5. The Day Before #3
"Oh god—" Margot's voice didn't sound like her own. "Right there, don't stop—"
Becca didn't stop. She doubled down, adding fingers, one at first, then two when Margot's body opened eagerly for her. The dual sensation of Becca's mouth on her clit and Becca's fingers inside her was almost too much. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter at the base of her spine.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Becca, I'm—"
"Let go," Becca murmured against her. "I want to feel you."
Margot did.
The orgasm crashed through her like a wave.
No, like a tsunami, wiping out everything in its path.
She cried out, body arching, hands gripping Becca's hair hard enough to hurt.
Becca worked her through it, gentling her touches as the aftershocks rolled through, until Margot collapsed back against the pillows, boneless and shaking.
When she could open her eyes again, Becca was watching her with an expression of pure satisfaction.
"Good?"
"I—" Margot's voice cracked. Tears pricked at her eyes, which was absurd, except it wasn't. Something had broken open in her chest. Something she'd been keeping locked away for years. "That was—I don't—"
Becca crawled up her body and gathered her close. "Shh. It's okay. I've got you."
Margot buried her face in Becca's neck and let herself shake. She wasn't crying, exactly. Just overwhelmed. Overflowing. She'd spent so long building her fortress, and now its defenses were crumbling, and she didn't know who she was without them.
"Is this okay?" Becca asked softly, stroking her hair. "Was that too much?"
"No." Margot pulled back enough to look at her. "It wasn't too much. It was—" She struggled for words. "I haven't felt anything in so long. And then you, and this, and I just—"
"I know." Becca kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "I know."
They lay there, breathing together. Margot felt wrung out and rebuilt at the same time. Like she'd been taken apart and put back together in a slightly different configuration, one that had room for softness, for want, for this woman who was looking at her like she was something precious.
"Let me," Margot said eventually, when her voice was steady again.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." She rolled them over, settling on top of Becca with a determination that made Becca laugh. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."
"That's a high bar."
"I'm very competitive."
Margot kissed her deeply, tasting herself on Becca's lips. The intimacy of it should have been strange. Instead, it felt like coming home.
She didn't go down. She wasn't ready for that yet, and she wasn't going to pretend she was. Instead, she stayed close, propped on one elbow, her free hand sliding down Becca's body with a deliberateness that was all nerves disguised as intention.
Becca's nipples were sensitive. Her ribs were ticklish, which made them both laugh when Margot accidentally discovered it. The curve of her waist fit perfectly in Margot's hand.
"You're shaking," Becca whispered.
"I haven't done this in a while."
"Hey." Becca caught her wrist, kissed her knuckles. "Just touch me. Whatever feels right."
Margot slid off Becca's underwear and let her fingers explore, watching Becca's face the whole time. She was so wet. Margot's breath stuttered at the heat of her, the way Becca's hips lifted the moment she made contact.
"There," Becca breathed, guiding Margot's hand with her own. "Just like—yes."
Margot found a rhythm, adjusting based on every gasp, every shift of Becca's hips. She wasn't polished at this. Her angle was wrong at first, too much pressure, then not enough, and Becca corrected her gently, patiently, without a trace of frustration.
"Inside," Becca said. "Please."
Two fingers, slow. Becca's eyes fluttered shut, and the sound she made tore through Margot's chest. She curled her fingers experimentally and Becca's back arched off the bed.
"Right there—god, Margot, right there—"
She kept her thumb circling while her fingers moved, and she didn't look away. Couldn't. Becca was vocal in a way that Margot found incredibly arousing: moaning, gasping, saying Margot's name like a prayer and a curse.
"I'm close," Becca gasped. "Don't stop—"
Margot didn't stop. She pressed deeper, faster, her thumb relentless, and Becca came with a shout, clenching around her fingers, one hand fisting in Margot's hair, the other gripping the headboard.
Margot eased her through the aftershocks, gentling gradually, until Becca pushed weakly at her wrist.
"Too much—sensitive—"
Margot withdrew carefully and collapsed beside her. They lay there, breathing hard, sweat-damp and satisfied.
"Holy shit," Becca said eventually.
"Good?"
"Good? My entire body is tingling." Becca turned her head to look at Margot, eyes still glazed. "And you said you were rusty."
"I had excellent guidance."
Becca burst out laughing. "That's—oh my god. I can't believe you just made a law school sex joke."
"I'm extremely funny. People don't expect it because of the ice queen thing."
"The ice queen thing is false advertising." Becca rolled onto her side, draping an arm over Margot's stomach. "You're secretly very warm."
"Don't tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation."
They grinned at each other, stupid and happy and satisfied. Margot couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this good. This present in her body, this comfortable in her own skin.
"I want to do that again," she said.
"Now?"
"Soon." She traced patterns on Becca's arm, marveling at the softness of her skin. "I want to learn every single thing that makes you feel good. I want to make you come so many times you forget your own name."
Becca swallowed hard. "That's—very ambitious."
"I told you. I'm competitive."
She rolled on top of Becca again, already feeling the want building in her belly. They had hours before the wedding dinner. Hours to explore, to learn, to break each other apart and put each other back together.
Margot intended to use every single minute.
Later, much later, they lay in the dimming light, legs intertwined, Becca's head on Margot's chest.
"We should probably get ready for dinner," Becca murmured.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
"What happens tomorrow?" Becca asked. "After the wedding?"
"I don't know."
"I live in LA. You live in New York."
"I know." Margot's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. The evening light had gone copper through the curtains.
"That's a lot of distance."
"I know." Margot stroked her fingers through Becca's hair, feeling the silk of it. "But that's tomorrow's problem. Right now, I just want—"
"What?"
"This. You. A few more hours where nothing else exists."
Becca lifted her head. Her expression was soft, but serious underneath.
"Okay," she said. "Tonight, nothing else matters. But tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow we figure it out. Together."
The word again. Together. It kept surfacing, insistent and terrifying and right.
Becca kissed her softly. "Together."
They got dressed eventually, slowly and reluctantly, stopping to kiss every few minutes like teenagers who'd just discovered what mouths were for. Margot fixed her hair in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized herself: flushed, rumpled, looking more relaxed than she had in years.
"Ready?" Becca asked from the doorway.
Margot looked at her: radiant in her green dress, curls tamed into something approaching intentional, smile bright enough to light up the room.
"Ready," she said.
They walked to dinner hand in hand, and Margot didn't care who saw.