Riley is comfortably curled up on a bunch of towels on the bathroom floor. Apparently she’s found Charlotte’s robe, because it’s wrapped around her body. Her head rests on her arms, eyes closed, ostensibly asleep again, as if nothing happened. But the thing that makes Charlotte want to cry and hit something at the same time, is Shaky peeking out from between her head and her arm. His playpen is nearby but safely closed off, so Riley must have taken him out.
Charlotte digs the pads of her middle finger and thumb into her eyes, drags her palm down her face, and ultimately cups her own chin. Her other hand lands on her hip and she clears her throat.
Riley cracks one eye open. “If I’m ever on the run from the FBI and you have to cover for me, I’m just gonna turn myself in to spare us all from the embarrassment of your poor acting skills.” The corner of her mouth curves up into a smirk.
Charlotte huffs. “Rude.”
Riley snickers and rolls onto her back, plucking Shaky from somewhere near her neck and securing him on her chest. “You might not win an Oscar for that performance, but I’m sure you could get far with your comedic timing.”
“There’s nothing funny about—”
“Oh come on, Charlotte. That was fucking hilarious.” Riley pushes herself up, pets Shaky one more time and puts him back into his playpen.
“It wasn’t hilarious and it definitely wasn’t—”
“It was very funny.”
The more Charlotte tries to defend herself, the more fun Riley seems to have. She turns her body to get face to face with Charlotte.
“It was not—”
“It was a little bit funny.”
“Not even a little bit.”
Then, it’s like Charlotte sees herself in bird’s eye view: the way they’re bickering in the bathroom, Riley in her robe and Charlotte wrapped in a sheet, nearly choking on a cloud of perfume that had been used as a final resort to erase the evidence from their night.
Charlotte presses her lips together. “Okay. Maybe a little bit funny.”
Riley laughs: a genuine, happy chuckle. When her laughter dies down, a smile stays on her face. Charlotte can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. So Charlotte does.
“You’re expected at brunch in 30 minutes.”
“Or so I’ve heard.”
“So where would I have found you?” Charlotte asks. Riley shoots her a questioning look, so she elaborates: “If you’re not in your room, and you’re not downstairs, then where did I find you?”
“Oh!” Riley exclaims, and thinks about it for a moment. “Hm. Right here in the bathroom?” Charlotte stomps on her foot. “Ow!”
Riley steps around her and walks backward out of the bathroom. “I don’t know, how about… on the balcony?” she says with crossed arms and a casual nod in the direction of the windows.
“Riley,” Charlotte says in a warning voice, following her into the room with a threatening look on her face. Before she can get closer, Riley darts around to the other side of the bed, grinning.
“...or maybe behind the curtains?”
“Ri, you really don’t want to provoke me after the little amount of sleep we’ve had,” Charlotte grumbles. She reaches down to lift the sheet so as to not trip, but soon realizes that’s not exactly convenient either. She runs out of care pretty quickly and just discards the sheet with a flourish, closing in on Riley fully naked. Nothing she hasn’t seen by now.
Riley jumps onto the bed—her only option to not get cornered—and lands up on her knees.
“Oh, I’ve got it!” she grins, wagging a finger at Charlotte. “You found me in your bed!”
Charlotte acts on instinct. She dives forward and rugby-tackles Riley, sending her flying onto her back. Before Riley can move she crawls over her, grabs her wrists and pins them above her head. The fire between her thighs ignites instantaneously. Oh, how she loves sparring with this woman. How she’s always loved it. Shejust never knew this type of raw want has always been beneath all that frustration Riley manages to stir up in her. What she feels is weeks, or months even, of pent up energy.
“You’re fucking with the wrong lady,” she drawls, her face inches from Riley’s. The sparkle in Riley’s eye makes her look somewhere between surprised and deeply turned on.
“Are you sure? I believe I’ve been fucking the right lady. All night long,” Riley replies, her tongue darting over her bottom lip. “And from the look of it, she still hasn’t had enough.”
Charlotte stares at her. She doesn’t like being outsmarted. Her hips grind down, deep and dirty, seemingly of their own accord because she can’t recall telling them to. The fabric of her own robe, still on Riley’s body, rubs against her bare pussy. Her eyes flick down to glance at where the robe has fallen open a little, uncovering most of Riley’s upper body. Shit,shit,that’s hot.
