Chapter 20 Second Window #2
Simone took the coaching, which a month ago would have been unthinkable, the woman who designated everything letting a smaller woman set her pace, and the surrender of it showed on her face.
She rode me the way Yuki conducted her, deep and slow and patient, grinding my cock against the deep place inside her on every down-stroke, Yuki’s small breasts pressed to her back and Yuki’s hands on her hips and my hands gripping the heavy sway of hers, and she came the first time fully seated, her cunt clamping down hard around me, a long shaking executive decision of a finish, her head falling back onto Yuki’s shoulder, Yuki murmuring “there, that’s the one, I have it logged” into her ear, low and certain.
Then it was Yuki’s turn, and Simone, spent and loose-limbed and generous with it, was the one who arranged it, drew Yuki up the bed and laid her back against the pillows and held her hand and watched with open admiration while I settled between the small nurse’s thighs and took her apart with my mouth, dragging my tongue through her tight little cunt and sucking her clit while two fingers worked into her.
Yuki’s thighs went over my shoulders, the size of her against me a note I never tired of, and Simone’s fingers laced through hers and held on, and Yuki’s data-voice tried to hold and then gave out from under her entirely, the readings and the latencies gone, nothing left to report and no steady way to report it, while a woman who’d known her a month watched her come undone and squeezed her hand through it and said, low and certain, “There. Good. Let it go, I’ve got you,” like she’d been doing it for years.
Yuki came against my mouth shaking, her cunt clenching around my fingers, both her hands crushing Simone’s, her back arching off the pillows, unguarded in front of someone for the second time in her life and getting braver about it.
And then the prescription. The reason the house had gone quiet and careful since dawn.
Simone on her back, where the night had aimed from the start, her ankles locked at the small of my back, drawing my cock deep, the breeding mantra rising in her mouth, the boardroom voice gone all the way to raw want.
I drove into her slow and deep, the way Yuki had coached, each stroke bottoming out against the soft end of her, and she met every one and chanted for the next.
“Give it to me,” she breathed, “all of it, deep, breed me, put it in me, I want it to take, this time, I want it to take, fill me up, please…”
“Take delivery,” I told her, low, in her own idiom. “Every drop, deep where it counts, and nothing left standing on the dock tonight. You signed for this window. Now you hold what’s yours and you keep it. The chart says tonight.”
“The chart says tonight,” she repeated, like a vow, her eyes wet and locked on mine.
And Yuki, the chart-keeper, the woman who scheduled every beginning in the building and had spent her life standing outside the glass of them, knelt up beside them and pressed her small palm flat against Simone’s lower belly, over the place the window had opened, and held it there as I drove home, warm and steady, a clinical gesture turned into a benediction, the keeper of the schedule blessing the outcome with her own hand.
“Here,” she murmured, to both of us, her even voice gone soft. “Right here. Give it to her here.”
I emptied into Simone deep, jerking through every spurt as I gave her all of it, held there, grinding the last of it as far as it would go, and she sobbed her thanks as she had the first time, her ankles locking to keep me planted and nothing of it lost, her body bowing up to take it.
And Yuki’s palm stayed flat on her belly through all of it, feeling me pump into her friend, two kink lanes superimposed in one image, breeding solemnity and clinical corruption pressed flat against the future, the room ringing with the sound of it.
We tangled together after, the three of us, breathing, the fire low.
And Simone, post-storm honest, undefended in a way she’d have filed as a liability a month ago, turned to Yuki and said the thing that destroyed her.
“If it takes,” Simone said, quiet, certain, “you’re the first call. Before my mother. Before my board. You’re the one who told me the dice land. You’ll be the first to know which way they fell.” She said it the way she signed things, meaning it entirely. “First call, Yuki.”
Yuki, who had no protocol for being chosen like that, who had spent her life scheduling other people’s first calls and never once been anyone’s, made a small broken sound and hid her face in my shoulder and, for the first time in her professional life, charted absolutely nothing.
I put a pillow under Simone’s hips without being asked.
“The data says it helps,” all three of us said, more or less at once, the joke that had started as one person’s a three-person liturgy now. We laughed in the dark. The two-week clock started over, and somewhere below us the house began again to count.
I left them both there near dawn, Yuki small and asleep against Simone’s side, Simone’s hand resting on her own belly, and walked back down the corridor toward the stairs.
A door clicked, somewhere ahead, at the junction where the corridors meet and the acoustics carry.
Eva. In the house robe, worn wrong, worn like a costume, standing exactly where a person stands if they want to hear what travels down a hall at night. Her bright hazel eyes finding me in the dimness, her charming face already arranging an excuse about getting lost on the way to the pool.
And leaning against the wall a meter from her, arms folded, having clearly been there from the start, was Poppy. Smiling the smile she kept for people she’d already beaten, the one with no warmth in it at all.
“Lost, Frau Maier?” Poppy said, pleasant as poison.
“Pool’s the other way. Has been all season.
” She pushed off the wall and held out an arm, ushering, herding, the air-traffic controller back at her post. “Let me walk you. These corridors are a maze at night. You’d be amazed what a person could wander into. ”
The two women looked at each other for a long moment in the dark hallway, taking each other’s measure, two professionals who had just, under the smiles, declared war.