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I'll Be The Death Of You

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Ava Daniels had never considered herself a betting woman, but some things just happen to you in Vegas.


Like meeting the most difficult woman on the planet and then connecting with her on a level she’d always thought was purely the stuff of hyperbolic fiction. Despite everything - all the fuck ups, the hurt, the sheer impossibility of Deborah Vance - she couldn’t stop herself from falling stupidly hard. And, when it transpired a couple of months back that Deborah felt the same way, well… fuck. Life had never been so exhilarating.


It had all been far from the typical Vegas experience, and thank god for that. While she could now at least claim to play a competent game of blackjack, she hadn’t found that she had much appetite for gambling. But she would soon find that it’s all about the game you play.


It was the night before Deborah’s annual Halloween party. The day had been a stressful one: Damien and Josefina had combined forces to form some sort of super-despot, ordering about anyone and everything; Marcus experienced a minor meltdown over an attendee (a business opportunity) missing a flight; and Deborah and DJ had had an almighty clash over the guestlist. All Ava was able to do was keep out of everyone’s way and helplessly watch as it all unfolded around her.


Once everyone had gone home for the night, she’d taken it upon herself to help Deborah relax and drew a bath for the two of them. Soaking together in that huge clawfoot tub, Deborah with a book, she scrolling through her phone, always seemed to do Deborah some good.


“You still haven’t told me what you’re wearing tomorrow,” Ava said after some time, having grown tired of her Instagram feed. “Please god let it be something slutty.”


“I’ve told you, it’s a surprise.”  

”Oh, so it is slutty.”


Deborah looked up from her book, peering over her glasses and grinning slightly.


“I’m not telling you, but I will say that you’re going to have to learn how to exert a little self-restraint given the company.”


“Self-restraint? Me? D, I am a paragon of self-restraint.”


Please, you can barely keep those mitts to yourself. It’s a wonder you haven’t landed us on the front of the Enquirer.”


“It took me, like, several months before I jumped you, give me some credit.”


In the past week alone there had been no fewer than eight instances of hands not being kept to themselves. Maybe Deborah had a point, maybe she was at that stage in her monthly cycle where her libido was a bit more ramped out, maybe she was just perpetually horny—who could really say.


“I bet,” Deborah said, a sly twinkle in her eye, “that you can’t keep your hands off me for a whole evening.”


“Sounds like a challenge. Not even a challenge—just a completely normal thing I am very capable of. The question is, can you last a whole night without these girls showing you a good time?” The accompanying jazz hands managed to splash water all over the place.


“I think I’ll manage,” Deborah responded, rolling her eyes.


“I think you’ll be begging for it by the end of the night.”


“Okay, honey, we’ll see.”



While Halloween was a holiday she enjoyed for the most part, the whole dressing up aspect of it was something she could pass on. Loved other people going in hard for it, but not really her thing. At Deborah’s insistence, however—because of course she had sensed this about her—she’d been forced to put a bit of consideration into an outfit this year. No entry permitted for “assholes who think they’re too clever to put a modicum of effort into dressing up”. So, in an act of forward-planning and organisation so unlike her that it would have had her mother worrying herself sick, she’d sorted out an outfit a couple of weeks ago.


The bet, however, had made her doubt her choice. She’d briefly considered calling Kiki. If anyone could come up with an outfit for the occasion and execute it in under 24 hours it would be her. But then the idea of wearing something that communicated an intention of trying to be hot made her stomach churn. There was no way she was going to feel sexy in anything that made her uncomfortable.


Her budget Fran Lebowitz getup wasn’t going to turn heads, but she’d at least feel confident in it. And she’d had an idea for an addition that could spice things up…


She hadn’t called Kiki in a panic the night before, but she had arranged to get ready at her place since Deborah had insisted she arrive with the other guests. She did still have her room at the Palmetto that Deborah continued to pay for and that she would pretend to certain people that she stayed in, but it hadn’t been used in a good while. Really though, herself and Deborah had taken U-Hauling to the next level, having practically moved in together before they’d even worked out their feelings for each other. It pained her that she wasn’t able to mine that one for jokes for the act. Not yet, anyway.


“Everything okay in there, Avs?” Kiki shouted through the bathroom door.


“Yep, just a second!” she shouted back, tucking the white shirt into her jeans and pulling on the too-large pinstripe blazer she’d found in a damp-smelling thrift store.


Kiki had borrowed a very glitzy, very skimpy outfit from a friend who worked as a showgirl. It might not have been the most inventive costume, but who cares about originality when you looked as to-die-for as she did in it. It had made Ava felt just a little self-conscious as she emerged from the bathroom to present herself to Kiki, who was in midst of trying to position a heavy-looking bejewelled headdress.


“What do you think…” she asked cautiously.


“Cute AF, sweet bean! Fun wig… but what are you?”


“Ugh, I knew I should have just phoned it in. Fran Lebowitz?”


“Oh... well, I totally expected you to turn up with just some whiskers on your face but I’m proud of you!”


“Deborah threatened to turn me away at the door if I half-assed it.”


”Oh yeah, she would totally do that. But look at you trying to keep her sweet—adorable.”


“You know, sometimes I think I’ve actually gone insane.”


“No, sweetie, you just got it bad and I love that for you.”



She’d been pre-emptively talking herself down all day. Whatever Deborah was wearing she could handle it. And yet, the second she walked through the front door and laid eyes on her she immediately wanted to lie down right there on the floor.


Deborah was dressed in a floor-length, figure-hugging black dress with fitted sleeves that extended down over her wrists and were secured with a loop around her middle fingers. It would all have been fairly modest were it not for the plunging neckline showing off an amount of cleavage that suddenly made Ava’s mouth feel dry. Her lips and nails were painted red, her skin powdered pale, and she wore a long, sleek jet-black wig. A frustratingly irresistible Morticia Addams.


Of course this is what she’d be wearing, how had the thought not even crossed her mind? She’d actually supplied her with this ammunition weeks before, when Deborah had casually mentioned how Jack Nicholson had once made a pass at her in the late 70s. She’d told Ava how she’d rejected his advances with some joke about not being interested in threesomes (he was still with Anjelica Huston at the time). And so, on the topic of Anjelica Huston, Ava had talked at length about how Huston’s Morticia Addams had been a moment for her. How as a child she’d watched The Addams Family Values over and over until, eventually, the VHS wore out to the point of being unwatchable. She hadn’t understood at the time why she was so captivated, but she’d made sense by the time she hit fourteen.  


It was by the grace of a non-existent god that she had time to reattach her jaw before Deborah saw her. Doing her best to seem as unaffected as possible, she walked over.


“Hey,” Deborah said with a smirk on her face that did not fill Ava with any confidence that she was succeeding in playing it cool.




Deborah was taking her in while biting the inside of her cheek in a way that was absolutely not helping matters.


“So, uh, I came here prepared for the probability of cleavage and/or legs, not for my sexual awakening to be used against me like this. I mean, fuck, Deborah.”


“I thought it’d be a nice treat for you.”


“Well, yes, but also, fuck you.


Deborah shot her a satisfied smirk in between the smiles and hellos she gave to others walking by.


“You, on the other hand… I don’t know what’s going on with this.” She gestured up and down. “ Fran Lebowitz, I’m assuming, but her tailor’s on strike? The fit of that blazer…”


“Hey, I put in some effort for your benefit but like hell am I going to pay to get a fucking Halloween outfit tailored.”


But props to whoever was responsible for ensuring Deborah’s dress clung perfectly to all those curves she worshipped. That was money well spent.


“I’d expect nothing more. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some hosting to do.”


As she made to leave, Ava caught her by the elbow and leaned in.


“Just so you know, D,” she said in a hushed voice, “you’re not the only one with dirty tricks up her sleeve… or elsewhere.”


Pleased with the arched eyebrow and glint of amusement in Deborah’s eye, she headed into the nearest room in search of a strong drink.



“Seriously delish,” Kiki said as she pressed into her hands a golden-coloured drink that had a sprig of charred rosemary sticking out of it. And she was right, it was pretty damn good, so she downed the contents of the glass and swiftly grabbed another from a passing server.


Kiki gave her a look and pouted, but didn’t say anything.


The night had barely begun and already she was at a disadvantage. As she watched Deborah glide into the room, her mind wandered and she could feel her cheeks redden. Not even 15 minutes in and she was floundering.


But she quickly cooled when Marty made an entrance and Deborah strolled over to greet him with an exaggerated kiss on both cheeks.


He was wearing an expensive-looking midnight blue dinner suit. Loathe as she was to admit it, he looked pretty fucking suave.


“Is it Halloween if Marty Ghilain hasn’t dressed up as James Bond?” Deborah laughed. “Every. Single. Year. I do prefer the ivory dinner jacket, though.”


“I know you do, Deb, but I didn’t feel like spoiling you too much this year.”


Ava wanted to punch him in the face.


“Well, I can still appreciate an impeccably tailored suit, regardless,” she said, glancing over in Ava’s direction. Unfortunately, Marty caught the look and followed Deborah’s line of sight right to her.


“Ava, right?” he asked as he turned to address her, acting as if he didn’t know damn well already. “You’re going to have to help me out here, I’m not quite sure what you’re supposed to be?”


“Fran Lebowitz,” she responded in what she hoped was a breezy tone.


“Huh, well get a look at you two gals. What an interesting pair: Morticia Addams and Fran Lebowitz.”


Marty had heard the whispers about them then. There was Deborah looking effortlessly sexy and put together and then there she was, dressed in an ill-fitting blazer, cheap shirt and jeans that really weren’t doing her any favours. What a pair indeed. Fuck Marty.


She caught Deborah’s eye and was slightly touched to see her expression soften and the subtlest shake of her head, signalling to her not to rise to it, to brush it off.


All she needed to do was remind herself about the last time they’d seen Marty at a party. How in bed later that night as she had two fingers buried deep inside Deborah she couldn’t resist asking if Marty ever made her come the way she does, had he ever fucked her so good? And in between gasps she’d got the answer she wanted. Marty might have the money to look sharp in a suit, but he didn’t have shit on her where it really mattered.


“Speaking of pairs, where’s that new girlfriend of yours?” Deborah asked, quickly guiding the conversation elsewhere.


“Oh, Giovanna is at Caesar’s for some club night.”


“Not really your crowd, Marty?” Ava quipped, as though she was somehow in a position to be making a crack about generational divides in anyone else’s relationship. Whatever, call her a hypocrite but this was Marty—it was different.


“I thought this would be more fun,” he responded flatly, but his eyes betrayed a little flash of annoyance. She had to do her best to suppress a grin.


Deborah swiftly took control of the rest of the conversation, giving Ava zero opportunities for further comments and doing her damnedest to wind her up. She was deliberately laughing a little too hard at Marty’s ‘jokes’, giving him coy looks, and kept touching his arm. All the while shooting her sly glances.


She’d love to wipe that smug grin off his face with the news that this was all for show—for her benefit —and he was just a pawn in a game that was, one way or another, going to result in activities that most definitely would not involve him.


After having to endure Marty’s excruciating attempt at an English accent she decided that enough was enough and, quickly draining her drink, excused herself to get another from the bar across the room.


It didn’t take long for Deborah to appear at her side.


“You think flirting with whoever-was-the-worst-Bond over there is gonna make me fold? Like I’m some sort of jealous, possessive asshole who can’t control herself and needs to stake her claim?”


“Oh, honey, that’s exactly how you are.”


She huffed and took a swig from her glass.


“Better be careful, Marty will think he’s back in with a shot.”


“Maybe you should send a message to him then.”


Ava eyed her suspiciously.


“You’d kill me if I did.”


“He’s never gone down on me, you know.”


“What—” she spluttered.  


Deborah gave a quick glance around to make sure no one else was nearby and leant in a little more.


“It turns you on, doesn’t it? The thought of getting to do things he doesn’t, making me feel ways he’s never managed.”


Ava bit her lip and snorted dismissively.


“I know what you’re doing.”


“My memory can be terrible, though… sometimes it needs a bit of a refresh. I can’t seem to remember which one of you does it better.”


“Are you making a request, Deborah Vance?” Ava asked, now smiling despite herself. Sometimes there were moments when she really delighted in being wound up by Deborah. This was one of them.  


Deborah reached over and plucked the glass from her hands. She downed the rest of the drink, flashed her a roguish smile and walked away, leaving her standing there with a stupid grin on her face.


It’s all fun and games until someone’s too horny to properly function at a social gathering.


Ava always gave as good as she got, but that night Deborah was running circles round her.


Between purposefully leaning over the kitchen counter to give Ava an eyeful of cleavage that nearly made her pass out and a thumb subtly brushing her own as she passed Deborah a drink, she was on a losing streak.


So, in an attempt to calm down and collect herself, she’d spent the past half hour avoiding Deborah by getting into conversation with Mayor Pezzimenti. Which was going fine—well, no, it was excruciating but it was working—until Pezzimenti excused herself to go to the bathroom and she’d started to follow her before a startled look made her realize she was being insane.


She quickly attached herself to the nearest group of people, but without her Deborah-repellent she was vulnerable. And, sure enough, Deborah appeared within five minutes and had started to talk to the woman opposite Ava who was wearing a Victorian-ish costume with a very tight corset.


“—it seemed like a good idea, and sure it looks great, but next year I’m wearing something I can actually breathe in,” she heard the woman say to Deborah.


“I know what you mean,” Deborah replied. “I can’t wait to get this all off later.”


If anyone had really been paying attention they might have noticed the way Deborah briefly caught Ava’s eye as she spoke those last few words. They might, like she did, have seen a glimmer of something but they probably wouldn’t have recognized it for what it was, not like Ava did. And if they had been looking at her—which no one was, not with Deborah Vance in the room—they would have seen her shake her head and the slightest of smiles creep across her face. Because she realized in that moment she wasn’t losing at all: in trying to work her up all night, Deborah had been managing to do the same to herself.


She’d barely had to lift a finger.


Sexting wasn’t really Deborah’s thing, and had been a bit of a one-sided affair up until now, but Ava was optimistic about making progress. After all, she didn’t think phone sex was her thing but when Deborah had once gone to Dallas for a night for business, one thing had lead to another during a late-night SVU-prompted call.


That and more meant that when her phone rang there was only ever one name she was pleased to see pop up on her screen.


But there was something about the permanence of messaging that held Deborah back from reciprocating in like when Ava sent a photo or message that pushed things forward from just flirting. She knew they were appreciated, that it turned her on—Deborah would always follow up with a call or a message ordering her to get ass over— but she hoped to be surprised one day.


Right now, though, seemed like an appropriate time for Ava to play to her strengths and pull out her secret weapon.


She excused herself—not that anyone had really been paying her any attention—and headed to the bathroom.


As soon as she closed the door she immediately started to unfasten her jeans. Any onlooker might have assumed Ava’s outfit was a comfortable one—it was certainly roomy—but looks can be deceiving when you’ve chosen to attempt hard packing for the first time in your life. Especially when you naively assumed it would be pretty straightforward and so hadn’t done a trial run.


Back in Kiki’s bathroom she’d panicked trying to get it on. Eventually, she’d managed to work out a way of fixing it in place that sort of worked. She’d loosened the harness and managed to position the dildo downwards enough for her to strap it to her thigh with a silk sash she’d borrowed from a dressing gown hanging on the door (sorry, Kiki). It felt incredibly awkward but any other way she tried either gave her a far-too obvious bulge or felt so uncomfortable she knew she wouldn’t last five minutes. The things she did for Deborah Vance.


It was a relief to finally unfasten it from her thigh and get a bit of air.


After some adjustments, she took out her phone and started snapping away, trying to work out the best angle and pose. Happy with a shot that was just a crop of the dildo emerging from her jeans with a hand gripping the base of the shaft, she sent it to Deborah.


I can’t wait to get this off either


She waited couple of minutes until the message changed to ‘read’ before following it up.


actually, I might just take it off now seeing as it’s not getting any use


That should do it. She strapped everything back into place, pocketed her phone, and left the bathroom in search of what she hoped would be a reaction worth all the chafing.



She found Deborah in the kitchen, pretending to fuss over trays of hors d'oeuvres.


“How’s it going, D?” she called out.


Deborah looked up and studied her for a moment, unable to resist the briefest of glances downwards.


“Ava, could I have a quick word?” Her voice was calm, but tinged with threat.


No one paying any attention would assume Ava was in for anything other than a severe reprimand, not with the quiet fury that was emanating from Deborah.


“Sure,” she responded and followed her round the corner to the pantry, out of sight and earshot.


Before she knew what was happening, Deborah had her pinned up against the wall, hands pressed up against it either side of her head. Exerting the full force of her height (helped by some killer heels) she towered over her, making Ava suddenly feel weak at the knees.


Deborah leant in even closer and she was sure she was being tested. But competitiveness won out over temptation, and she stayed motionless as she stared back into those ice-blue eyes brimming with rage and impatience and lust.

”Get upstairs. Now.” Deborah’s voice was low and dangerous.


She smiled and bit her lip as she took in all of Deborah and her need. The urge to throw any semblance of caution to the wind and push her into the pantry and fuck her right there was nearly overwhelming. She wanted to rip that dress open. She wanted to hear Deborah make obscene noises as she touched and tasted her. She wanted, wanted, wanted.


Now,” Deborah snarled.


Upstairs it was, then.



The five minutes it took for Deborah to follow her up to the bedroom were the most excruciating five minutes of her life. Her level of arousal was verging on painful and the anticipation every second brought with it only made her situation worse.


She heard her before she saw her.


“We can’t be long,” Deborah announced as she stormed into the room.


She stopped abruptly in front of Ava with an expectant look on her face and her hands on her hips.


“Oh, I see...” Ava said when it clicked after a moment, “you’re waiting for me to make a move because that way I lose, right?”


Deborah’s lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed in that pissed expression of hers she was very familiar with—which, depending on the context, was either terrifying or extremely hot. On this occasion it was definitely the latter. Really, more often than not it was the latter, which was something she’d been leaning into lately.


“No way, lady. You demanded I come up here, ball’s in your court.”


Deborah crossed her arms and leant back against the wall behind her.


“Are you still wearing it?” she asked tersely, lifting a hand to gesture downwards.


“Wearing what?” Ava teased.


“The strap on, you little shit.”


Horny and irate was exactly where she wanted her.


She stepped forward, hands on hips and a smug grin plastered across her face.


“Why don’t you check?”


The nostril flare was the pièce de résistance.


Jesus Christ. If you don’t take those ridiculous jeans off and fuck me right now I’m not letting you so much as look at me for an entire month.”


“You’re the boss!”


She couldn’t resist one last remark to wind Deborah up; ever since they started sleeping together she’d loathed being referred to as her boss. Writing partners. Not employee/employer. But Ava found it hot to play up to the power dynamic from time to time, and while she understood the reason why it made Deborah uncomfortable, she also knew that underneath there was something there that turned her on too. It was a work in progress.


As she hurriedly unbuckled her jeans and clumsily stepped out of them, Deborah’s furious glare faded away. There was a brief perplexed look as she watched her untie the dildo from her thigh and adjust the harness, but as Ava approached her the tongue between her teeth gave away her excitement.


She knew that Deborah would be wet enough for her but she wanted the satisfaction of feeling it for herself. Pulling up the skirt of Deborah’s dress above her hips and out of the way, she was delighted by the absence of underwear. Her own breath hitched as Deborah let out a shaky gasp when she slid a hand between her legs and felt her slickness. Slowly, she stroked her, just a couple of times, before withdrawing her hand and causing Deborah to open her eyes and give her a look of confusion.


“That’s how much you want me,” Ava said, holding up the fingers dripping with Deborah’s arousal. “Taste it.”


She waited for Deborah’s lips to receptively part before proceeding; they hadn’t done this before and she was taking a gamble, but it turned out that fortune does favor the brave. As Deborah took her fingers in her mouth and she felt her lips close around them, the caress of her warm tongue, and a gentle sucking sensation, she couldn’t help but respond with a breathy ‘fuck’. Barely before she’d removed her fingers her lips were on Deborah’s, her tongue lapping into her mouth eager for a taste as well.


Deborah moaned loudly as the kiss deepened, all of that evening’s pent up lust finally unleashing itself. And then it was Ava’s turn to moan as fingers ran up her nape and through her hair before giving a firm, but gentle, tug and pulling her back to break the kiss.


Deborah’s lips ghosted above her own and she felt her breath against them as she whispered. “Now, Ava, fuck me now.”


She didn’t need telling twice and took Deborah by the waist, pushing her up against the wall.


“Take those heels off, you’re a bit tall for me,” she instructed.


They were immediately kicked off with enough force to send them flying halfway across the room.


Deborah grabbed her by the harness, fingers hooking round the straps, and pulled her closer. She wasn't messing about. Hiking a thigh up against Ava’s hip to allow for better entry, she grabbed hold of the dildo and guided it inside herself.


God,’ she moaned, eyes fluttering shut.


Ava took hold of the thigh at her side and placed her other hand against the wall for balance. She started to move her hips back and forward, sliding slowly in and out of Deborah, eliciting noises from her that drove her wild.  


The feeling of Deborah’s leg hitched up at her side, her breasts pressed up against her own, and their hips rocking into each other was in serious danger of sending Ava over the edge. It wouldn’t take much at all in her state. There had been a couple of occasions in the past when she’d hadn’t been able to stop herself from coming while she fucked Deborah, but right now she really didn’t want to give Deborah that satisfaction.


Letting go of the thigh she’d been securing to her hip, she pulled out, provoking an irritated hiss. As soon as Deborah’s foot was back on the ground she spun her round to face the wall and pressed the length of her own body up against her. From here she could make better use of her hands. One ran up the length of Deborah’s torso and slipped under her bra to find a very erect nipple to roll between her fingers, the other went south. She would never get over how that wetness between Deborah’s legs was for her, how she could make her gasp with just a touch, the way she would moan into her mouth, or how, occasionally, hers was the name she’d cry out when she came undone.


It was all because of her and for her. Just as, for Ava, it was all because of Deborah and for her.


She pushed her knee between Deborah’s legs, which was taken as a cue for Deborah to shuffle back slightly and get in position, which she did so eagerly. Reaching down to guide the dildo into place she first took some time to tease her with the tip. Feeling Deborah attempt to push back into her, she grabbed a fistful of the fabric gathered at her waist and instead pushed her forward, denying penetration.


“Fuck you, Ava, I swear to god—”


A firm thrust cut her short, whatever threat that was coming replaced with a sharp cry. With one hand she kept hold of the dress, and with the other reached around, fingers circling Deborah’s clit. As she pulled her hips back and paused she could feel Deborah again try to push back against her, but she wasn’t ready to cede control just yet. Another thrust, another obscene noise from Deborah that caused her own cunt to throb. And again, she denied Deborah’s movements. Hesitating, teasing, building anticipation for the next deep thrust, which would be met with increasingly louder cries each time.


Once she felt Deborah was sufficiently tormented, she let go of the dress and reached around to palm a breast. With both hands working her and Deborah now free to establish the rhythm her body had been desperate for, Ava knew she was close. The open-mouthed moans, the way her hands alternated between balling up and splaying out against the wall, the desperation of her movements—all tell-tale signs.


“Fuck—Ava!” she cried out in exactly the way Ava had been longing for.


Deborah tensed up in her arms and she felt her body shudder as the orgasm coursed through her. Pushing the black hair of the wig out of the way, she leant in to kiss the back of Deborah’s neck, which tasted deliciously salty with sweat. She allowed Deborah a moment to recover and catch her breath, but only a moment, because she needed so badly to be touched herself.


Once she pulled out, Deborah straightened up and turned around. The dishevelled image of her, with her skirt still hiked above her hips, her red lipstick smeared across her face, and the way the neckline of her dress had been pulled down even further made her feel dizzy. Dizzier. God, was she in a bad way.


“Shit, I wish I could take a picture,” she heard herself say out loud.


“Go fuck yourself,” Deborah snapped as she fixed her dress and straightened her wig, clearly thinking that Ava was being sarcastic when she was being anything but.


Before she could protest, she was being ordered about.


“Get the strap off and come here.”


And so she did.


“This off too,” Deborah continued as she pushed the blazer off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Taking Ava by the waist, she guided her until her back was pressed up against the wall. Her turn.


A foot edged apart her legs, making room for a thigh that she immediately wanted grind down on. But Deborah pulled it back just out of reach and started to slowly unbutton her shirt.


“You’ve been wet for me this entire night, haven’t you?”


Ava’s heart started to quicken.


“Every single time I looked at you I knew you were thinking about this.”


A hand brushed over her chest, pushing the shirt open.


“So were you,” Ava whispered.


“I was. It was infuriating.”


Fingers brushed over a nipple before giving it a firm pinch, causing her to gasp.


You’re infuriating,” Deborah breathed in her ear, her voice low and threatening and Ava could barely contain herself.


And then fingers were slowly tracing down the length of her abdomen.


“Shit, shit, shit,” she gasped as those fingers continued downwards until they stroked over her clit and carried on to her entrance, where they circled before pushing in ever so slightly, causing her hips to buck forwards. But that wasn’t what Deborah had in mind and just as soon as those fingers had arrived they retreated, much to Ava’s frustration.


“Your turn,” Deborah instructed, as she lifted her fingers to Ava’s mouth. She took them in eagerly, delighted by the reciprocation. With both hands she grabbed Deborah’s wrist, controlling the movement of those long digits in and out as she sucked and licked. Deborah’s eyes widened and her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. Pulling her fingers out, she grabbed the back of her head to pull her in for a kiss so deep and fervent it made her knees buckle.


The next thing she knew kisses and licks and nips of teeth were trailing downwards and Deborah was on her knees. She took a deep, shuddering breath, bracing herself for Deborah’s mouth to bring her some relief after all these hours of torture.


Which it did, it always did, because Deborah knew how to use her tongue in a way that caught her off guard every single time. She whimpered when Deborah’s mouth made contact and long, broad strokes of her tongue made her eyes roll back into her head.


Looking down at the face buried between her legs causing her to writhe and curse over and over, Ava knew she only had moments. And, unfortunately for her, so did Deborah.


“What the fuck!” she cried out in frustration as Deborah pulled away from her.


“Don’t think you’re coming just yet,” Deborah panted, looking up at her with a wicked smile, licking her lips and using a thumb to wipe Ava from around her mouth.  


She should have known better, she should have known that penance would have to be paid for her earlier behavior. Everything had consequences.


Deborah stood up and wrapped a hand around her throat. “You don’t deserve it,” she growled before capturing her mouth for another deep, hard kiss that made her groan and realize just how entirely helpless she was.


“Maybe I should go back downstairs and leave you like this,” Deborah threatened as she nipped at an earlobe with her teeth.



”Please what?”

”Please don’t.”


With a smirk, Deborah reached down to pull up her skirt and expose a thigh, which she pushed between her legs. Ava gasped as she made contact, pressing herself against it hard, so desperate for relief. There was a chuckle from Deborah and then a hand was kneading a breast, and another grabbed her ass and rocked her back and forth. It felt so good she could cry.


The way the long skirt of Deborah’s dress was bunched up at the top of her legs and the way Ava was pressing into it rhythmically as she desperately rode Deborah’s thigh was clearly have an effect. Deborah’s breathing had become shallow, matching her own, and her hips rolled with increasing urgency.


The sudden realisation that Deborah was getting off too was game over for Ava, who came suddenly with a shuddering cry, collapsing into Deborah and clinging on for dear life, not trusting her legs to continue holding her up. A second later, Deborah’s hips bucked sharply into her followed by a stifled moan.


“Did you just—?”


“Yeah,” Deborah replied sheepishly, her chest heaving into hers.  


“Fuck,” she laughed, pulling back to get a look of her. “That’s a first.”


“Don’t let it go to your head,” Deborah said with a slight grin before shutting Ava up with a kiss so ardent that she monetarily forgot how to breathe.



Whether it was in the morning, for a show, or, say, after being fucked at a Halloween party with a houseful of guests downstairs, Ava loved to watch Deborah get herself ready in front of a mirror. She hovered in the doorway as Deborah applied makeup, which required an extensive touch up.


“That dress, D, holy shit. If I told you Elvira was another defining moment for me as a teenager will you bear that in mind for next year?”


“In your dreams.”


“Oh, you can bet on it,” she replied, winking.


Deborah rolled her eyes in response as she reapplied her lipstick.


“You lay off the betting for a while, Ava.”


“I think I might have a knack for it?”


“Everyone in Vegas thinks they have a knack for it after they get lucky once.”


“Sure, put it down to luck if that helps you sleep better.”


Another eye roll. She blotted her lipstick with a tissue and stood up, walked over to Ava and started straightening up her wig and the collar of her shirt.


“We do need to have that chat with Marcus, by the way,” Deborah said, brushing something off her shoulder.  


“Do we really?”


“I’m fairly certain he saw that photo you sent earlier.”


“Wait, what? DEBORAH!” Ava spluttered, feeling herself going red.  


“He was standing next to me when I opened it,” Deborah shrugged.


“You… you opened up a message I sent in full view of other people? D, we’ve talked about this—assume anything I send you is NSFW.”


“I don’t know what that means. And it serves you right for sending unsolicited pictures.”


“Oh, ha-ha. God, Deborah. Maybe he doesn’t know it was from me?” 


“Honey, I think we can assume it’s only confirmed what he already suspected. I doubt it would have escaped his notice that we both disappeared at the same time, either… We’ll sit down with him tomorrow.”


“Great. Can’t wait," Ava groaned. Marcus had so little time for her anyway, adding into the mix never making eye contact with each other ever again probably wasn't going to feel like much of a shift in their working relationship. 


“It’ll be just as excruciating for him as it will be for you. And me.”


“He's going to be so mortified when we tell him the real reason why that stupid massive egg-timer on his desk got smashed.”


“On second thought, I’ll do all the talking. If you ever tell him about that—which is never, I repeat, never—happening again, I’ll be shipping you back to the Palmetto.”


“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first hundred times. I’ll take it to my grave, don’t worry.”


“You’re a little shit.”


“I’m your little shit.”


“Yes, you are,” Deborah said with a smile as she cupped her face in both hands and leant in to kiss her. Soft and tender and sweet. 


While she strongly disagreed with Deborah putting that evening's victory down to luck, she did have to admit that she'd sure found a lot of it in Vegas.