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Maybelle is a little extra giggly courtesy of all the champagne she’s consumed and Jo watches as she drags her finger along the outside wall of one of the cabins. Just the tips, barely enough to really feel the cold snap against the dark wood, but close enough in case she needs the extra support.
Jo ends up lagging a little behind as she watches Maybelle with an untempered smile. The way the woman nudges a tiny rock with her foot and then hops over it, more laughter spilling free when she successfully makes it over the self-imposed hurdle.
She’s mesmerising.
“Josephine…” she sing songs, looking over her shoulder with a loopy grin, bright red lips pulling even wider when she sees Jo.
Her curls are wild and messy from all the dancing, her dress is hitched up so that she can walk more easily and her dangly earring catches the light so perfectly that for a moment she looks like a mirage.
Like something more precious than Jo ever could have conjured up, a smile that’s all for her and a tilt of the head that beckons her closer.
“Why are you so far?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she fully turns, swaying a bit and choosing to lean back against the cabin for some support.
“You’re too fast for me,” she lies and Maybelle scoffs, dismisses the statement with a flick of the wrist and a shake of the head.
“You just like watching me.”
“And what if I do?”
There’s never a dull moment when her eyes are on Maybelle.
“Well, watch me from closer please,” she asks, arm stretched out and wriggling her fingers, just out of reach.
“I’m going to the cabin because it’s getting cold out here,” Jo says but ends up turning her back to their cabin so she can keep looking at Maybelle. Her hand is already out, palm up so that all Maybelle has to do is slide hers home and let Jo tug her close but she hesitates.
She glances at the ground and then Jo’s hand. Judges the distance.
Jo makes the decision easy for her by closing the gap and Maybelle is in her arms in an instant, fingers barely brushing Jo’s palm as her hand drags up her arm and curls behind Jo’s neck, warm and familiar as it settles.
“Hi,” Maybelle sighs, nudging her nose against Jo’s cheek, lashes fluttering against her skin and making warmth slither through Jo’s veins.
“Hi.”
She’s warm and soft in her hold, curved into Jo’s body and completely focused on her even as Jo starts slowly walking them over to their cabin.
Maybelle presses a quick little kiss to the dip of Jo’s laugh line, right on the corner of her mouth before moving away again, lips moving down her neck.
“Have I told you yet how good you look?” she husks, fingers tugging gently at the collar of Jo’s shirt, nails brushing along Jo’s collarbone with a little bit more than intent.
“You did.”
“Well I wanna tell you again.” A finger drags down and pops one of the buttons open. “You look really good.” A kiss to her pulse point. “I’m a very lucky lady.”
Jo gives her a little hum of assent. “I don’t give my jacket to just anyone.”
Maybelle snaps away so she can strike a pose, trusting Jo to keep her steady, her hands sinking into the pockets of Jo’s jacket where it’s draped over her shoulders, somehow dwarfing her and making her look debauched in equal measure.
“You like my look?” she teases, flutters her lashes dramatically and Jo just laughs, sweeping her close again with an arm around her middle so that she can feel the press of that maddening smile against her mouth.
“Love it,” she murmurs between kisses.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Maybelle whispers once they finally make it to their cabin, not bothering to go fishing for their key in Jo’s jacket and choosing instead to lean back against the door, line of her mouth twisting and eyes dancing with something heady.
“Always,” Jo says in the same low cadence, moving close so that Maybelle is bracketed by her body, a hand sweeping under her jacket and along the curve of Maybelle’s waist while the other presses against the wall next to Maybelle’s head.
“I like wearing your jacket.”
“Yeah?”
“It smells like you.” A finger slides between Jo’s belt and the button of her pants and tugs her closer, their hips flush against each other as Maybelle seems to enjoy the slide of their bodies. “I like how you smell. I like when it surrounds me. It’s so…”
“So?”
Maybelle just hums and Jo knows she won’t be getting an answer.
She kisses her instead, lets her tongue lick slowly into Jo’s mouth, almost lazy in a way she hasn’t been in a while.
Any type of celebration makes Maybelle giddy, always eager to help out where needed and in high spirits. The energy increases tenfold when it’s a loved one, and Shirley walking down the aisle is as top level exciting as it gets and Maybelle had been on cloud nine for weeks leading up to the day.
She’d been restless and unable to sleep to the point that Jo had threatened to sleep on the couch if Maybelle didn’t let her sleep and that had finally quieted her a little. Quieted — but not tempered — her excitement, and Jo had been woken up the next morning with apology kisses trailing down her neck and chest and she’d learned all the benefits of an overly excited wife.
She’s still impatient, tugging at Jo’s shirt and curving her body closer, but there’s a languid energy buzzing under her skin that Jo wants to savour. She wants to take her time with Maybelle.
She’s gonna need something more than a semi-public frenching session right outside their cabin for the weekend.
It takes a tremendous amount of effort to stop touching Maybelle so she can sneak her fingers into her claimed jacket pocket and fish out the key, making easy work of the lock even as Maybelle bites down on her lower lip.
“Inside.”
With a soft whine she acquiesces, breaking away so that they can cross the threshold into an already warmed cabin. Maybelle kicks her heels off and Jo has to bite down on her lips to stop herself from smiling at the way she just drops 5 inches lower, mouth no longer within range of Jo’s. She can’t hold out long and she is not looking to prove a point so she turns away enough to take off her shoes and leave them next to Maybelle’s in a pile by the door, following the woman further into the cozy space.
“Somewhere out there…” Maybelle starts, gesturing vaguely to the windows and Jo understands that she means beyond. “Not very far…” She shimmies out of Jo’s jacket and drapes it over the very same chair they occupied earlier that day when, while getting ready, they’d had a quick little interlude featuring Jo’s thigh and Maybelle’s orgasm.
Jo hums to let her know she’s still listening.
“Right at this moment… maybe… hopefully … Shirley is getting her rocks off.”
The words take her by such surprise that Jo stumbles on nothing but air, breath strangled in her throat.
“Maybelle—!”
“She’s getting her oil changed right now!” the woman continues, ignoring Jo’s interjection as she giggles and flounces into the bathroom. “Her eggs scrambled!”
“Oh my god,” Jo whispers to herself when Maybelle screeches with delight at her own brilliance, the laughter echoing from the bathroom and seemingly growing louder.
“She’s—she’s getting a visit from ole one eye!”
Jo can’t even suppress her smile anymore because Maybelle seems to be having so much fun coming up with euphemisms.
“She’s cleaning up the cobwebs from the womb room!”
Jo wonders how long she’s gonna go on for. She’s kinda interested in seeing how many Maybelle can get.
“She’s playing hide the cannoli!”
Never mind. That’s going too far.
“I am never making cannoli for you ever again,” Jo protests and Maybelle’s head pops into view, eyebrow raised and jaw set in challenge.
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
“What are you even doing in there?”
“I was just thinking about how nice it must be to have your bagel toasted in a cozy cottage on a cool spring evening…”
She sighs deeply, loudly enough to make sure Jo hears her from the bathroom and that’s how she knows she’s being dramatic.
“Maybe if you stopped talking about Shirley having sex, you’d already be on your way to an orgasm,” Jo challenges and that finally draws an authentic reaction, Maybelle’s head popping out of the bathroom again, lips set in a devilish smile.
She sizes Jo up, an adorable furrow between her brows as she drags her gaze over Jo where she’s sitting on the bed waiting for her, gaze warming Jo like sun on a summer’s day or the hot press of a warm body under her. Jo knows what she’d prefer right this moment.
“Really?” Maybelle asks.
“Do I ever go back on a promise?”
Maybelle hums as she disappears from view again but before Jo can bristle at the insinuation, Maybelle stands in the doorway to the bathroom, the light coming from behind her making her glow like some sort of gift from the gods.
Her evening gown is gone and she’s left in a strapless corset bra and a scrap of lace that Jo isn’t sure can legally be classified as underwear.
“I don’t know…” Maybelle drawls and Jo scrambles to remember what they were talking about before she was faced with this vision.
Maybelle reaches behind her and then the corset drops and Jo has to start all over again.
There’s a challenging set to her jaw as she flicks the light off and then saunters closer, each step decisive and her eyes never leaving Jo’s, fingers flirting with the sides of her underwear.
“Hm?” she hums when she’s close, pausing just out of reach and Jo feels like crying. A full feast in front of her and she’s being kept away by a conversation she’s not sure she can keep having.
“I seem to remember you promising to get me a hotdog at last week’s game and then not delivering.”
Oh. Right. “They didn’t have any hotdogs last week, I told you that.”
Her voice trails off at the end because Maybelle turns, only glancing over her shoulder to make sure Jo is watching as she finally hooks her thumbs under the lace and drags it down her legs. She bends at the waist as she goes, shimmying her hips, ass jutting closer to Jo’s face and offering a mouthwatering view.
She’s already wet and Jo sways closer. She should win some sort of prize for holding back as long as she is, especially when she can already smell the arousal and Maybelle’s already dripping, all of it presented just for her.
And then it’s gone, and Jo is filled with regret when Maybelle straightens and turns to face her.
“A good partner would have figured out a solution,” Maybelle says, apparently dead set on having this conversation when all Jo wants to do is haul her closer and bury her face between Maybelle’s legs.
“You don’t agree with my solution?”
“It’s not about agreeing,” she says. “It’s about the hotdog.”
It’s only then that she seems to realise where they are and drags her eyes down Jo’s body, coming back up with a furrow between her brows and lower lip jutting out.
“You’re still dressed?”
Jo doesn’t even bother answering her because she knows it’s all an act. Maybelle’s cheeks twitch with a suppressed smile and her eyes flit back and forth over different parts of her body, as if unsure where to begin.
Maybelle loves undressing Jo and it’s not even a secret anymore. She takes joy in peeling away the layers that protect Jo from the world, revealing parts of herself that are only for Maybelle to see and feel and touch and experience. She loves Jo, and she loves the way Jo shows herself to the world, but most of all, she loves knowing that there’s a part of her that’s only for them. It feels intimate in a way has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how much Jo trusts this maddening woman.
Maybelle looks at her like she’s her sun and stars no matter what she’s wearing.
She makes quick and easy work of Jo’s clothes, mouth following the trails her fingers take, wet and hot against her skin and laving attention wherever she goes. The best part, and a true testament to how much they’ve grown, is that Jo lets her.
She used to be shy about her body, years of insecurities building something strong inside her that had taken a careful, patient person to dismantle, and Maybelle was patient while Jo put in the work, easing her along and never wavering in her desire.
Maybelle has always looked at her like she’s her whole world and Maybelle is never wrong with how she loves. Who is Jo to question that?
“Jo…” she murmurs, hand hooking behind her head to drag her down into a kiss, moaning when Jo’s hands sweep along her body and curve her into her. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
The words ripple over her skin, electrifying all her senses and making her want more. She curls her hands over Maybelle’s ass and lifts and the woman comes willingly, legs wrapping around Jo’s as she lets herself be hoisted as if she weighs nothing more than a feather, never breaking her kiss and even sucking a fierce lip into her mouth to drag her teeth over it.
She adjusts, settles over Jo and hangs on like it’s her favourite spot in the world. Jo suspects it might be.
“You’re so strong.” Maybelle moans into her mouth again when Jo’s fingers dig into the swell of her ass. “You’re so good to me.”
The words spark a memory and Jo has a stray thought that wonders how her brain is still capable of any substantial thought.
“That’s exactly what you said,” she says against Maybelle’s skin, licking a stripe down the side of her neck to her collarbone and waiting for the tremble she gets in response.
“Hm?”
“That’s exactly what you said,” she repeats, turning them and settling her knees on the mattress as she walks them up the expansive bed. “When we were driving home from the game.”
“Oh,” Maybelle squeaks. “When you…”
“When I fucked you against the hood of the car, yeah,” she completes, can’t help the smile she knows is smug.
Maybelle releases her and lets herself fall back against the plush bed, hair fanning around her face as her chest and neck turn red, eyes staring up at the ceiling, unfocused as she drowns in the memory.
Even her cheeks turn pink and her eyes are hazy and her lips are kiss swollen and Jo studies her so she may remember this forever, Maybelle splayed out like this. Just for her and all for her.
“How many orgasms did you have that night?”
“Just the one.”
Jo barks out a laugh. “You’re such a liar.”
Maybelle’s guilty smile twists, eyes back on Jo. “Then show me,” she says, spreading her legs and offering herself up, hips shifting so Jo can see just how ready she is for her. “Remind me.”
Jo usually likes to ease them into it. Teasing touches and a wet trail of kisses and a thumb parting and exploring and maybe the solid of her palm for some pressure without direct contact. She likes to make Maybelle wait and she likes to make her squirm and she likes to make her beg.
Jo has no intention of going easy on her tonight.
She drops her mouth to Maybelle’s cunt and drags a firm tongue up between her folds, immediate pressure that Maybelle is unused to and make her hips jump as an “oh, fuck ” spills from her lips.
Jo doesn’t wait for her to adjust—her pride and reputation are on the line here. She is eager and unforgiving, going for all the spots she knows Maybelle loves. She knows she’s hit each of them by the way Maybelle’s fingers slip into her hair and tug at her scalp so hard Jo would be concerned about a bald patch if she wasn’t so focused on dragging Maybelle over the edge. She dips her tongue into Maybelle’s opening, hums as she gathers wetness on her lips and sucks at Maybelle’s clit.
She feels the results of her labour when Maybelle spills over her tongue and she hears it by the way Maybelle is chanting her name.
“Jo” and “oh god” and “baby” and “please” all mixed and mingled together in a loop as she tries to anticipate Jo’s rhythm so she can rock back against her, but Jo’s hands on her thighs are too strong, pinning her down and refusing her.
“Fuck me, Joey,” she begs. “I want—” She whimpers when Jo parts her with her thumbs and sucks her clit into her mouth. “—please Joey, I want you to fuck me. At least your fingers. Please please please.”
She asks so nicely that Jo doesn’t have the heart to refuse her. She slips her arm free from Maybelle’s leg and even against her tongue, Jo can feel Maybelle’s entire core quiver with anticipation at the movement. It’s easy enough to settle against her clit to give herself some space to work as she sinks her thumb into Maybelle.
She nearly gets knocked on her ass when Maybelle jerks upwards, body folding in half, but it’s the hand gripping the back of her head that keeps Jo stable. It’s so fucking addictive how responsive Maybelle is for her, how her chin and thumb are drenched with her desire and how every breath that rips from her lungs comes with a sound, a shuddered whine or a long moan, unable to be quiet while being pleasured.
It used to cause them trouble back in the day, how vocal Maybelle would be. Unashamed and even proud of being with a partner who knows exactly how to work her body. At least the cabin at the far end of the row with a massive forest just on the other side offers them the privacy and freedom to do as they please, and she does just that as she curls her thumb and hums against Maybelle.
Her face gets pushed even harder into Maybelle’s body by the hand yanking her hair, Maybelle’s back arching off the bed and her hips rolling, fucking herself against Jo’s willing face as she shatters with a scream.
Jo slips her digit free but keeps her lips firmly in place, working her down from it until the last of the tremors stop shaking her, body lowering to the bed as her chest heaves.
Jo’s never seen a better sight.
Maybelle’s fingers finally loosen and her version of apologising for pulling so hard is that she cards her fingers through Jo’s short hair, soothing instead of demanding and twisting a lock at the nape of Jo’s neck.
“Get up here, please,” she says and she moans so prettily when Jo drops a final kiss to her center and then moves up her body for a kiss from her lips.
“Maybelle?”
“Hm?”
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
Maybelle’s tongue comes out to wet her lips, body still twitching with an occasional frisson of heat and the words draw another shiver.
“What was that, then?” she can’t help but tease.
“Warm-up.”
Maybelle makes a low whine from the back of her throat. “You brought a strap?”
“Of course.”
“I’m so in love with you,” Maybelle says and before Jo can bark out a laugh, she’s being kissed, legs hooking around her body and dragging her hips into the cradle of Maybelle’s thighs, an invitation and a promise all at once.
“You have to let me go,” Jo manages between kisses but that just makes Maybelle kiss her harder, arms tightening around her.
“Never.”
“Sugar plum…”
“Fine, okay,” she says and releases her with a pout that almost undoes Jo.
She crawls off the bed to go rifle through her suitcase for the harness and the toy, stepping into it and starting to tighten it just as Maybelle calls out for her.
She turns and as she pulls the last strap taut and almost drops to her knees when she sees Maybelle, splayed out in the middle of the bed, thighs damp, fingers between her legs as she fucks herself, bucking up into her own hand.
Her body is tight with tension again and her other hand roughly palms her breast and Jo stops to take in the perfect picture of a desperate Maybelle. Those dark eyes never leave hers as she moves, pinching a nipple between her fingers.
Jo would give up the world just to replace those fingers with her mouth again.
“You ready?” Maybelle asks, gaze as heavy as a caress as it trails down Jo’s body and settles on the toy jutting out.
Purple silicone, ethically sourced and guilt free because her girl has been on a saving the world kick lately that has taken almost half of their toy chest out of rotation. If Jo had any moments to spare, she’d mourn the loss of the very first toy they’d ever bought together.
“Jo?”
She’s snapped back to reality and is faced with a grinning Maybelle, close enough for Jo to feel the heat coming off her but not touching.
“I don’t think you’re ready,” she says with a serious expression. Jo already know what’s going to happen but she’s still never prepared for it.
Maybelle’s hand, slick with her own pleasure, closes over the toy and strokes.
“Joey?” she asks, standing on her tippy toes to reach Jo’s mouth and give her a slow, filthy kiss. “Do you want me to use my mouth?”
Jo wants to be embarrased by how quickly she nods but she’s too distracted by the way Maybelle sinks to her knees, hand still firm around the purple shaft as she goes.
Her lips curve into a smile and Jo realises with a shock that her lips are still bright red, lipstick looking as fresh as when she applied it in the morning. Her knees almost give out.
She’s a perfectly innocent picture like this, legs under her body and back arched, perfect ass in view from where Jo is standing.
Jo hates comparing herself to men but with Maybelle looking up at her through long lashes and desire racing through her system, she understands how empires have crumbled for a single woman.
Jo’s entire body flushes with heat when Maybelle strokes with a firmer hand, leaning in and swirling her tongue over the head. Her dry fingers curl into the leather criss crossing Jo and tugs, testing its tightness.
She only gets a flash of a grin before the silicone disappears into Maybelle’s mouth, inch by inch until, meeting only the briefest bit of resistance at the back of Maybelle’s throat. Maybelle keeps going like a champ until there’s nothing left, her nose brushing against the harness. She pauses, gives a short little hum that Jo feels skitter over her skin and buzz all the way to her fingertips.
And then just as slowly as she’d taken it, Maybelle releases the toy, driving Jo insane with the pressure against her body, that wet hand still slick with her arousal closing over the base to keep the toy close before she starts bobbing her head, quick sucks and cheeks hollow and a constant hum of enjoyment rumbling across the toy and over Jo’s body.
Maybelle finds a rhythm she likes as she bobs her head, perfect face and perfect mouth so innocent as the shaft disappears into her mouth, purple contrasting the red of her lipstick and making sparks explode somewhere low in Jo’s tummy.
She can’t keep her eyes off her and Maybelle must sense the eyes on her because she looks up, curls messy around her face and never slowing her pace.
Jo is so singularly focused on Maybelle that she doesn’t notice her hands clenched by her side until Maybelle’s fingers drag over her knuckles, urging her fist loose and then guiding the hand to the back of her head.
She breaks away for only a moment, hand still jerking back and forth and dragging Jo so close to the edge.
“Fuck me, Joey,” she says and then her mouth is wrapped around her again and it’s so fucking hot how much Maybelle enjoys this that Jo’s hips buck into her.
Maybelle moans long and loud so Jo does it again. And again. She holds still and lets Jo move her head for her, guiding her with a hand at the back of her head and meeting her with a rolling wave of the hips.
She makes an obscene little slurping sound that gets a particularly hard thrust into her mouth and Maybelle just moans at that, a ripple of pleasure going through her that Jo can feel by the way nails dig into her ass.
Maybelle loves this and Jo finally lets go. She fucks her mouth without abandon, hips snapping and Maybelle’s strangled moans filling the room. Maybelle meets her thrust for thrust and Jo just wants to see her better so she shifts her hand to move some hair out of Maybelle’s face and falters. The rhythm stutters and Maybelle eagerly moves forward just as Jo is pulling back and the toy slips from her mouth with a pop. A thin string of spit follows and dribbles onto her chin as Maybelle jerks forward on instinct to take her back into her mouth, tongue already out and ready but Jo holds her back, hand tangled in her hair, canting her head back.
Maybelle looks filthy and eager, a wet dream come true. Her lipstick is somehow still perfect as she lifts her chin and offers up her mouth.
“Fuck,” Jo moans before bending down to kiss her instead. “Maybelle, you’re so—”
She can’t even find the words to describe her but all she knows is that she wants to be inside her. With a gentle hand under jaw, Jo guides her onto her feet and back to the bed, lips never parting and Maybelle drags Jo down with her.
Jo only pulls away so she can drag her fingers through Maybelle’s folds, knowing already but just wanting to feel how wet and ready she is. She slips two fingers into her, easy, meeting no resistance, pace unhurried as she gathers some moisture over her palm and then pulls away, fingers curling around the toy between them and dragging the tip between Maybelle’s lips, watching as her stomach quivers with anticipation. Maybelle whines, like an ache from deep in her bones and she settles when Jo pushes into her.
Her breaths are short and sharp, leg tense as Jo lifts it over her shoulder for the better angle. She tries to grasp at something—anything—to hold and Jo moves over her, lowering a hand by Maybelle’s head and practically melting when Maybelle’s fingers curl around her wrist to hold onto her, needing the anchor. Jo watches as the toy disappears into her, walls gripping tightly and already working her before Jo has fully slid home and it’s not until their hips are pressed flush against each other that Maybelle lets out a low, guttural groan.
“You good, ‘Belle?”
“Mhm-hm,” she hums, a high pitched sound from the back of her throat as she nods. “Please, Jo.”
“What do you want, baby?”
She smooths a hand down Maybelle’s shaking leg, twisting to drop a kiss to the inside of her ankle.
“Please, god, move,” she begs, words punctuated by a needy whimper and the barest lift of the hips.
Her goal has always and will always be to give Maybelle whatever she wants; there isn’t a power on earth that could stop Jo from doing that. With the steadying hand by her head and curving her other hand over Maybelle’s ass to hold her in place, she gives an experimental roll of the hips.
Maybelle’s head falls back with a cry and Jo feels the sound shoot straight to her core.
She does it again, and again, pace controlled and tight as she gives Maybelle exactly what she likes, slow strokes out, quick and hard strokes in. It’s mesmerising to watch Maybelle succumb to the pleasure. The flush over her chest and neck are warm to the touch and Jo wants to kiss every inch of skin on display as she fucks her wife into the bed, wanting to drag that release from her, her own pace turning erratic as she chases the rush. Maybelle encourages her with broken words and strangled gasps, fingernails digging into her shoulder to keep Jo close as if she’d ever be anywhere but here.
“Give me your fingers,” Maybelle finally manages, a full sentence that goes unbroken as she opens her eyes long enough to plead with Jo. “Please, Joey.”
With a mouth like that, who is she to refuse?
Maybelle sucks Jo’s index and middle fingers into her mouth, teeth closing over the digits as Jo adjust them enough so she can keep pounding into Maybelle. She knows her lover is close by the way her teeth clamp down and her hips stutter and Jo increases her pace, slamming into her. Maybelle makes a high pitched whine from the back of her throat and Jo knows she’s got her, the sound raw and heady as she hits her peak, body shaking with the overload of sensations. Jo wants to keep going, wants to drag another orgasm from her but her walls clench so tightly that she slips out of Maybelle, the loss drawing a sharp whine from Maybelle even as she shakes.
Jo doesn’t give up as easily as that and slips her fingers out of Maybelle’s mouth, curbing the complaining already halfway out her mouth by dropping her mouth to Maybelle’s still pulsing cunt and letting her tongue take control.
“Jo—fuck!” she shouts and then everything goes quiet, sounds dampening when Maybelle’s thighs clamp around her head so that her entire world is just the soft wet flesh of Maybelle. The smell of her desire and the sharp taste on her tongue and the way she’s gushing against Jo. She could live here, she thinks, with the words of encouragement muffled and strong fingers tight against her head, holding her in place as if she’d ever need a reason to stay.
She’s anchored in place by the need to draw more pleasure from Maybelle. Jo doesn’t even know if she’s breathing, so consumed by the need to taste more, to feel more, to know that when Maybelle clenches around her tongue, it’s because of her. She doesn’t need any drugs as long as she can be buried in these legs until her last living moment.
Just as she seems to be coming down and recovering, Jo picks up the pace, languor turning to determination as she licks a firm line up and then circles the spot with the tip of her tongue. Jo drags her teeth oh so gently against Maybelle’s clit, a mercy and a plea, and the reaction is instant, Maybelle spilling against her, drenching her and Jo feels it dripping down her chin.
She laps it all up, draws out the pleasure and brings her back down to earth, tongue lazy as she sweeps it along Maybelle’s folds, avoiding any more direct contact but not wanting to stop just yet—staying for as long as Maybelle lets her.
Sounds slowly filter back into her world, the heavy breathing and occasional groan a little bit more acute as Maybelle’s legs lose the ability to stay clamped around her head.
They’re still crossed at the ankles behind Jo’s back and it’s a marvel, how even when taking, Maybelle needs to keep her close and surround herself with Jo.
Jo tests the new range of their hold and twists her neck so she can drag her teeth along the soft, smooth flesh of Maybelle’s inner thigh, still twitching with the comedown and tensing entirely when Jo marks her, a bruise that’s just theirs.
Jo caresses the side of her leg, fingers soft and tender unlike everything else she’d been doing previously and Maybelle sighs as she comes down, a pathetic little whine falling from her lips that makes Jo laugh against her thigh.
“You still with me?”
“Yeah—” Her voice cracks so she clears her throat. “Yeah.”
Maybelle’s skin is glistening with sweat and Jo knows she’s not faring much better, but at least it means that the slide is delicious when she shifts to press an open mouthed kiss to Maybelle’s hip and then stomach.
“Back…” Maybelle says.
“What?”
“On your back.” The fingers still buried in Jo’s hair shift, tug ever so slightly and Jo takes the hint, lifts her head to meet Maybelle’s eyes.
She almost misses what she says she’s so distracted by the hazy look in Maybelle’s eyes and the curve of her sated smile.
“Get on your back, please,” she repeats, a glint of promise flashing across her face. “You deserve a show.”
Maybelle’s teeth close over her lower lip even as she smiles, feet kicking gently at Jo’s body, urging her to do as she’s told. Maybelle props herself up on an arm when Jo shifts away from her, watching quietly as she lays on her back.
For all of her previous impatience, Maybelle takes her time now, really taking in the sight of Jo on her back and leaning in for a slow kiss, touch dragging along Jo’s skin. There’s an ease in the way she moves, body unhurried and limbs languid as she sits up.
A leg swings over Jo’s body as Maybelle mounts her so daintily, like a high class lady at a fancy rodeo. She settles and only offers a tiny, knowing smile as her fingers curl around the toy and hold it in place while she sinks down.
She delivers on her words, leaning back with her hands on Jo’s thighs and spreading her knees as she takes more and more until Jo is buried to the hilt, Maybelle spread open for her view. She makes short little movements, body rolling like a wave over Jo’s, ass curving over her thighs as she rocks back and forth, each sinuous roll dragging a ripple of pleasure over Jo’s entire body.
It’s slow and methodical and completely effective.
“Maybelle…” she stutters out, hands sweeping over her body, trying to touch as much as she can and Maybelle just smiles.
She knows she’s good, that her rhythm is perfect, her eyes never leaving Jo’s and Jo realises that she’s equally pinned down by Maybelle’s strong legs as she is by that intentful gaze.
Maybelle watches for each twitch, each hitch of breath, each strangled groan and tight swallow.
She clenches on a downthrust and Jo shudders.
Maybelle takes one of Jo’s hands in her own and presses a wet kiss to her palm before leading it to her chest and Jo follows her lead, drags her palm firmly against the peak and then squeezes, loving the pretty moan she gets in response.
Jo’s hand is slipped away from Maybelle’s impeccable chest far sooner than she wants it to be and Jo knows she must be pouting or looking upset about it because Maybelle just gives a short little laugh and tangles their fingers again, drops a quick little kiss to Jo’s knuckles before she plants their joined hands by Jo’s head. She uses it as leverage, shifting forward with her hips still rolling over Jo, never ceasing and pace so maddening.
Maybelle ghosts a touch over Jo’s stomach and then over a breast, pausing to roll a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Jo jerks up into her hand.
“Steady,” Maybelle says, hips dropping heavily and pinning Jo to the bed, giving a quick little jerk back and forth to drive home her point but has the opposite effect when Jo’s brain goes blissfully blank. The way Maybelle is angled makes them press perfectly against each other and even though Jo doesn’t need it — wants to give Maybelle that pleasure and gets off on that alone — Maybelle is very adamant about giving as good as she receives and Jo knows that Maybelle enjoys fucking her like this. Slow and steady and intimate, using the moment to connect like this and solidify the bond with each other.
Even with all the years gone by, there is still a novelty to Maybelle’s warm skin pressed against her, the rhythm of their lovemaking, and the pure joy in her eyes as she rides Jo.
She loves them like this, seeing Jo splayed out beneath her, ready to be explored, body everything she needs and wants from a partner. It had been an adjustment for Jo to have someone desire every inch of her, exactly as she is, without wanting a single thing to change. It makes her feel so beautiful and seen.
Maybelle will grasp at Jo’s hips or curl a leg behind hers or kiss her neck or bite against the swell of a breast or sweep a hand along Jo’s back or drop to her knees and make Jo see a god she didn’t think she still believed in and Jo knows that she’s both ruined and saved. The woman above her is salvation.
Maybelle shifts on her knees and turns ever so slightly and Jo is dragged back into the moment with her, a heady groan slipping past her lips that Maybelle echoes with a guttural sound of her own. Her rhythm never falters, ever, because if there is one thing Maybelle excells in, it’s riding.
Any part of Jo’s, her mouth or her strap or even her thigh, it’s all open season for Maybelle, who takes her pleasure unabashedly. She’s starting to lose herself in the heat of them, head falling forward and curls messy as they curtain in front of her face.
“God, Jo,” she moans, nails raking down Jo’s stomach. “You feel so good.”
She can’t help herself. Her fingers tighten around Maybelle’s side as her hips jerk up.
She’s losing herself and the only consolation is that she knows Maybelle is as well, turning wanton as she chases another orgasm.
“Your legs are a dream.”
Her fingers firm and she knows Maybelle is going to have bruises in the morning. She’d feel guilty about it if Maybelle didn’t enjoy them so much, fingers always drifting to the spots and smiling fondly at the memories they spark.
“Do you like it when I say that, Joey?” she taunts, raking her nails over Jo’s chest and catching on a pebbled nipple. “I mean it.”
“Maybelle…”
“You’re so good to me, Joey. You fuck me so good.”
Maybelle never calls her that. It’s always Jo with a lilt or Jo where the vowel threads with a need, drawn out and long, or Josephine when she’s feeling fancy and want to use her full name or needs to scold playfully, or My Josephine when she’s feeling possessive. It’s never, ever Joey. Except when they’re like this. When she’s close to the edge and the thrill of the nickname makes her even wetter, like she needs the extra letters to really convey how needy she is for Jo, tethering them to each other in that moment.
“Please…” she begs.
“What do you need, ‘Belle?”
She’d tear the world apart if she asked.
“You.” Fingers drag along her throat and try to reach for her but Maybelle doesn’t want to risk moving too far and have Jo slip out of her so she lets out a low, impatient whine. “C’mere.”
Jo doesn’t even hesitate, hand supporting her as she sits up while the other shifts to Maybelle’s back to hold her in place. The new angle makes Maybelle keen, head thrown back and long line of her throat exposed for Jo’s lips and kisses. She slides her hand to Maybelle’s ass to guide her along, to make sure they don’t slip apart and when her nails dig into the firm flesh, Maybelle trembles.
Her fingers grasp at anything she can find, wrapped around Jo’s body, looking for something to hang onto while their rhythm picks up.
The sound of them is obscene, bodies moving together and soaked with sweat but Jo wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world, not when Maybelle curls fingers behind her neck to bring her closer and drops her forehead to Jo’s, eyes fluttering shut as she keeps circling her hips over Jo.
“Come on, Maybelle,” she breathes in the heady air surrounding them. “Come for me, baby.”
“You first,” she challenges and then kisses her, breathless and filthy and moaning into her mouth. She tries to grind down harder, tries to urge Jo closer to the edge while staving off her own release but Jo is a gentleman and that means the lady comes first. Always.
Maybelle knows that and still always tries to fight it, which makes the eventual concession all the more fun when it happens.
Her tits bounce deliciously against Jo’s chest, in time with Jo’s thrusts and it’s driving her insane. She wants to bend down and suck one into her mouth but Maybelle is enjoying being filled to the hilt and the angle wouldn’t work and Jo knows she has the rest of her life to lave attention to those perfect tits.
Right now she needs her woman to come.
Jo plays dirty.
Maybelle is dripping onto her thighs and it’s no effort at all for her to slick her middle finger with before the hand returns to her ass, Jo’s other hand pressing against her back so she arches, curving deliciously against Jo’s body.
She slips her hand between Maybelle’s cheeks and circles the tight pucker, easing it and then pushing past, the first knuckle sinking in and that does it.
Maybelle’s reaction is instant—the gasp against her ear and the jerk of her body at the new intrusion and her hips drive down into it, and she snaps.
Her body shakes with the orgasm, trembling against Jo and needing something—anything—so her nails dig into Jo’s bicep as her teeth clamp down at the side of Jo’s neck and it’s all of those sensations, the feeling over Maybelle quivering over and around her that drags her own release from her.
Maybelle isn’t even moving anymore, body taut and trembling with the force of it and Jo has to shut her eyes because everything is a little too blinding, the fire licking under her skin making her hang onto Maybelle with no intention of ever letting go.
It’s earth shattering and she groans as she shakes, a contrast to Maybelle’s high pitched whimpers as she comes down, hips seeking the last of the friction and sending sparks up Jo’s spine. Maybelle’s teeth release from her neck, tongue soothing the bruise and something in them slipping away.
Jo becomes aware again of her breathing and the sounds of the room and the feeling of Maybelle in her arms.
Lashes flutter just under her ear, a soft shake following as Maybelle lets out an exhausted giggle.
Jo slips her finger out of Maybelle and she gets a low moan for it, lips brushing her neck as the last of Maybelle’s spine seems to turn to jelly, her fingers loosening their vice grip on Jo’s arm, no doubt aware of the muscle ache Jo’s going to have in the morning because of her. She sweeps that hand up Jo’s shoulder to slide into hair at the nape of her neck, guiding their mouths to each other.
Even while kissing, their bodies are rapidly cooling down and the sweat on her skin makes Jo feel clammy. She sweeps a hand down Maybelle’s back, trying to keep her warm but just getting a shiver in response.
“We need a shower,” she says and Jo is inclined to agree. “I need to take my makeup off.”
Jo is privy to Maybelle’s extensive night time facial routine, one she never ever skips so that she may, in her words, remain always radiant and beautiful even in old age. Jo has tried to convince her that she’ll always be that, with or without all the tiny vials and tubes of miracle products Jo was forced to travel with in her bag due to lack of space in Maybelle’s.
The words had backfired on her though when Maybelle had swiveled her way and asked her what she was doing to keep her face clean and taken care of.
“I wash it every day,” she’d said proudly.
“That’s it?” Maybelle had asked. “You think that’s good enough as a throne for me?”
With that argument thrown into the mix, all of Jo’s points had vanished and since then she’s found herself using moisturiser. Two different kinds even! One for the daytime and one for nighttime and it’s become such a habit that Jo is loathe to admit now that going to bed without applying it to her face makes her feel dirty and the one time she’d tried to test the limits, she’d found she simply could not fall asleep.
At least Maybelle isn’t too smug about it.
“C’mon,” Maybelle says, motioning with her head to the bathroom and urging Jo up as if she’s not still fully in her lap.
“Can’t walk?” she teases. Her fingertip swirls along Maybelle’s ankle and her lover trembles.
“Of course I can.”
She takes a second to lift her hips and the purple toy slips out of her and the sensation makes electricity shoot up Jo’s spine and Maybelle bites down so hard on her lower lip that Jo is worried she’s going to draw blood.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
“Good, hm?” she asks, the pride settling over her like a blanket.
“So good.”
Maybelle kisses her as she rises to her knees. So far so good.
Jo tries not to smile when Maybelle stumbles on her first attempt at standing on her own two feet. Jo kisses her harder, looking to distract her a little bit. She’s successful on the second try, legs cooperating as she finally stands, mouth leaving Jo’s with an adorable pout.
Jo is unashamed in her staring when Maybelle pulls away fully, skin still flushed and littered with hickeys and spots where her fingers had dug in.
She lifts her hands above her head to stretch and her stomach goes taut and her breasts lift and the light catches on the wetness dripping down her leg. Jo thinks she’s going insane.
“You comin’?” Maybelle asks, a hand settling on her hip and striking a delectable pose that just makes Jo want to drag her back to bed. “Shower!”
She knows where Jo’s mind wanders and snaps her fingers once, twice to get her out of her stupor.
Maybelle realises the best way is with her absence so she disappears into the bathroom. Jo stands up and with the sweat and exertion and lack of impatient wife literally taking matters into her own hand, loosening and sliding the harness and strapon from her body is much, much easier than putting it on.
She follows her wife to the bathroom and steps past the threshold just in time to see Maybelle try to wipe away her lipstick with a makeup wipe, the white sheet coming back perfectly clean even after a second and a then a third swipe over her lips.
“It really is sex proof. God, that’s good advertising,” she mutters under her breath and Jo laughs loudly at her awe, sound echoes in the bathroom and it’s infectious because Maybelle giggles along with her.
“Let me try,” Jo offers, cheeks still warm and belly full with the laugh. Maybelle holds up the wipe and Jo just curls her fingers around her wrist and moves it out of the way, leaning in and kissing her. It’s a sloppy thing, lips over lips and tongue sweeping and Jo knows the puzzled look she tries for when they part falls flat due to her inability to suppress a smile.
“That was never gonna work,” Maybelle chides and swats at her shoulder. You kissed me more than enough times just in the last hour to prove that.”
Her admonish is all in jest because she lets Jo come in for another kiss and then a third one.
“It was worth a shot.”
“You’re a silly goose, Jo De Luca.”
“That’s not my name,” she sing songs and Maybelle’s face scrunches.
“Sorry!” Maybelle says. “De Luca Fox. It’s just such a mouthful.”
“I don’t seem to recall you having any trouble in that department,” Jo says pointedly and meets Maybelle’s eyes through the mirror.
“You’re damn right.” She reaches for a tiny bottle of a clear liquid and dabs it onto a cotton pad and with a single swipe, the lipstick is off her lips. She gives a triumphant grin and an adorable shimmy of the shoulders. “Maybe I just love your name.”
“De Luca?”
“Mhm-hm.”
Jo turns on the shower and waits for the hot water as she contemplates the words.
“Maybelle De Luca.”
“We should have traded names!” she says with an excited bounce that draws Jo’s eyes to her ass. “Make it good and confusing for everybody. Jo Fox.”
“I don’t hate that actually,” Jo gives as she steps into the shower and two seconds later, Maybelle joins her.
“It makes you sound like a celebrity.”
“Jo Fox,” she repeats, trying out the words in her mouth and she has to admit that Maybelle is right. “Well, the paperwork’s all gone through and I’m not going through all of that again.”
Maybelle just shrugs one shoulder and doesn’t press, giving Jo a quick kiss before they start showering.
Once Jo is all ready for bed, ruined sheets swapped out with the extra ones they’d specifically requested as a precaution, she props herself up with a bunch of pillows and watches Maybelle through the doorway of the bathroom, settling into a peaceful lull when the woman starts softly humming a tune that feels familiar to Jo but that she can’t quite place.
When she turns and flicks off the light, Jo has a moment of deja vu that’s quickly dispelled by the tired set of Maybelle’s smile and her eyes taking longer to blink than usual. Jo pulls the sheets away and Maybelle crawls onto the bed, and right before she curls into Jo, she lets out a burst of laughter, bubbling up seemingly out of nowhere.
Jo just raises an eyebrow.
Maybelle shakes her head, fingers pressed to her lips, trying to stifle the smile and Jo can’t help herself as she smiles back, something warm settling low in her body as she watches a freshly fucked and freshly washed Maybelle try to control her laughter.
“Tell me,” she urges, hand curving over her waist and shifting them so they slot comfortably together, her mouth dropping a quick little kiss to Maybelle’s collarbone.
“You’re gonna regret it.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Do you think Shirley’s had an orgasm yet?”
“You’re right,” Jo groans as she flops onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as she tries to scrub the image of a naked Shirley and Vernon out of her brain. She fails miserably and it must show on her face because Maybelle laughs loudly, low from her chest. “You’re so right. I do regret it.”
“You should listen to your wife.”
Not even an apology, no remorse. Jo pouts.
“I can’t believe that after all the orgasms I gave you, you’re still thinking about Shirley having sex.”
“Awh, Josephine…” she coos, drawing closer and kissing at Jo’s neck, cuddling into her and trying to coax her into forgiveness.
“I must be doing something wrong.”
“You were perfect,” Maybelle asserts, leg sliding between Jo’s so that she can practically lay on top of Jo. She kisses her firmly, doesn’t let Jo try to hold up the charade and sweeps her tongue over Jo’s in a way that makes her start to warm again despite the exhaustion tugging at her body. “Let me make it up to you.”
Maybelle seems to consider the words herself, before Jo even has a say.
“Tomorrow.” She nods once. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
“And what’s it gonna be?”
“I’ll let you suck my tits for as long as you want.”
Jo pretends to consider it and Maybelle laughs.
“I’ll take that deal.”
“Good.” The seal it with a firm kiss and then Maybelle settles so she can snuggle comfortably. “Now let’s sleep, please. We gotta get up early if you want to enough time to play with me before brunch.”
“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Yeah,” Maybelle says with a laugh and Jo just kisses the top of her head, closes her eyes as she basks in the feeling of holding Maybelle. “But what a way to go.”
She feels the curve of Maybelle’s smile against her shoulder and knows that she’d follow this woman to the ends of the world.
“What a way to go…”