Chapter 15 #3
Miller didn’t make her wait. She buried her face between Astoria’s legs, her tongue flat and firm against her clit, her fingers pressing inside without preamble. Astoria’s hands flew to her hair, her hips bucking up against her mouth. “Fuck… Just like that.”
Miller hummed in response, the vibration making Astoria’s thighs clamp around her head.
She worked her fingers in deep, curling them just right, her free hand reaching up to twist Astoria’s nipple.
The sound Astoria made was half-moan, half-growl, her body tensing as she came with a broken cry, her pussy pulsing around Miller’s fingers.
Miller didn’t let up, licking her way through it, savoring the way Astoria’s thighs trembled and her breath came in ragged gasps. Only when Astoria’s hands gentled in her hair, pushing her back with a weak, “Okay, okay,” did she pull away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Astoria was a mess—hair wild, lips swollen, skin flushed—and Miller had never seen anything more beautiful.
But then Astoria smirked, crooking a finger at her. “Get up here.”
Miller raised an eyebrow but obeyed, straddling Astoria’s face without hesitation. Astoria’s hands gripped her ass, pulling her down, and then her tongue was back where Miller needed it most, hot and flat against her clit.
The sensation was immediate. Astoria’s mouth devoured her, sucking her clit while Miller rocked gently.
Hands on the headboard for balance, Miller ground down, the wet heat of Astoria’s tongue driving her wild.
Then the vibrator hummed against her ass, not penetrating but just the tip pressing along her cheek, the vibrations traveling straight to her core.
“Fuck, that’s…” Miller couldn’t finish, her pleasure spiking as Astoria worked the toy lower, circling her entrance before sliding in it shallowly, the curve hitting her g-spot directly.
Astoria’s tongue never stopped lapping her clit, the dual sensations making Miller’s thighs quake.
She rode it harder, the room filling with her loud moans.
The orgasm built fast and intense, crashing over her as she came on Astoria’s face, her pussy clenching around the vibrator.
They collapsed together, spent and sticky, the vibrator forgotten on the sheets. Miller grabbed it later, cleaning it with a tissue from the nightstand, a lazy smile on her as Astoria watched.
Afterward, they lay in the dim light, their bare legs intertwined, Miller’s head on Astoria’s chest. She could hear Astoria’s heartbeat, a steady and slow rhythm, and she let herself drift in the comfort of it.
Her fingers traced idle paths across Astoria’s skin—over the jut of her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her arm. She paused when she felt it: a small raised line just below Astoria’s shoulder blade, barely noticeable unless you were looking. A scar, old and faded, it seemed.
Miller’s thumb brushed gently over it. She wanted to ask, how did you get this, what happened, who hurt you? But something held her back. The question felt too big for this quiet moment, too heavy for the fragile peace they’d built.
Instead, she pressed a kiss to Astoria’s shoulder, just above the scar, and felt Astoria’s arm tighten around her.
“Stay a little longer,” Astoria said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
They lay there until the clock on the nightstand blinked past eleven-thirty.
Eventually, reluctantly, they untangled themselves and began the familiar ritual of returning to the outside world.
Clothes were retrieved from where they’d been haphazardly scattered, and hair was finger-combed into something almost presentable.
At the door, they kissed goodbye—longer than they should have, softer than Miller expected. When she finally pulled away, Astoria's hand lingered on her wrist.
“Saturday was good,” Astoria said quietly. “The talking part, I mean. Not just…”
“I know what you mean.” Miller smiled. “It was good for me too.”
She made herself leave before she could change her mind about leaving at all.
The drive home was quiet. Miller left the radio off and the window cracked, the night air cool against her face.
Her mind kept circling back to the hotel room—not the sex, though that had been intense in a different way tonight.
The conversation. The wine. The way Astoria had asked “tell me something” like she actually wanted to know.
The scar Miller hadn’t asked about, but the story she suddenly, desperately wanted to hear.
Something had shifted tonight, something in how it felt. She wanted to stay and talk. She wanted to hear about Astoria’s day, her week, her life. She wanted to know the story behind that scar and why she tensed whenever her phone buzzed.
That wasn’t casual. Miller knew that, had known it since maybe the second or third time they’d met and she’d caught herself counting down the hours until she could see Astoria again.
This was supposed to be light and casual, desire, self-exploration, the release of months of tension finally allowed. It was supposed to be physical, intense, and temporary.
But it didn’t feel temporary.
Miller pulled into her parking spot and sat in the dark. The professional risks hadn’t changed. Rachel could find out, the firm could question her judgment, Valerie was already suspicious, everything she’d worked for could unravel.
She should end it, but she knew she wasn’t going to.
Because somewhere in the last week, between the stolen hotel rooms and the cautious scheduling and the intensity that hadn't faded, Miller had started feeling something more than desire. It was more than physical, more than just attraction, and Miller couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the start of something real. Probably reckless, definitely worth it.