Hours later, Daphnelay in bed, her foot resting on several pillows after a long icing session on the couch while she and April very pointedly didn’t look at each other and watchedMaleficenton April’s laptop. April had wrapped Daphne’s foot using a bandage from the cabin’s first aid kit, then handed her two ibuprofen and a glass of water.
April had been gentle and careful and hadn’t said much, but then again, neither had Daphne. April’s fingers were featherlight, but electric, as though each one had tiny bolts of lightning flickering at the tips, producing in Daphne shock, comfort, and something else she didn’t want to attach a word to all at the same time.
It had been a confusing evening, to say the least.
And now, with the rain plinking soothingly on the cabin’s tin roof and Bob curled up at her side, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking.
Thinking and remembering.
Thinking and remembering and, even worse than both of those brain functions,imagining.
That dance with April—it kept going further in her brain, the scene continuing. As if the reality of those three or four itty-bitty minutes wasn’t tortuous enough, her imagination added more color, more texture, more scents.
And she had always had a very, very good imagination.
Daphne’s eyes fluttered closed, music swelling in her mind. The other dancers around them faded away, leaving Daphne and April alone in the studio, the lights dim. Their bodies pressed together, legs tangled, hips grinding desperately. Daphne drifted her fingers down April’s neck, dancing over the delicate skin, and April tipped her head back, lips parted. Daphne wanted her mouth on April’s exposed throat, wanted to breathe in that pear scent.
Daphne was a little taller than April, and she directed them toward the nearest wall, moving with the music, hands roaming until April’s back hit the wall. April laughed, but nothing was funny to Daphne, who immediately hooked one of April’s legs around her own hip, cutting off April’s laugh with a gasp. Daphne’s other hand slid under her tank top, fingers bumping over her ribs while she pressed her mouth to April’s neck. April arched into her, and Daphne had never felt so ravenous, so desperate. She tilted April’s chin up and kissed her, tugging on her bottom lip, licking into her mouth, the hand holding April’s leg sliding up her thigh to her ass now. They pressed closer, their hips as one, moving, rutting, and god, Daphne wanted to make April co—
Daphne’s eyes flipped open.
She was breathing heavily, the rain and the dark of their cabin coming back into focus. Her mouth was dry, and she felt dizzy. She swiped a hand over her forehead—damp from sweat—and glanced at April, who was turned on her side facing Daphne, her breathing deep and regular.
Daphne gulped at the air, trying to get her body to come backto earth. She was wet between her legs, her clit throbbing from her daydream.
Which was…no.
Justno.
She hadn’t had sex in over a month. Maybe closer to six weeks, as Elena hadn’t seemed to have the time in the last few days before their breakup. And Daphne liked sex. She loved it, actually. Elena had always been good in bed, and god, she was really good at cunnilingus. She was good with a strap-on too. Good with her fingers. Good with—
Daphne squeezed her eyes closed, but then April bloomed in the darkness there, her head thrown back while Daphne unbuttoned her jeans and dipped her hand—
“Fuck,” Daphne whispered quietly. It was true, she didn’t swear much, but sex always brought it out of her. And right now, she was horny. That was it. She was just horny, and it had been a while, and she hadn’t even gotten herself off since the breakup because she honestly hadn’t had the energy.
But now, her libido was screaming, and loudly.
She turned on her side—jostling Bob so that he hopped off the bed—and tried to ignore the insistent pulse between her legs.
She’d sleep it off.
But every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that dance studio, the scene against the wall going on…and on…and on…
Finally, she threw the covers back and got out of bed. Carefully, of course, keeping the weight off her wrapped foot as she made her way to the bathroom. She closed herself inside, turned on the light and the fan, then braced her hands on the sink. She turned on the faucet, splashed her face. She brushed her teeth again. She gulped a cup of water.
And still, she felt April’s fingers lifting the hem of her dress, moving closer to her center.
Daphne knew orgasms were normal bodily functions for people who wanted them, and she liked to think she was long over the shame associated with self-pleasure that had been ingrained in her growing up.
And April was hot.
That was just a fact. Didn’t have to mean anything at all, and right now, Daphne needed to come. She needed it so badly a whimper escaped her throat as she pressed her back against the wall for leverage, then slid her hand inside her sleep shorts, wasting no time before touching herself over her underwear.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned her head against the wall. She was soaked, right through the cotton, and she almost couldn’t believe how good it felt to press her fingers against her pussy, massaging and rubbing, gently at first, working herself up.
Soon she needed more though, so she dipped inside her underwear, glided her fingers up from her entrance to her clit, spreading her wetness. A moan slipped out of her throat, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth as she rubbed harder, finally sliding two fingers inside herself and pressing her palm to her clit. The angle would be better lying down, but she couldn’t do this in the same room where April slept. Plus, she needed this now, right here, needed to come more than she needed air, needed to fuck herself until she broke.
She felt her cunt clenching around her fingers, felt her thighs start to tremble. And god, she couldn’t help it, she had a flash of April’s face between her legs, tongue swirling over her clit, humming into her pussy, and that did it. Daphne came hard, weeks of buildup slamming over her entire body. Her knees nearly buckled, her weak ankle barely able to hold her up, but she managed it, grabbing the sink for support while she came on her own fingers, gasping as quietly as she could.
