Page 66 of Obedience

‘I wasn’t allowed to speak, G.’ Greta snorted a laugh as Dylan belly chuckled. ‘We just needed to work it out. Which is what we’re doing now.’ She pressed her lips to the top of Greta’s arm. ‘And it might seem chaotic and stressful now, but it won’t always feel this way. I promise.’

***

They had fallen asleep at around six in the morning. Dylan had called the hospital overnight and woke briefly to call again in the morning, before climbing back into Greta’s bed and pulling her into the curve of her body. It was a curve that felt as though it had been custom-made for Greta to slot into perfectly. Dylan joked softly that Greta had too much hair to share a bed with, brushing the thick layers out of her own face and dramatically spluttering as though she was choking on them. ‘Do you have to wear your wig in bed?’ she chuckled, rewarded by the glorious sound of Greta’s giggling. Dylan then pressed her face into the waves, whispered, ‘Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good,’ and fell back to sleep.

***

Blinking against the harsh daylight, Dylan yawned and stretched. ‘Jesus,’ she mumbled, her voice groggy and sleep-drenched. ‘Is that clock right?’

Greta stirred, forcing open one scrunched eye. ‘Yes.’ She craned her neck to see the clock. ‘Shit, it’s gone eleven!’

Dylan quickly rolled to grab her phone, checking for missed calls. There was just a text message.

Priya:

‘I’m going to see M this morning so you get some sleep. I was so worried about you both yesterday. Come up later. Much later. I’ll ring if any problems x’

Dylan smiled, set her phone back on the bedside cabinet and rolled back over to pull Greta in close. Their warm bodies pressed together, leaving no space between them.

‘Morning, G,’ Dylan whispered, her eyes drifting shut as she inhaled the faded scent of Greta’s shampoo.

‘Morning, Dyl,’ Greta whispered huskily. The shortened version of her name made Dylan melt a little more into Greta’s back, squeezing her tighter. Greta tilted her hips to fit perfectly against Dylan’s pelvis, the sound of a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her. ‘I missed you.’

Greta lightly pushed her hips back, an invitation Dylan met reflexively while drawing in a long breath. Dylan pushed forward, her hand moving slowly over Greta’s breast, the friction of their skin warm and smooth.

‘I missed you too.’

With her lips pressed to Greta's shoulder, Dylan placed lingering kisses on her warm skin, inhaling Greta’s faded perfume while pushing forward again, deliberately slowly. Dylan’s mouth moved over Greta’s back and shoulders, her tongue tracing the line of her spine, as Greta’s movements became more insistent. The slight salty tang of Greta’s soft skin was a taste she’d waited two years to know. Now that she had, she couldn’t get enough. They quickly fell into a rhythm, Dylan matching her sensual slow thrust for slow thrust.

‘Lie back,’ Greta instructed softly over her shoulder.

Rolling onto her back, Dylan watched in awe as Greta climbed over her, facing away as she straddled her pelvis. She raked her gaze over Greta’s back, her cinched waist and the glorious swell of her arse as she pressed herself down.

‘Holy shit,’ Dylan breathed as her eyes devoured the sight of Greta settling on her, softly swinging and rolling her hips to deepen the contact.

As Greta anchored herself, Dylan’s thighs tensed beneath the firm pressure of her grip. Dylan’s hands were on her immediately, flat palms running over Greta’s back before squeezing her waist and settling on her arse. Her fingers and thumbs sank into Greta’s skin, pulling her closer, deepening the friction.

‘Fuck, Dylan,’ Greta moaned, moving slowly over her. Dylan heard a slick sound as Greta reached down between them, touching herself before whispering, ‘How do you make me this wet?’

Dylan whimpered as Greta pushed down with more force. ‘You look so good,’ she said softly, her pelvis pushing into Greta’s slow undulations. ‘Jesus, you look fucking insanely good.’

They moved together in a slow, steady rhythm, their moans growing louder. Greta’s hands pushed into Dylan’s thighs, steadying herself with each deep swing. Dylan was already embarrassingly breathless, the thrumming desire a heavy pressure inside her chest. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It was a growl, a whine, then a guttural moan. Her head was light, making words almost impossible to form as she softly encouraged Greta not to stop, to press deeper, to go slower, then faster. To blow her fucking mind.

The pressure of Greta’s palms on Dylan’s thighs suddenly eased, Dylan’s gaze traced the shift of Greta's shoulders and elbows, the unmistakable movement of her reaching for her own breasts. The torment of knowing what Greta was doing but not being able to see it was almost too much. Dylan bit down on her lip, the sharp sting a necessary distraction to stop herself from falling too quickly. She watched, awestruck, as Greta moved her hands into her own hair, loosening it at the roots, the thick brown waves bouncing with her movements.

‘You’ve no idea what that does to me,’ Dylan breathed.

Greta looked back over her shoulder, her rhythm unchanged. Raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow she softly whispered, ‘Oh, I do.’

Dylan’s eyes flitted over what she could see of Greta’s face before she turned away.

‘Bring your legs up and open them,’ Greta murmured softly. She slowed, but didn't stop her undulations as she pushed herself further up Dylan’s lower belly. The inability to see exactly what Greta was doing drove Dylan wild. She felt Greta’s splayed fingers and palm hold her thigh as she leaned forward. Her other arm reached forward until her fingers were pushing through Dylan’s warm, slick labia. ‘You’re fucking soaked.’

She teased with her fingers, lubricating them with Dylan’s wetness, before slowly pushing two of them inside; her thumb gliding over Dylan’s engorged and throbbing clit.

‘Fuck!’ Dylan breathed, a sharp sound of open approval. Her hips gently thrust, immediately insistent on more depth, more speed, more everything. The rhythm of Greta’s hand matched the slow steady rock of her body over Dylan’s belly. ‘Fuck me, Greta,’ Dylan demanded, no longer able to tamp down her need to be filled and fucked.

The angle was awkward, but Greta adjusted and plunged a third finger into Dylan, slowly pumping her hand as Dylan met the force, fucking back against her.