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After what feels like an eternity, Florence shuffles closer. Her hand is wrapped around the base of the toy, almost casually, like she’s never done anything else in her life. She looks unreal as she looms over Luca, haloed from behind by the midday sun. “Ready, sweet thing?”

“Yeah,” Luca manages.

And then it’s happening—Florence is kneeling over her and then she’s pressing in, agonizingly slow. It feels bigger than Luca anticipated. She goes lightheaded with it, until Florence takes her chin in one hand and tells her to breathe, you’re almost there, sweetheart, you can take it.

Luca breathes, and her body yields, bending so easily to Florence’s will. Her head falls back against the pillows as her legs instinctively wrap around Florence.

Florence’s eyes haven’t strayed from Luca’s face once, drinking in every minute shift of her expression as she tries to acclimate to the feeling. “How’s that?”

Luca can’t speak. She’s not sure if she’s ever known any words at all. The only thing that comes out is a single broken moan.

Florence smiles, soft and a little giddy. “That good?”

Helplessly, Luca nods.

Florence leans forward. Her hair spills around them like a dark curtain, shutting out the outside world as her mouth finds Luca’s. Luca kisses her back on instinct, desperate and uncoordinated, panting against her lips.

“I’m going to move now, all right?”

“Y-yeah,” Luca agrees, burying her face in the crook of Florence’s neck.

The first rock of Florence’s hips draws a gasp from Luca; the second has her whining, low and overwhelmed. The pace she sets is slow and deep. Luca’s whole job as a drummer is to keep time, to count out beats in her head, but she loses track almost instantly. Time has no meaning. There’s only Florence’s mouth and her murmurs and the heat building deep in Luca’s core.

She doesn’t notice she’s been getting louder until Florence says, “You sound so pretty. Is this what it takes to get you to make some noise?”

Luca doesn’t answer. Obviously, it is. Luca couldn’t stop if she wanted to—at this point, the noises are coming nonstop, tiny little ah ah ah sounds that follow every one of Florence’s movements. Her vision is blurring with tears. She never wants it to end.

“Sweetheart, are you crying?”

Luca thinks she might be about to. Sooner, if Florence doesn’t keep going.

It takes effort to mumble, “Only ’cause of how good it feels.”

“God,” Florence whispers, picking up the pace again.

With anyone else, Luca might be ashamed, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when Florence is looking at her like she wants to swallow her whole, her eyes alight with something Luca can’t quite grasp. To her foggy brain, it looks identical to the expression Florence gets when they step out on stage, but she’s not in a state where she can puzzle out the meaning of that particular observation.

“I dreamed of this,” Florence says, just as breathless as Luca by now. “I can’t believe we get to do this.”

It’s all too much—Florence’s words and kisses and the patient, ruthless way she’s taking Luca apart. The tears finally spill over. Florence wipes them away with her thumb before finding Luca’s hands. Intertwining their fingers, she presses Luca’s hands into the pillow and asks, “Are you close?”

Luca nods, entirely too gone for words.

Florence squeezes her fingers before moving one of her hands down. Luca keens as Florence’s fingers find her clit. The heat in her abdomen keeps building, despite the fact that Florence hasn’t sped up at all—she keeps grinding into Luca, slow and inexorable, like she wants to keep Luca like this forever, just barely teetering on the edge. The idea makes her eyes well with even more tears, and somehow even that feels good.

“I know,” Florence murmurs nonsensically. Her gaze is fixed on Luca’s tear-streaked face as she says, her voice blurred around the edges, “Wish I could feel you. Bet you feel so good.”

“Florence,” Luca sobs, and then she’s hurtling over the edge, one hand still gripping Florence’s, her back arching off the mattress.

It goes on forever, not one big wave but several, each one so intense that Luca can barely breathe through it. She didn’t know it could feel this good. She doesn’t think it should feel this good; for one woman to wield so much power is insane. It’s unethical.

Just when Luca feels like she can’t physically take any more, Florence stills. She’s still inside of Luca as she leans forward and kisses her, first on the mouth and then on the forehead. It’s so tender, Luca almost tears up again.

“Still with me?” Florence asks softly.

Luca nods, slinging her arms around Florence’s neck to keep her near. The breeze from the open window ghosts across her sweat-slick skin. She can feel Florence breathing in sync with her. Her own body feels warm and heavy, the way it does after a good workout.

“Sweetheart,” Florence murmurs. “Are you going to let me get this thing off?”