I blow out an unsteady breath staring at her cunt.
“Shit, baby. Your pussy is so fucking pretty,” I say, dragging my finger over her. “So fucking…”
I’m so consumed by her pussy that I hardly notice the scars on her thighs. Still, I know they’re there. I know the fresh ones are more than likely from Radio Eleven.
Because I wanted to do the same after.
I lick her, and the moment her taste is on my tongue, I lose it.
“Oh my god, Bonnie—”
Holy shit, this is better than I expected.
“Goddammit, you taste amazing,” I utter.
I fall into a trance beneath her. Between the noises she’s making, the way she’s grinding on my tongue, her taste, this goddamn view…
I’m throbbing.
I slip a finger inside her after a few minutes, shuddering at how aroused she is, how open and waiting. My digit curls, and I add another. Her face scrunches so beautifully, tears pricking the corners.
Her pussy is euphoric. I wrap my other arm around the back of her thigh and spread my hand on her stomach, pressing her abdomen. She lets out a shuddering breath, her legs trembling, and when she encloses my hand with hers, holding on as she reaches her climax, my heart does another somersault.
She spills on my tongue as she squeezes my fingers.
Shit, I need to feel this on my own throbbing cunt.
Gemma is still catching her breath when I tell her to lie on her back. She all but flops onto the bed, and I quickly move onto her lap.
“Bend this leg for me,” I say, slapping her thigh.
She swallows when she looks at me and does as I say. I shift, one leg under hers, and when our pussies meet, I let out a high-pitched whimper.
“Oh mygod.”
My shoulders droop, head hanging. Holy shit.
“Fuck—Bonnie—”
Thank fuck she reaches for my hips and makes me move. I’m entirely engulfed in this feeling, in every sound our soaking cunts make together. It pricks the hair on the back of my neck, and sends my mind spiraling. Every gyration creates music that I’ll be chasing from today on.
Gemma’s hands dig into my hips, guiding me along her pussy.
“You look so desperate for this,” Gemma says. “You like riding my pussy?”
I whimper. “Fuck yes—god, you feel so good,” I manage.
Gemma sits up slightly on her elbows and reaches between us, her finger flicking my clit each time I sit back. I hold her thigh, and Gemma wraps her other hand around my forearm, prompting me to do the same. The leverage and support lets me lean back and create more space. Longer, faster strokes.
Holy shit, I’m going to come like this.
I can feel myself weakening, my resolve turning into a flaming pile of burning garbage. I can barely keep my motions steady, each one more erratic than the last as my release climbs and climbs.
Gemma sits up, wraps one arm around my waist, and moves my legs so that I’m sitting in a W in her open lap. I can still feel her wet cunt on mine at this angle, and she presses her hand on my ass, securing us close.
Our naked bodies entirely align. I shiver at the perfection, at her breath on my cheek, her hands all over me. We were fucking made for this, for each other. One fucked up, toxic shit pile.
If I believed in soulmates, I might argue that ours was once one. One soul ripped apart at the beginning of existence. Two halves of the same whole wandering through the cosmos and fighting to get back to the other.
