Springwell Creeks #2
Their body tensed, breath turning ragged and uneven as they chased their own release, grinding for every inch of pressure from the strap and closeness from Safi’s thick body.
Each thrust landed with the sharp slap of skin against skin, timed with the moans tumbling from Safi’s lips.
With a few last pumps, they clung to Safi and shuddered, release crashing through them like a wave.
Their whole body unraveled with a trembling moan and they collapsed on top of her, their breath a featherlight tickle against her skin.
For a moment, the two of them were tangled together in the aftershocks. Both were breathless and boneless, neither willing to let go of the moment.
Safi let herself drift, her world reduced to the weight of Marielle, the slick heat between her thighs and the unhurried thud of her heart against the mattress.
As the room slowly came into focus, Safi’s eyes traced the arm curled around her. The light through the curtains caught on Marielle’s dark brown skin, a deep-burnished bronze with copper undertones, like polished wood left out in the sun.
At last, Marielle shifted, pressing an open-mouthed kiss between Safi’s shoulder blades before rolling to the side with a spent, satisfied groan. They didn’t go far, just enough to untangle their limbs, their thigh still resting heavy over Safi’s.
“You’re going to ruin me for anyone else.” Marielle’s voice was muffled against the pillow, still thick with a lazy grin. “I might never walk straight again.”
Safi snorted, delight creeping into her exhaustion. “You’re welcome. Consider it my Christmas charity.”
Marielle reached to slide their palm up Safi’s body, tracing the dip of her spine and the rolls at her waist with a tender touch. Marielle skimmed their fingers over the ink on Safi’s ribs, sending another shiver through her. “I never get tired of touching you…”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental on me now,” Safi teased, rolling onto her side to face them, sweat-streaked hair clinging to her cheek.
Marielle lay sprawled on the rumpled sheets, their bare skin showing every brush and nip from Safi’s mouth.
A constellation of damp, shining places where lips and teeth had lingered.
Their face, usually so composed, was still soft from sex, strong jaw relaxed, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and shining.
“Who, me? I just like to admire my handiwork. And maybe enjoy the view while I can.” Marielle grinned wickedly, eyes trailing deliberately down Safi’s body, lips parted with appreciation.
Safi watched them, and for a moment she wished—pointlessly—that this was enough, that desire could rearrange itself into something more.
But what she felt for Marielle was hunger, not promise.
A good time, not a home. And the ache that pulsed under her ribs was older and deeper, shaped by memories of another night and another body entirely.
Christmas Eve. Of course the night that changed everything had to be one she couldn’t forget even if she tried.
That night would always feel raw, no matter how Safi braced herself.
It was the echo of a night decades ago, and a first time that had felt like the beginning of anything they dared dream of.
Safi tried to smother the sudden swell of emotions in her chest, busying herself with gathering the sheets over her breasts. “You can look all you want, as long as you don’t start writing poetry about it.”
Marielle leaned in, nuzzling Safi’s jaw with affection and heat. “No poetry, promise. But I could be convinced to write a very filthy thank-you card.”
Safi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away when Marielle pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her lips that tasted of salt, skin, and her own lingering heat. For a few heartbeats, Safi allowed it. Allowed herself to be kissed and touched. To be wanted in the afterglow.
Marielle eased away, thumb tracing the hollow beneath Safi’s collarbone, right where something in her always felt faintly…absent. Their grin gentled, eyes lingering with an emotion dangerously close to affection. “So, are you sneaking out soon, or can I tempt you to stay a little longer?”
Safi shrugged. Sticking around after sex wasn’t exactly what she’d call her strong suit. In fact, she avoided it all together. “Alas, Tala wore me down. Apparently in Springwell, not bringing food to the potluck is considered a felony. I promised I’d show up with something edible.”
Marielle’s mouth curved, eyes glinting wicked. “Mmm, you definitely have something I love to eat.” Their fingers dug into Safi’s hips, pulling scandalized laughter from her as she drew Safi closer. Their mouths collided in a kiss that was slow but greedy.
Safi tried to protest—something dry about potlucks and charity—but the words disappeared as Marielle pushed her deeper into the pillows.
Safi melted, her resistance crumbling under the weight of Marielle’s mouth and hands—until Marielle broke away, breath ghosting over Safi’s jaw.
“I always loved a girl who can cook.”
Loved. The word landed like a slap. Safi went still, pulse stuttering.
Suddenly every touch felt dangerous. Every small, ordinary thing edged with the threat of permanence.
The warmth between them went electric and prickly, all that closeness suddenly too much and too soon.
Panic bloomed in her chest. She tried to cover it with a laugh that sounded sharp and high-pitched to her ears.
“That’s the kind of talk that gets a girl to run out of town, you know. ”
Marielle kissed her jaw once more, then raised themself onto their hands and looked down at Safi.
They smiled, a little softer now, and tucked a stray curl behind Safi’s ear.
“What if instead of skipping town, you stayed tonight? My family’s driving up tomorrow, but…
I put a toothbrush out for you. In the bathroom. Just in case.”
The intimacy of it—the toothbrush and the casual hope—unraveled her faster than anything else. Her chest went tight, nerves jangling. She felt too naked. Too known. The urge to bolt surged up, sharp and physical.
She laughed again, a brittle sound, and pressed her palm to Marielle’s chest. Her golden brown hand was paler than their darker and richer skin, and she tried to not look at the abs she’d licked her way down earlier. Gently but firmly she pushed them into the nest of pillows and sheets.
“Fuck, I really, I have to go,” she said, already sliding from under the covers with practiced ease. “If I don’t bring that food for the potluck, Tala will send out a search party. And you know they’ll actually do it in Springwell.”
Marielle reached for her with a lazy grin, but Safi was already out of reach, hunting for her underwear and jeans on the floor.
“I don’t know,” Marielle called after her, voice warm and playful, “I think it might do the town some good to find us like this. Give them something to talk about all year.”
“As much as I love a good scandal, I’d rather not become the town’s favorite bedtime story.”
Marielle watched her, understanding flickering in their eyes, but didn’t push. “You sure? You could stay. I make a mean hot chocolate.”
Safi shook her head, her hands steady even as her heart hammered.
“Tempting, but no. If you ever want to see me alive again, you’ll let me get to that potluck.
” She lifted one heavy breast into one cup after the other, snapped her bra, tugged her sweater over her head, jammed her boots over bare feet.
She was already half-dressed by the time the last word left her mouth.
Her pulse thundered as she fished her phone from the mess of sheets, tucking it into her jacket pocket like she might need a getaway car. She wanted to be gone before the hope in Marielle’s eyes curdled into hurt.
Damn it. This was why she shouldn’t have fucked with Marielle.
Marielle wasn’t a tourist. Tourists were easy.
They were temporary. They came, they left, they forgot her.
But Marielle lived here. Marielle had roots in Springwell.
They asked about her shop, about her mom, and now, if Safi wanted to stay the night.
They wanted more than heat and borrowed bodies and Safi’s chest tightened at the thought.
Sleeping with them had already been a mistake.
Letting it happen more than once had been worse.
And now the toothbrush.
She pressed a light, careless kiss to Marielle’s cheek “Merry Christmas, troublemaker.”
“Text me,” Marielle said, their tone hopeful.
“Yeah,” Safi replied.
She fled from the apartment into the stairwell and took them two at a time with her heart racing, desperate to be outside where the sky could breathe for her. When her feet hit the ground floor, she burst onto the street like she was running from a fire. Maybe, in some ways, she was.
The cold hit her like a brick wall, stealing the last of Marielle’s heat from her skin.
Winter nipped at her cheeks, but she welcomed the pinching cold, which was nothing like the warmth of tangled sheets or the sweet burn of Marielle’s mouth.
She wrapped her coat tight, pressed her gloved hands into her pockets, and drew in a lungful of air that smelled of pine, woodsmoke, and the ghost of someone baking cinnamon rolls. No doubt Julie at Treats & Tarts.
The street was buried beneath a thick layer of fresh snow, and her boots crunched as she made her way toward Main Street, the only road that cut through the center of the small mountain town.