18. One orgasm and done #5
Their simultaneous orgasms tore through them. Electrifying ripples and shudders pulsing over Dylan’s skin in wave after wave, as Greta’s body jerked violently on top of her.
With her fingers still inside Dylan and her thighs shaking, Greta stayed in place, straddled over Dylan’s pelvis, her head falling back towards her shoulders as she steadied her breaths. ‘Jesus Christ, Dylan,’ she panted.
‘Fucking hell, G… I’ve waited so long for you to do that to me. Fuck.’
After slowly withdrawing her fingers, Greta pressed both her hands into her own trembling thighs and pulled her spine into a straight line.
As Greta scooped her hair up and allowed the weight of it to fall over one shoulder, a mesmerising bead of sweat trickled down her back.
Dylan's eyes locked onto it, watching it slide all the way down until it vanished between her arse cheeks.
Greta swung her leg back over Dylan and slumped on her back by her side, her skin radiating a fierce heat.
A few moments passed as their ragged breaths evened out.
Huffing out a huge breath, Dylan tossed an arm over her eyes. ‘Is this what men feel like?’ she joked softly.
Greta laughed. ‘What?’
‘Men. One orgasm and done.’ Dylan tried to moisten her dry lips with her tongue. ‘That was incredible… I’m fucking fucked!’
Greta laughed with her chest, turning onto her side. Head propped on one hand, she fixed her gaze on Dylan’s neck, watching the heavy bob of her throat as Dylan tried to catch her breath as she chuckled. ‘But Miss St John, you didn’t do anything,’ Greta teased, draping a leg over Dylan’s thighs.
Dylan peeped at Greta from under her arm. ‘It’s tough holding a hand like that, G!’
Greta looked at Dylan as though she was hilarious and beautiful and too fucking much all at once.
She tugged her arm down, before cupping her cheek and kissing her.
‘You can fuck me against a wall and carry me through my apartment, but you can’t keep a hand still for a few minutes and wiggle a couple of fingers? ’
‘Err, that knuckle and finger thing is bloody tricky, G! I am cramped and done!’ Dylan joked, dramatically throwing her arm back over her eyes.
‘You’re not nearly done, Dylan, so your twenty-eight-year-old self better dig deep.’
Dylan reached to playfully slap Greta’s arse, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from her, before rolling them both over and pressing herself between her soaking thighs. Framed by Dylan’s arms, Greta craned for a kiss.
‘You know the problem with your generation, Doctor Vincent?’ Dylan said, holding her mouth just out of reach.
‘Oh?’ Greta laughed. ‘Please do enlighten me, Miss St John,’ she urged in her most convincing lecturer voice, dropping her head back to the pillow, still having not got her kiss.
‘You Gen Xers are quite the entitled bunch aren’t—’
Greta interrupted with a guffaw. ‘That’s rich coming from a Gen Zer!
My generation was the last to experience real life before smartphones and the internet,’ Greta laughed around her words as Dylan playfully stifled a yawn, an arched eyebrow disappearing into her curls as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘We had the eighties and nineties, Dylan. And judging by your taste in music, heavy rotation of band tees and knowledge of lesbian culture way back then, you wish you did too.’
‘Ooh, touché.’ Dylan closed the gap between them, feathering her lips over Greta’s before slowly trailing her hot breath over Greta’s jawline. ‘Tou-fucking-ché,’ she whispered, before quickly forcing her mouth onto Greta’s neck, rendering her immediately hysterical.
Dylan pushed, blowing hard huffs of air through her nose and mouth against Greta’s skin.
Greta slapped wildly at her, screaming Dylan’s name, begging and pleading for her to stop.
Only then did Dylan mercifully pull back, watching Greta thrash for another moment before her flailing limbs finally stilled and her hysterical laughter began to subside.
‘Oh my God, you cannot do that!’ Greta yelled.
‘Who says I can’t!?’ Dylan replied defiantly. She moved threateningly slowly toward Greta’s neck again, making Greta clamp her limbs around Dylan and hold her chin tight against her collarbone. ‘You’re not the boss of me anymore.’
‘Don’t!’ Greta ordered sternly, before levelling her voice.
‘Dylan, no! Please,’ she whined. ‘I can’t cope with—’ The high-pitched word ‘it’ flew from her mouth as Dylan playfully buried herself back into Greta’s neck, forcing her mouth to the impossibly ticklish spot.
‘Dylan, please, I can’t!’ Greta was lost to her mounting hysteria.
Dylan pulled away, laughing loudly. She widened her eyes and puffed out her cheeks, before kissing the tip of Greta’s nose. ‘That’s good to know, for when I need to bring you in line. Remind y’all who’s the boss around here,’ Dylan joked, in a deep Southern American accent, for some absurd reason.
‘Oh, shut up and kiss me,’ Greta said with an eye roll.
Smile pressed against smile, they kissed.