Maggie woke early, grey morning light seeping through the open curtains. Jocelyn’s arms were tight around her, her long, elegant fingers tracing intricate circles into Maggie’s skin. She kept her eyes closed, savouring the nearness. Jocelyn’s warmth against her back, her legs curled into her, tracing the patterns of their breaths. Jocelyn had kissed her, yesterday evening on the hill. And Maggie had kissed her back. Maggie had very much kissed her back. Her thighs ached from their lovemaking. Her body pulled at her skin. She had seen herself in the bathroom mirror, before she had curled back into bed with Jocelyn. Before Jocelyn had fucked her again. And again. Her fingers soft and slow inside her as she had watched her. Before she had fallen asleep, exhausted, sated, still wanting more, stroking her softly into the approaching light. She knew there were bruises on her wrists, her hips, across her skin, scratches deep into her legs. Bite marks on her inner thighs. But Jocelyn had made love to her so tenderly Maggie had cried. Whatever she had expected, in all the years she had imagined what it would be like to be with Jocelyn, in the moments last night when she had allowed herself to be led by the hand from their picnic to the warmth of her bed, whatever she had expected she hadn’t expected this. Her body ached. Desire tore through her. Jocelyn’s soft fingertips pulled the bright-white still burning through her skin.
“You’re awake,” she said softly.
Jocelyn smiled into her skin. Her fingertips dipped into the curve of her waist, stroked slowly over the gentle swell of her stomach, ghosted back into wide, languid circles. Deeper. Delicate. Maggie stretched out into her. Jocelyn’s knuckles gently brushing the soft undersides of her breasts.
“What time is it?”
Jocelyn’s voice low and deep. Her tongue along the curve of her pulse point and up into her hair to kiss the soft, sensitive hollow behind her ear.
“We have time.”
Maggie hummed quietly. Blunt nails scraped down into the apex of her thighs. Her breath caught. She lifted her hips into her, allowed her fingertips to card gently through the curls. Trace the line of her folds. Push deeper. Between her legs was slick and warm. Somewhere in the last recesses of her mind, Maggie wasn't surprised. She’d given up being surprised that she’d be wet for Jocelyn. That she’d probably always be wet for Jocelyn. The burning radiated out. Jocelyn’s fingertips up and down her sex so slowly, stroking raging fire. Maggie wanted to break. The slowness was unbearable. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She pushed her hips into Jocelyn’s hand, wanting to tell her to go deeper, wanting to tell her of the approaching waves, wanting to tell her she could be close, so close.
Jocelyn reached for her hands and pushed her into the bed. Her breasts hot and white against her back. The weight of her, warm, pinning her down. Hands held hard above her head. The slow, gentle movement of her thigh between Maggie’s legs was excruciating. Fingertips digging into her already bruised skin. That Jocelyn could so utterly dominate her like this, that Jocelyn could read her body like this, that Jocelyn knew exactly what to do like this. That Jocelyn could show her just how much she loved her while doing it, could stroke down her body so softly, so slowly, fanning out her core in throbbing liquid waves like this. She could barely breathe. Her clit chaffed against the sheet. Maggie would do anything. She knew Jocelyn was watching her. She wanted Jocelyn to watch her. To release her as she watched her. To bring the waves to the surface. To crash them over her skin. Watching her. Watching her.
Jocelyn pressed two fingers into her and thrust slowly. Then thrust again. Deeper. Maggie arched her hips into her hand, opened her legs wider. The relief was exquisite. Jocelyn biting down into her neck, teeth into her skin. Thrusting deeper. The weight of her body behind each thrust, forcing her fingers inside her. Maggie could no longer breathe. She surrendered to her. Surrendered everything to her. Knew, finally, that she was surrendering to her love for her, but she couldn’t get the words out, the waves of her orgasm already spreading out from Jocelyn’s hand. Maggie turned her head to kiss her. Softly. Lingered her lips against hers. Tried to convey everything of this moment. This tenderness. This intimacy. Jocelyn’s fingers pushing deep and wet inside her. Holding the waves before she allowed them to break. Watching her. Waiting for Maggie to surrender her final control. Breaking her body through her skin. Then finally curling her fingers as the last of Maggie’s mind broke down. Her breath hot and shallow in the shell of her ear.
“Come for me, my darling. Come for me.”