20. Lucy #2
Lucy reached for the top button of the gray blouse while Carrington watched without helping.
When the blouse fell open, Lucy spread her hand over Carrington’s soft, warm stomach.
Carrington's abdominal muscles tightened once under her palm and then deliberately released, and Lucy understood what that cost her and stayed exactly where she was, hand flat, waiting.
"Okay," Carrington whispered, more to herself than Lucy.
Lucy undid the front clasp of the bra and pushed the blouse and the straps off Carrington's shoulders and down her arms. Carrington lifted enough to let the fabric slide free, and then she was bare from the waist up.
She leaned down and put her mouth against Carrington's sternum, right over the bone, and kissed her way to the left nipple and took it in her mouth. The sound Carrington made—open and raw, not muffled—filled the room.
Lucy sucked and used her teeth, lightly, and Carrington arched under her and said fuck in a husky voice, and Lucy smiled against her skin and did it again.
As she worked her way lower, she unbuttoned the charcoal pants and pulled them down over Carrington's hips.
Her panties were already damp at the center, and Lucy pressed her mouth against the wet fabric.
Carrington's thigh clenched against her shoulder.
She peeled the underwear off and put her mouth on Carrington.
Lucy licked into her folds, slow and deliberate and thorough, and Carrington's hips came off the bed. Carrington wasn’t being quiet at all, and Lucy loved that, loved the volume of her, loved the way the moans echoed off the gray walls and came back to them.
Carrington tasted like salt and skin and something faintly clean, like soap, and Lucy found the rhythm that made Carrington's thigh shake and she kept it exactly there.
Carrington's fingers tightened in her hair and her hips rolled against Lucy's mouth as she said, "There, there, right there," in a voice that had lost every trace of composure.
Lucy kept her tongue exactly where it was and felt Carrington come against her mouth, a long shuddering climax that made the bed creak and made Carrington's voice break upward into something almost like a cry.
Lucy pressed soft kisses against Carrington's inner thighs and waited.
After a moment, Carrington's grip in her hair loosened and her breathing started to slow. Lucy shifted to lay next to her, and Carrington kissed her, slow and deep, entirely devoid of self-consciousness in a way that made Lucy’s entire body ache.
Carrington's hand found Lucy's hip and pulled her closer, and her long fingers slid down over Lucy's stomach and under the waistband of her underwear.
Lucy was so wet that Carrington's fingers slid against her pussy with no resistance at all.
Lucy gasped into the kiss and her hips rocked forward into the pressure.
Carrington slid through the slickness and found her clit, then circled it with torturous patience. Lucy pushed into it and grinded against Carrington's hand, fucking herself with them.
"Tell me what you want," Carrington said, pulling back just slightly to look at Lucy.
Lucy looked at her. The lamp caught the loose strands of Carrington's hair, the flush across her chest, and the swell of her lower lip where Lucy had bitten it. She looked wrecked and content at the same time, and Lucy wanted her so badly it felt like a physical object inside her chest.
"Your mouth on me and fingers in me," Lucy said. “I want both.”
Carrington shifted down the bed and Lucy rolled onto her back.
Carrington ripped her underwear off and dropped it over the edge, and then she was between Lucy's thighs. She lowered her face, and her mouth was on Lucy’s swollen clit, and her fingers, two of them long and sure, pushed deep inside her pussy.
Carrington's fingers curved inside her and pressed forward, and the pressure from her tongue was devastating in tandem.
Lucy's hands were tangled in Carrington's hair, pulling pins free, and the updo came apart in stages—first one side, then the other, then the last pin dropping somewhere onto the sheet.
Carrington's hair fell forward against Lucy's thighs, and Lucy gripped it, holding Carrington's mouth against her.
She fucked up into it, moaning in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
Carrington’s fingers moved inside Lucy, and she'd found exactly the right place.
Lucy felt the orgasm coiling from somewhere deep and low.
Her climax was inevitable, like a wave she could see coming from a long way off.
When the orgasmic wave crested, Lucy's back arched off the bed and she came against Carrington's mouth in a long, shaking, vocal climax that she didn't muffle and didn't try to.
Carrington's fingers stayed inside her through it, moving slower now, easing her through the aftershocks.
Carrington withdrew her fingers carefully.
She pressed a kiss to the inside of Lucy's thigh, then another one higher up, then one against the crease of Lucy's hip, and then she moved up the bed and gathered Lucy against her.
Lucy could feel Carrington's heartbeat against her own chest, fast and hard then slowing.
Lucy pressed closer, finding the curve of Carrington's waist, and rested there, thumbs tracing small circles against the warm skin. Carrington's arms tightened.
"Lucy," Carrington said, into the top of her head.
She pressed her mouth against Carrington's throat and felt the pulse there, steady now, and she closed her eyes.
Carrington lay on her side with one hand in Lucy's hair, working through it slowly, catching on a knot now and then and easing it apart.
Every so often, her thumb moved along the top of Lucy's ear and stopped there.
Lucy wanted to say something to her, but there was nothing she could think of that would still be true at breakfast. So she said none of it and lay still.
Lucy did the math in the dark, factoring in how long it would take her to get up and out, back in the cottage before there was any risk.
Out of the room by five. Down the landing, down the stairs, through the courtyard, and inside her own front door before twenty to six.
That gave her seven and a half minutes to spare.
She had run it every night in April, once in the rain.
"You should sleep," Lucy said.
"In a minute," Carrington said and kept threading her fingers through Lucy’s hair.