back against the bed, fingers still raking across Leonie’s scalp.
“Sit back and take it, Lys,” Leonie purrs, teeth flashing in a grin. “Watching you unravel is the best part.”
This isn’t unraveling. This is atomization: dissolving and reconstituting with each roll of Leonie’s hips, a complete rewiring of her synapses.
Fuck. She understands the meaning of soul-shattering now.
At some point Leonie takes Lysithea’s legs into the air and rests them on her shoulder, gripping her hips and pounding into her so hard that she hears the headboard hit the wall.
“Oh, that’s…”
“Hey, we can be as loud as we want,” Leonie says, punctuating the statement with a thrust. “No one else is home.”
“Right…” Lysithea’s vision blurs as Leonie pounds into her—fucking any stray, useless thoughts out of her head. The steady shaking beneath her lulls her into another blissful daze, subdued moans trickling from her lips.
Then the whole mattress seems to quake and sway, followed by the sharp sound of cracking wood.
They did it. They actually broke the bed. Lysithea swears she can hear Hilda cackling in the back of her mind.
“Don’t worry,” Leonie pants, showing no signs of stopping. “I can fix that.”
Lysithea is too lost in the moment to care. All she knows is that she’ll definitely be calling on Leonie’s services again.