No control.
Only touch. Only response. Only them.
Sloane got up and reached for her bedside drawer, for her harness of soft black leather that she stepped into one foot at a time and pulled up over her hips.
Catherine watched, her eyes widening, her eyebrow raising.
Sloane took the silver silicon dildo and placed it in the harness before tightening the straps.
Catherine’s blue eyes flitted between shock and curiosity.
“Can I fuck you like this?” Sloane asked wondering momentarily if Catherine would refuse.
Catherine just nodded and Sloane got back onto the bed and positioned herself on her knees between Catherine’s legs, the dildo jutting out from her hips. She held Catherine’s hips in her hands and lifted her, angling so she could press the dildo against Catherine’s wet pussy. She admired the paintwork over Catherine’s beautiful naked body as she entered her, firmly and deeply eliciting a beautiful deep moan from Catherine.
These noises she made, these deep moans, these little gasps, the yelps, Sloane enjoyed every last one of them. Catherine relaxing for her and taking her own pleasure. It was so beautiful. She was so beautiful.
Sloane held Catherine’s hips firmly and began to fuck her with the dildo, at first slow, enjoying every thrust, and then faster, harder, giving Catherine the kind of fucking that she knew would take her apart.
And come apart she did. Sloane watched the change in her face and in her body as she relaxed into pure sensation. No more overthinking or perfectionism, this was Catherine in pure raw messy beauty.
Catherine was melting.
Not breaking, not shattering, but melting. And Sloane held her through it as she fucked her.
Catherine was no longer composed. She whimpered when Sloane slowed, groaned when she teased, and when Sloanepressed herself fully against her, deep inside her, moving in a way that left no space between their bodies, Catherine cried out.
Sloane nearly lost it at the sound.
They moved together until there were no more colors, only heat and slick, raw friction. No more clever words, just breath and whisper, and the occasional curse from Catherine when she couldn’t stand the gentleness anymore. She bucked, clawed, and begged without actually begging, and Sloane answered each silent plea like a prayer.
She couldn’t get enough of her. Not like this. Not when Catherine let go so completely.
Her hands skimmed over Catherine’s thighs, over the swell of her hips, the curve of her stomach, painting her with touches that no brush could capture. She wanted to mark her with more than pigment. She wanted Catherine to remember this. In her skin. In her bones.
“Look at me,” Sloane whispered, leaning forwards over Catherine now.
Catherine’s eyes fluttered open, blue and glassy with need.
Sloane leant in and kissed her. Deep and real.
The dildo was still buried deep inside her and Sloane reached her right hand between their bodies until her fingers found Catherine’s clitoris which she rubbed slowly and firmly.
Catherine’s body trembled beneath her, and then, she came apart.
It wasn’t silent. It wasn’t polite. It was Catherine, gasping through her release, her hands clutching at Sloane like she’d never been touched this way before. Like no one had ever seen her this fully.
Sloane held her through it, lips at her temple, chest heaving. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Everything was already written in the press of their bodies, in the sweat and color thatpainted their skin, in the way Catherine stayed wrapped around her long after her breath evened out.
There was no running now.
Only the rise and fall of quiet breaths and the ache of something Sloane hadn’t let herself want in years.
Connection.
Real and terrifying and perfectly hers.
The colors had dried sticky against their skin. The warm amber of the studio was now a soft silver-blue as the afternoon light faded, casting the room in a calm hush that felt nothing short of sacred.
