14. What do you need? #3
‘Of course,’ Greta replied softly, twisting the cap off her bottle and taking a swig.
Dylan moved the stale toast and cold tea from the bedside table, her hands and body never still. ‘Can I get you some food? You must be starving.’
‘No, I’m okay, thank you.’ Greta put her water down on the cabinet and looked at the woman who hadn't stopped moving since she’d walked back into the room. ‘Come here.’
After placing the monitor beside the iPad, Dylan dimmed the screen and volume as much as possible while ensuring she could still see and hear her mum’s room. She climbed onto the mattress, kneeling to face Greta.
Resting back on her heels Dylan canted her head.
‘You look so pretty,’ she said softly. Greta felt a flush of warmth creep over her cheeks.
To be called pretty—at her age, after the week she’d had—felt alien and an untruth.
She opened her mouth to protest, but obviously sensing a rebuttal, Dylan surged forward and silenced her with a kiss.
‘Priya said so too…’ Dylan smirked. ‘So it must objectively be true.’
Pressing her hands into the bed for balance, Dylan leaned closer, capturing Greta’s lips again.
Their mouths stayed pressed together as Dylan breathed in, slow and deep, as if memorising every note of her scent.
When she finally pulled away, she didn't go far; she dragged her gaze over Greta’s face, seemingly unable to get enough of her, before resting her eyes on Greta’s lips.
‘This fucking mouth, Greta.’
Playfully holding her lips just out of Dylan’s reach, Greta pointed to her own smile. ‘This mouth?’ she asked, her tone innocent.
‘This’—Dylan started, punctuating the word with a soft, lingering kiss—‘incredible.’ She caught Greta’s bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently until Greta let out a low whimper. ‘Mouth.’
They kissed as Greta shimmied down the pillows and Dylan lay on top of her.
Thighs slotted together, they kissed each other, knowing there was an irrefutable connection between them that neither of them could fight.
It was futile. Utterly pointless and they had both succumbed to the power of it.
As Dylan’s weight pressed Greta into the mattress, the world outside and every single thing in it faded away.
The intensity of their kissing deepened, not fast or hard, but a slow, penetrating sensuality.
It felt like a conversation they’d been waiting—and desperately needing—to have for months.
Dylan began to undress Greta, seeming to savour every moment of the slow reveal.
Greta could feel Dylan taking her time, her eyes mapping every inch of skin as it was exposed, tracing her body as though she were entirely new, yet with the deep reverence of someone who had memorised the lines and curves of her body every week for the last two years.
Dylan moved over Greta as if she had a quiet, new focus, her mouth and hands becoming tools of supplication.
It felt like more than just desire; it felt like worship.
Meeting her with an equally aching hunger, Greta thoughtfully undressed Dylan; her hands roaming every inch of her, feeling and appreciating the flex and extension of the taut muscles shifting under Dylan’s tattooed skin.
They pressed their bodies together, chest to chest, belly to belly.
They allowed the exchange of their heat, sweat, and desire to flow between them.
With Dylan lying on her back and their kisses still unbroken, Greta straddled her thigh, beginning a slow, deliberate grind while her other leg pressed firmly between Dylan’s.
The contact was woefully insufficient for the passion building between them, the need for release inching ever closer.
Their moans stayed clenched and suppressed in their chests as their hips undulated in a desperate search for enough pressure to satisfy the ache building between them.
When Dylan tried to pull herself up, Greta flattened her palms against her chest and eased her back onto the mattress.
Hungry hands traced the lines of Dylan’s body before Greta shifted to straddle her hips fully.
Brushing her mouth against the shell of Dylan’s ear, Greta said softly, ‘Do you have your strapless dildo?’
She pulled back just enough to see Dylan’s eyes widen at the whispered question.
‘I do, yeah.’
‘I don’t want to demand anything, Dylan, but— ’
‘It’s in there,’ Dylan interrupted eagerly, flicking her head toward the bedside cabinet.
Leaning across Dylan, Greta stretched toward the drawer, very aware of Dylan's eyes tracing her movement from below; and loving every second of it.
With the black strapless dildo and the lube in her hand, Greta pushed them beneath the pillow beside Dylan’s head with purposeful focus before climbing off her and settling between her thighs, gently nudging them wider with her knees.
She paused, letting her gaze linger as she openly admired the parts of Dylan she’d never allowed herself to until the night before.
It was an omission she silently chided herself for; a two-year mistake she could finally put right.
Propped on her elbows, Dylan watched Greta take her in.
‘You’re so fucking wet,’ Greta rasped.
As Dylan dropped back onto the bed, Greta gathered her arousal on the tips of her fingers before moving over her.
Two soaked fingers slipped into their kiss as their mouths met, making Dylan’s eyes roll.
Pressing her lips to Greta’s fingers, their tongues twisted together, both of them tasting her before Greta drew her fingers into her own mouth to suck them clean.
The moan that tore from Dylan’s throat came from somewhere deeply carnal, both hands balled into fists, twisting the sheet.
Sliding her hand under the pillow, Greta made her way back down Dylan’s body, placing kisses over her, licking and biting her firm skin, while dragging the dildo and lube firmly clasped in her hand.
Dylan looked down the length of her body as Greta dipped lower, dragging her nipple over Dylan’s slick labia, feeling her clit pulse briefly against the dark flesh.
Pushing into Dylan, she moved with an agonisingly light pressure that smeared Dylan’s wetness over her breast.
‘Holy fuck,’ Dylan breathed, the words breaking as she threw an arm over her eyes, as if almost unable to handle the sheer strength of the desire thrumming in her veins.
Kneeling between Dylan’s legs, Greta moved the short end of the dildo through her wetness, coating the silicone before gently teasing her.
She swirled it over her, dipping just inside to test her resistance.
Bitten-back whimpers slipped from Dylan’s mouth as her pelvis thrust upwards, urging Greta to push deeper.
Unable to tear her eyes from the insistent movement of her own hips, Dylan’s arm fell back to the bed.
Greta watched every flicker of her expression as she slowly pushed the dildo inside, leaving the main shaft protruding for her.
Dylan watched, breathless, as Greta squeezed lube onto her palm and ran her hand down the length of the dildo.
Reaching down between her own thighs, Greta mixed the slick synthetic with her own wetness before unceremoniously wiping her hand on the bed sheet.
When she climbed back up Dylan’s body to straddle her belly, there was a heavy-lidded look of want in Dylan’s eyes that Greta had never seen before.
It was a look she wanted to chase again and again.
They kissed, the anticipation of the next few seconds sizzling between them.
Dylan’s eyes remained fixed on Greta’s face as her hands came up to Greta’s waist, guiding her back.
Slowly, steadily, Greta began to lower herself onto the dildo, pushing it further into Dylan.
Pausing to acclimate, she gripped Dylan’s forearms, moving and stretching for her while she was still only inches inside.
Then, in one fluid, determined motion, Greta pushed herself the rest of the way down, taking the full length of the dildo.
She rose slightly for a moment before slowly dropping back down onto Dylan’s pelvis.
Greta’s head dropped forward, her mouth sliding open with a sharp gasp at the sudden, exquisite fullness.
‘Fuuuck,’ Dylan moaned, her head pushing into the pillow as their connection was complete.
With her hands braced against the firm heat of Dylan’s belly, Greta began to move.
Rocking back and forth, rolling her hips, stretching and pushing from side to side, desperate to draw even more of Dylan into her, though she was already totally filled.
Their moans were stifled, clenched tight behind teeth, but the sound was deep and guttural, vibrating through their chests and bellies.
Leaning back, Greta let Dylan’s hands take her weight at her waist. She began to swing her hips in a slow, hypnotic arc, as Dylan let out a sharp, broken whimper, her head falling to the side as her eyes rolled shut.
As Greta’s pelvis undulated, Dylan met her, pushing her hips upward with a matched, agonisingly slow force.
It was far removed from the clinically controlled orgasm Margot would have demanded after their sub/domme roles had played out.
This was a steady, relentless grind, each movement wringing every possible drop of pleasure from their connection.
‘Fucking hell,’ Greta moaned, her voice breaking as a shift in Dylan’s hips angled the dildo perfectly, driving the pressure against her G-spot.
Dylan’s firm hands were back on her waist, controlling the speed and force. ‘Take your hair down,’ she commanded softly.