Chapter 38
The door closes and Taylor turns on the light, but she doesn’t pounce on Abigail the way the executive expected.
She just stands there, looking at her with those wide almond eyes that now reflect her desire in a different way.
Abigail stays by the entrance, unable to make the first move because she’s afraid of messing up if she goes to Taylor.
Maybe the singer really does need to talk first and she…
"Come here," Taylor says, never taking her eyes off her.
Abigail stays still while she watches her for a moment.
She doesn’t take orders—she’s used to giving them—but she decides to move toward her very slowly until she stops in front of the singer.
Taylor lifts both hands and strokes her face with a tenderness that leaves the executive completely disconcerted.
First she runs her fingers along her jaw, tracing the entire line of her sharp profile, then she slides up to her temples and into her hair.
"Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to do this?" Taylor asks, mussing her hair as her fingers keep moving. "Touch you for no reason, just because I can."
Abigail’s mouth opens to say something, but the words don’t come. Taylor kisses her, without the urgency both of them seemed to have seconds ago in the hallway. Their tongues meet calmly, their teeth don’t clash, and Taylor sucks her bottom lip without biting it while she unzips her dress.
"Take it off for me," Taylor murmurs against her mouth. "Take your time."
Abigail steps back, holding Taylor’s gaze as she crosses her arms over her shoulders and pulls the dress out to the sides to slide it down her body until it falls to the floor. Taylor swallows and moves in again, kissing first her collarbone and then her shoulder.
"You’re so fucking unattainable," she whispers against her skin while Abigail stays completely frozen, "that sometimes I think you’re only in my head."
Abigail brings her hands up and buries them in Taylor’s mane as the singer unhooks her bra and cups Abigail’s full breasts, feeling their weight in her palms. Taylor sighs and looks her in the eye.
Abigail’s whole body trembles—it’s a strange shaking, a vibration she can’t control, but it won’t stop her either.
"Are you okay?" Taylor asks when she notices.
The question throws Abigail, who isn’t used to anyone caring about her well-being during sex.
"Yeah," she answers hoarsely.
Taylor takes her by the hand and leads her to the bedroom, straight to the bed, but when they reach the edge, it’s Abigail who stops her.
"Wait," she orders, with that dry, authoritative tone so typical of her. "I want to look at you."
Now she’s the one who grabs the hem of Taylor’s blouse and pulls it up, lifting it slowly while she memorizes every expression on the singer’s face.
When the fabric is gone, Abigail pauses and takes her in.
Her small breasts, her olive skin contrasting with Abigail’s paleness, and Taylor’s ragged breathing that makes her chest rise and fall too fast.
"You turn me on so damn much when you look at me like that," Taylor blurts.
"How am I looking at you?" Abigail asks.
"Like it’s the first time you’ve seen me naked."
"You’re not naked yet. Take it all off," she orders, and her words hit Taylor like a flash.
The singer obeys, rushed and a little clumsy, left completely naked in front of Abigail in a matter of seconds.
"I’m so horny, Abby," Taylor grows impatient.
The executive doesn’t tell her to shut up this time. Instead, she lays her down on the bed with a gentleness that surprises the singer and covers her with her body, bracing herself on her arms while she stares down at her.
"I want to feel all of you," Abigail says, very serious.
Taylor’s body jerks in a spasm beneath her, and Abigail starts to make good on her word. Her hands roam Taylor’s body unhurriedly, memorizing every curve. Her lips follow each caress, slicking her skin, kissing and licking with a slowness that makes Taylor writhe beneath her.
"Abby, please," Taylor pants, thinking Abigail has spent far too long kissing her breasts when she needs that attention somewhere else.
"Please what?" she snaps, her eyes now fully dark with desire as she fixes them on the singer’s trembling lips.
"Touch me now," Taylor begs, lifting her hips, "I’ll die if you don’t fuck me."
Abigail smiles, a little wicked, and slides a hand between her legs. Taylor is so wet she can feel it even before she touches her.
"Is this what you want?" she asks silkily, brushing her clit with two fingers.
Taylor moans and nods fervently.
"Yes, fuck, but harder."
"You’re so wet," Abigail whispers in her ear as if it were nothing but an observation.
Taylor jerks again against her hand, desperate.
"I’m always like this with you," she admits, putting a hand at her nape to pull her closer. "You make me like this."
Abigail slides those two fingers inside her, very slowly, feeling Taylor tighten around her as she moans into her mouth, but she doesn’t move—she just stays there, inside her, watching her expression.
"What are you doing?" Taylor blinks, voice uneven.
"I said I wanted to feel you."
The executive wants to add that she likes feeling her pulse against her out of pure need, but Taylor kisses her before she can, and Abigail begins to move her fingers with a rhythm that drives the singer crazy.
Abigail slides in and out of her calmly, curling at the exact moments, brushing her clit when Taylor needs it.
"You’re going to kill me, Abby," she pants, trembling against her hand as she digs her nails into Abigail’s arms.
That sting shoots through every nerve ending in Abigail. She feels a deep connection with Taylor every time she gives her that delicious pain, and she can’t explain it, but she likes it—just like when she bites her.
"Do you want me to stop?" she asks wickedly, abruptly stopping the movement of her hand.
Taylor’s eyes fly open and she looks at her, desperate.
"No, fuck, what are you doing?"
Abigail lowers her head, takes one of her nipples into her mouth, and resumes the motion of her fingers. The surprise makes Taylor cry out and buck, digging her nails in again.
"Like that. Fuck, yes," she murmurs with difficulty.
When Abigail feels Taylor is right there, she withdraws her fingers and moves down her body to settle between her legs.
She doesn’t torture her this time; her tongue goes straight to her swollen clit and licks it with perfect pressure that has the singer twisting the sheets and crossing her legs over Abigail’s back.
"I’m going to come," she says, voice breaking. "I’m coming in your fucking mouth, Abby."
Abigail still doesn’t understand why Taylor’s filthy, obscene mouth turns her on so much, but it does.
The executive looks up at her from below, those fully dark eyes locked on Taylor’s while her mouth keeps working.
That image sends Taylor past a limit she can’t endure, and she comes with a deep cry, trembling against Abigail’s mouth as one wave of pleasure after another rips through her until she’s completely boneless.
"Come here," Taylor asks, reaching out to grab Abigail’s arm.
The executive slowly slides up over her until they’re face-to-face. Taylor pulls her down and kisses her, chasing her own taste in Abigail’s mouth.
"Your turn," Taylor whispers against her swollen lips.
"You don’t have to," Abigail replies, suddenly feeling dizzy, like she doesn’t deserve it.
"Fuck, yes, I do," Taylor snaps with certainty.
The singer rolls her over and climbs on top, following a ritual similar to what Abigail did to her, and the executive offers no resistance. Taylor covers every inch of that pale skin with her hands, leaving damp trails until she reaches her neck and pauses.
"May I?" she asks softly, running a finger from the bottom of her ear to her collarbone.
They both know why Taylor asks permission when it’s something she’s never done and probably won’t do again. It’s a gesture that caused conflict between them—something that for Abigail was theirs alone but that Taylor gave to someone else too, without knowing it.
Abigail holds her gaze for a few seconds before nodding slowly, expectant, tense, and nervous at the idea of feeling her that way again.
Taylor leans in and sucks her, first gently, then with that intensity that gives the executive a sweet pain, and this time it’s Abigail who sinks her nails into Taylor’s skin.
"Mine," Taylor whispers against her neck when she pulls her lips away and looks at the reddish mark against all that white skin.
Abigail shivers. Hers. She doesn’t protest that claim of ownership, not even when Taylor does the same on her shoulder, then her collarbone, and finally moves back up to her neck and bites harder in another spot, while Abigail stays rigid and aroused at the same time.
Something cracks in Abigail’s neck just as Taylor is about to pull her mouth away.
It’s as if something inside her came loose, a soft click that sends a sharp lash of pain through her, stealing her breath, and Taylor feels it against her tongue and jerks back.
"Abby..." she says, scared, eyes wide.
Abigail smiles, but she knows she probably won’t be able to turn her head for days. Her body has been warning her for months with that neck pain—too much tension, too much load for someone who doesn’t know how to relax—has blown up as a muscle spasm.
"I’m fine," she says, caressing Taylor’s cheek.
The singer frowns, not quite understanding what’s going on.
"Please, keep going," Abigail asks, suddenly feeling calmer.
Taylor wets her lips, gives her a smile, and slides a hand between her legs while her mouth drops to one of her nipples.
"Is all this wetness because of me too?" she asks, moving her fingers along Abigail’s opening, who exhales a long sigh of pleasure.
"It’s always because of you," she admits hoarsely, and Taylor slides into her with the same slowness Abigail used on her.