59.
fifty-nine
M onroe stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, her breath unsteady and her body flushed.
The teasing over dinner had worked her into a state bordering on frustration.
She was irritably turned on—still wearing the dress, still aching where Chloé’s fingers had been, still pulsing from the tension of holding it all in.
Behind her, the door clicked shut. Chloé made sure it was locked, then slowly turned to face her, her gaze drinking Monroe in.
She didn’t move right away.
Instead, she let her eyes travel over bare legs, the tight fabric clinging to Monroe’s hips, and the flushed chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. And then, softly, reverently, Chloé spoke.
“ Cette robe…c’est trop. Tu es belle. La perfection.”
Her voice dropped, husky and low as she stepped closer.
“Tellement mouillée pour moi, n’est-ce pas?”
Monroe shivered. “I don’t understand a word of what you just said.”
Chloé smirked, taking a step forwards. “Yes, you do.”
Monroe’s stomach clenched. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me tonight.”
“I think I do,” Chloé murmured, her fingers trailing slowly down Monroe’s arm. “I said, you’re beautiful, perfect…and wet for me.”
“You already know I am…you made sure of that.”
Chloé laughed softly. “I did.” Her fingers drifted down Monroe’s throat, following the curve of her collarbone before dipping lower, tracing the neckline where the fabric disappeared in a vee between her breasts.
She slipped her palm inside the dress and cupped the warm swell of Monroe’s breast. No bra.
The nipple stiffened further beneath her touch, already tight with need.
A quiet moan slipped from Monroe’s lips. “Yes…”
Her breath caught as Chloé’s other hand returned between her thighs. The dress lifted easily as her palm slid higher, fingers moving to slide her underwear aside.
“Please,” Monroe whispered, head falling back, as her clit finally met the rhythm of Chloé’s strokes—gentle, sure, devastating.
Chloé leant in, lips grazing the line of Monroe’s jaw, her breath hot and uneven. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do this again…like this…after watching you all night. That dress…” Her teeth caught Monroe’s earlobe gently. “Torture.”
Monroe’s hands fisted in Chloé’s jacket, pulling her closer, hips already moving in time with the slow press of Chloé’s fingers. “Then stop teasing. I’m yours. Take me.”
“I am,” Chloé whispered.
Her lips found Monroe’s—hungry, deliberate, deep. The kiss was less about sweetness and more about need, built of anticipation and a night of teasing glances and touches that lingered just long enough to ache.
Without breaking contact, Chloé guided Monroe backwards, step by slow step, until the backs of Monroe’s knees hit the edge of the sofa.
She dropped down with a soft exhale, the dress riding up her thighs, and pulled Chloé towards her.
Her legs parted in silent invitation, her breath shallow and wanton.
Chloé dropped to her knees in the space between.
Her dark eyes never left Monroe’s face. “Let me worship you,” she murmured, her voice thick with reverence and desire, hands sliding up the length of Monroe’s thighs like a prayer, dragging her underwear back down like a sin.
Monroe shivered, her chest already rising and falling, breath fast. “God, yes,” she whispered. “Please…”
There was nothing tentative in Chloé’s touch. She leant in, her breath ghosting over Monroe’s slick heat before her mouth met her—open, warm, sure. She kissed her with intention, with purpose. She knew this body intimately and loved every part of it.
Monroe gasped, hips lifting as pleasure jolted through her. “Fuck— Chloé—” Her fingers found her lover’s hair, threading through the silken strands as she held her there, desperate and trembling. “Don’t stop. Just like that. Please.”
Chloé obeyed, smiling briefly against her. Her tongue stroked and circled with maddening precision, lips sealing around her clit in a rhythm that was both skilled and instinctive. She devoured Monroe like she’d been waiting her whole life for the chance.
Monroe’s head fell back against the cushions. Her moans slipped out between breathless curses, every nerve ending focused on the slow, building pleasure curling low and hot in her belly.
It didn’t take long.
She shattered with a cry, thighs trembling, fingers clenching in Chloé’s hair as waves of pleasure rolled through her. Her whole body slackened, boneless and undone.
Chloé rose slowly, cheeks flushed, mouth glistening. She leant over Monroe, brushing a kiss to her lips, soft this time.
Intimate.
Sharing the taste of what they’d just created.
Monroe’s arms wrapped around her, greedy even in her afterglow. She pulled her close, breath warm against her cheek. “You’re not done,” she said, voice low, still wrecked.
Chloé grinned, her voice velvet. “ Non, mon amour. We’re just getting started.”