Chapter 6 #2
Taylor does a one-eighty and pins Abigail with her dark gaze.
"So, Mrs. Stone—that’s sexy..."
"Shut up. Good night, Harold," she says, heading down the hall.
In the elevator—if you can call that small, narrow contraption an elevator; Abigail would call it a freight elevator—Taylor can’t keep her hands still. Her fingers graze Abigail’s arm and toy with the hem of her dress while she sighs against her shoulder.
"Can you keep still?" Abigail says, taut as a bowstring.
"Honestly? No. I can’t wait to get your dress off," she confesses.
Abigail groans.
They step into the hall and reach the room door, but before Abigail can open it, Taylor pushes her against the wall, kissing her again with the same desperation she showed in the bar’s patio.
"The room," Abigail manages in an authoritative voice.
Taylor smiles and steps back, letting her finally open the door. Inside, it’s dim, lit only by the light coming in through the window. Taylor puts a hand on the switch but, instead of the overhead, she turns on the bedside lamp to create a warmer atmosphere.
"Much better," she says, satisfied, moving toward Abigail like a wild cat.
This time it’s Abigail who kisses her, yanking her close with possessiveness after her hands tangle in Taylor’s wavy hair.
Taylor sighs against her mouth and Abigail gives a little tug on her hair, pulling her from her lips for a second to look her in the eyes, making it clear she’s the one in charge.
"This dress," Taylor whispers when Abigail lets her go, pushing it up to her waist as she scatters kisses along her neck, "is fucking torture. You were sitting there in it, perfect and out of reach," she keeps murmuring.
Her teeth sink into Abigail’s neck, just below her ear, biting gently. Abigail moans without meaning to, the sound escaping before she can stop it.
"You like it when I bite you," Taylor says, and she isn’t asking.
"Shut up," Abigail demands again.
Taylor smiles against her skin, making it pebble.
"Make me," she says, challenging her.
Abigail’s gray-green eyes narrow and Taylor sees those tiny flecks of gold in them again, the ones she finds fascinating.
The executive pushes her back until Taylor hits the desk and, without warning, Abigail lifts her shirt, finding yet another lace bra while she holds the shirt against Taylor’s throat with utter dominance.
"You’re so pretty," Abigail murmurs, looking her up and down.
She surprises herself again by saying it out loud, but it’s simply a fact—Taylor is gorgeous.
"You too," Taylor replies, staring at her. "Let me take off this fucking dress, please."
Abigail lets her go and steps back. Immediately, Taylor’s hands are on the zipper, easing it down with a slowness that’s making Abigail sick.
The dress finally drops to the floor and Taylor takes a couple of steps back to look at her with that unapologetic boldness.
Abigail is in yet another new set, of course.
"Fuck," Taylor whispers, "you’re perfect."
She steps in again and slides her hands down Abigail’s sides until she cups her breasts and strokes them over the bra. Abigail arches her back, seeking contact—or maybe her mouth; she doesn’t even know. Taylor notices and smiles, holding her by the waist as she watches her closely.
"Remember what I told you out on the patio?" Taylor asks.
If Taylor has self-confidence, Abigail overflows with it—and she has an excellent memory, too.
"Something about fucking me on a table," she answers evenly, even though her panties are soaked.
Taylor’s gaze shifts to the desk. Abigail shoves her laptop aside and, before she knows it, Taylor has lifted her and she’s seated on the table while the waitress slips between her legs, making space for her to open as she strokes the inside of her thighs.
"You’re trembling," Taylor says against her mouth.
"I’m not trembling," Abigail lies, feeling like she’s lost control of the whole lower half of her body.
Taylor sighs and bends, kissing her collarbone before moving down toward her breasts.
"I love your tits, sweetheart," she murmurs, unclasping the bra.
Abigail huffs, but she’s so turned on she isn’t sure her voice will work if she asks her to shut up and save those pet names for everyone else.
Instead, she tips her head back and lets out a rough, pleased sigh while Taylor keeps moving lower, now kissing her stomach and nipping the skin at her hips until she finds her panties.
"Can I?" she asks, tugging at them.
"Now you ask permission?" Abigail replies, surprised.
She shrugs and flashes a smile that warms Abigail’s entire body.
"You can."
The panties disappear, her legs fall wider, and Taylor’s tongue slides through her. Abigail grips the edge of the desk and squeezes, crossing her legs at Taylor’s back.
"You taste so good," Taylor murmurs. "I could eat your pussy for hours."
Abigail presses her head to her sex to silence her, but she nearly comes at the sheer filth of it. She moves against her mouth and the sighs spill out of her one after another; she feels possessed, demanding that the tongue that was singing and blowing her mind earlier now lick her until she comes.
"That’s it," Taylor murmurs. "Let go. I love the way you move. Are you going to come?"
Taylor looks up at her from below. Abigail can only see her almond eyes while her mouth is on her, consuming her, taking something from her she isn’t sure she’ll ever get back.
The orgasm hits her suddenly, like a wave you don’t see coming that knocks you flat and shakes your whole body.
Abigail arches and presses Taylor’s head to her one more time, thinking the spasms are going to split her in two, until she goes still all at once, exhaling hard as she loosens her grip on her hair.
"You’re so sexy when you come," Taylor murmurs, kissing her torso as she straightens.
Abigail goes still, wondering if it’s true or if it’s just another line from the repertoire Taylor uses on all her lovers.
"Come here," she says, trying to kiss her, but Taylor stops her.
"I’m not done with you."
Abigail’s eyebrow arches, but before she can say anything, Taylor turns her around, pressing the executive’s back to her chest. Her hands start to roam Abigail’s body from behind, one moving to her right breast while the other slides between her legs.
"Can you take another?" she asks, her warm breath skimming Abigail’s neck, raising every pore in its wake.
Her mind stutters for an instant; she still can’t believe they’re here again.
How long has it been since they fucked this afternoon?
Four hours? Five? Abigail hasn’t even processed it; she’s never been in a situation like this before, where she’s fucked twice in the same day with the same woman, and even less without having planned either time.
"Sure," she answers, half annoyed by the question and half aroused by the situation.
Taylor smiles against her neck and, right after, sinks her teeth into her back, right between her shoulder blades.
Abigail jumps and tenses, but Taylor doesn’t ease up and sucks hard while her fingers circle Abigail’s swollen clit.
She knows she’s giving her another hickey, another mark, branding her like she’s hers, but Abigail can’t bring herself to protest because she’s discovering that yes, she likes it when Taylor bites her—and she likes it even more when she’s fucking her at the same time.
"Don’t stop," she pants, rocking her hips against Taylor’s hand.
She finishes sucking her skin, kisses her shoulder, and keeps masturbating her.
"That’s it, baby," Taylor whispers. "I love it when you tell me what you want."
"I told you not to call me that."
"Tell me your name." Taylor speeds up.
"No." Abigail trembles and can barely control the sighs that escape her mouth.
"Then I’ll keep calling you whatever I want, and it won’t be Mrs. Stone—not while I’m fucking you."
Something bursts inside Abigail; she comes so hard she tips to the side and Taylor has to steady her with her other hand while whispering all kinds of obscenities in her ear, until her body loosens and Abigail manages to catch her breath.
When they finally separate, Abigail turns to look at Taylor. Her hair is mussed, her lips swollen, and she’s wearing a satisfied smile.
"Take off your pants," Abigail asks.
"No," Taylor says, stepping back with a smile.
Abigail looks at her, thrown.
"Maybe another time—this was for you," Taylor says.
"What?" Abigail asks, almost catatonic.
Something shifts in Taylor’s gaze; it becomes clearer, less wild.
"So you won’t forget me when you leave," she says with a shrug. "I want you to remember me."
Abigail doesn’t understand any of it. She doesn’t know what to say or how to act. She isn’t used to this; it’s never happened to her. In every arena of her life, everyone wants something from her. But she knows one thing: there’s no way she’ll forget her, though she doesn’t plan to say it.
"That’s not necessary, you don’t—"
"Please," Taylor says.
"Whatever you want," she says, doing the only thing she knows—being an ice queen. "Do you want me to take you home?"
Taylor lets out a little laugh. She figured the woman would ask her to leave; she just didn’t know how or when.
"Don’t worry, I live close," Taylor replies, with no trace of offense in her tone.
"About the conversation," Abigail says when Taylor approaches the door. "I’m serious. I want to talk to you tomorrow."
"Okay," Taylor says. "How about lunch?"
"Yes, but not at Davey’s," Abigail replies.
Taylor narrows her eyes. Abigail’s still naked, but it’s obvious she isn’t uncomfortable. Neither is Taylor; she could look at her for hours.
"Got something against my parents’ restaurant?" she asks, amused.
"It’s your parents’?" Abigail replies, arching a brow, though now she understands why both siblings work there.
"Yeah, but I know another place that’s good. Want me to pick you up at twelve?" Taylor suggests.
"Alright."
"Good, good night," Taylor says, leaving the room.
Abigail stands still for a few seconds, staring at the door as she reaches a hand around to the middle of her back, right where Taylor bit her. It stings and, somehow, it makes her feel more alive than ever.