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“We can’t,” Allison hisses frantically, eyes flicking over to her cracked open door. “My parents are just downstairs.”
But her legs are already falling open as Lydia’s hands creep up her skirt and her sentence trails off into a moan. Lydia wickedly smirks at her, her fingers stroking over the soaked spot on Allison’s panties.
“I don’t think you quite care about that,” she whispers and Allison shivers. When Lydia slips the thin material down over her legs she doesn’t even pretend to object, groaning as Lydia puts her wickedly sharp tongue to work.
She’s so good at this and Allison has to bite the back of her hand to keep from letting the entire house know she’s getting fucked. She fights to keep from grabbing Lydia’s perfect curls, twisting her fingers in her own hair instead and bowing upwards to keep the sounds in.
Lydia slips two fingers in, fucking her with quick sharp thrusts and Allison chokes, half strangles on a moan.
“Lydia, oh god, Lydia,” she whispers. “Fuck, right there, fuck.”
She’s so keyed up, goosebumps rippling over her legs in waves, her skin on fire. Lydia smirks again, she can feel it and she writhes at the mental image. Her orgasm snaps over her, pulses with every thrust in of Lydia’s fingers and she doesn’t even care, shrieking into the back of her hand.
Lydia pushes herself up, as graceful as always, wiping her perfectly manicured fingers on the underside of Allison’s skirt.
“You were saying,” she says smugly and Allison just weakly groans.
“You know, I don’t think this is what my dad had in mind when he told me to keep an eye on you.”
Lydia gives her a playful shrug. “It’s not my fault he won’t let you out of his sight. And by extension me. Now, we still have a good thirty minutes left. And I’ve been wondering how many times I can make you come in a row.”