Page 147 of Vying Girls

‘I want you,’ she whispers. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’

I huff through my nose as old hurts flare. ‘If only.’

Eyes on her naked skin, I grab my pussy and massage it, arousal so acute in my chest I can hardly breathe. Unable to wait, I pull my own trousers down, hissing through my teeth as my wetness hits her ass.

Tilda turns her face into the pillow and bites it. I breathe out hard as I commence my thrusts. Fuck, it feels so good, each drag over her cool, yielding flesh.

I feel Tilda writhe below me, clit desperate for some kind of purchase, her breaths loud and frustrated.

I pick up the other pillow. ‘Here.’

She folds it in half, jamming it between her thighs. She gives a breathy moan as she rocks her hips, a similar one escaping me the next time we move as one.

With her facing away, I let myself drink her in. Her dark hair’s splayed over her back, the strands soft when I run a hand through them. The back of her neck’s hot as I palm it, her moan telling me she wouldn’t be averse to more pressure.

It’s hard to believe we’re doing this. It doesn’t feel as immediate as the other times. I’m less vulnerable with her facing away. There’s no more denying that I want her. That’s a truth I can deal with. Hate-fucking, like we talked about. It’s easy. At least it is with pleasure rocketing up my clit. Wish I could ride this wave forever, never meeting the sober light of day.

The subtle creaking of the bed increases the faster we thrust. Tilda holds her pillow in a death grip, the other hidden from my view beneath her. The thought of it growing wet with her makes me gasp, clit twitching dangerously.

‘Oh, fuck!’ she cries, voice muffled by the pillow.

I rock on her steadily, tiptoeing on that edge, content to wait for her.

When she finally comes, crying out into the pillow, I tip my head back and fall over too, one drawn-out groan escaping my lungs. It’s one of relief, of a pain eased, a wound finally releasing its poison.

I feel floaty coming back to myself. Tilda shifts, pulling the pillow from between her legs. On her back again, she drags hair out her eyes, her pretty, flushed face the perfect picture of content and wary.

For once, I don’t feel the need to look away. There’s nothing in me that wants to run. I could float on this feeling forever.

It’s hard to keep this morning’s events from my mind. I hook a finger around one of hers, staring mournfully at the short nail. Trying not to think too much, I raise it to my mouth and kiss it.

‘Nicole,’ she breathes.

I close my eyes, finger tightening around hers.

How did we go so wrong? How can there be this much ugliness between us?

‘I miss you,’ Tilda says, voice barely louder than the wind outside. ‘You’re right in front of me and I miss you.’

She twines the rest of our fingers, asking quieter, ‘Are we still waiting for spring?’

I look down at the tangle of our hands. ‘Fucking long winter.’

She chuckles breathlessly. ‘You’re telling me.’

Moment broken, I get off her with shaky legs.

‘I’m taking these.’ I pluck the scissors from the floor and hold them up.

‘Strange souvenir, but go off. Although’—she grins, cockroaching on her back as she pulls her trousers back up—‘they’re scissors so guess they’re apt.’

I duck my head to hide my smile. ‘Glad to hear your lesbian education’s going well.’

‘It is. Think I just had my favourite lesson yet.’ She rolls onto her side, propping her cheek on her palm. ‘So, you like humping, huh? One trick pony?’

I shake my head at that diabolical word. ‘I’ve got a few other tricks up my sleeve.’

‘Would be happy to see them,’ she says quietly, expression suddenly serious.