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Isabela’s lips are soft, yielding, and nothing at all like the woman herself - at least outwardly. Her touch is confident, never second-guessing, and Bethany muses for a moment on how that seems somehow more appropriate.
Isabela reaches deftly to untie the bandana around Bethany’s neck, her fingers tickling and eliciting a giggle. When the familiar fabric falls silently to the floor, Isabela pulls away. In the near-dark of the room, her pupils are blown wide, her lips kiss-swollen and wet, and Bethany has to actively focus on the words when she speaks in order to understand.
“Are you sure about this, sweetness?” Isabela asks, even as her fingers work the laces at Bethany’s back.
Another giggle. “Yes,” she breathes nervously and then laughs, all of the air leaving her lungs at once. “My brother is going to kill you, you know.”
Isabela smirks and lifts her right hand up to caress one blush-darkened cheek, an unexpectedly tender action that traps the breath in Bethany’s lungs. “He wouldn’t be the first to try.”
Bethany’s eyes fall once more to rest on moist lips, her tongue snaking quickly out to wet her own as if in envy. She pushes herself to act, eager for more contact, and closes the space between them. Isabela kisses fiercely and without any doubt, leaning her body forward to press the two of them against the back of the door. The swinging of Bethany’s chainmail skirt raps against the wood in an irregular pulse with their movement, and all at once she wants to be rid of it, to shed everything that stands between herself and this incredible woman who plays by nobody’s rules but her own.
Isabela pulls away again, catching Bethany’s lower lip between her teeth and nipping quickly before grinning at her. “Turn around,” she says, one hand on either of the mage’s hips to guide her, firm and warm through the thin fabric of her pants. Before she has a chance to ask why, Bethany finds herself facing the back of the room’s door, Isabela pulling again at her corset. She loosens the garment and pulls it open just enough to shove it down past the curves of the mage’s hips, the attached mail’s weight pulling it heavily to land on the floor with a rude clatter. When Bethany tries to turn back around, Isabela grabs her once again by the hips and holds her steady.
“Are you sure you’re sure?” the pirate whispers in her ear, and Bethany is shivering from the sound when Isabela brushes her hair to the side and presses her lips against the sensitive skin of her neck.
Bethany answers with a soft moan, tilting her head to the side to expose more flesh, to give permission, to encourage.
Isabela chuckles, the sound dark and alluring, and slides her hands up slowly to trace the pale skin beneath Bethany’s shirt. “Breathe, sweet thing,” she purrs, reversing the direction of her hands and holding them still at the mage’s sides, just below her waist.
“I am breathing,” Bethany answers stubbornly, because she doesn’t know what else to say. Then after a beat, “You stopped. Why did you stop?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she grips Isabela’s wrists and moves her hands upward again. She meets no resistance.
“That’s my girl,” Isabela says, sounding impressed. “Just getting started and you already know how to get what you want.” She presses her lips once more to the heated skin where neck meets shoulder and the other woman lets go of her wrists, surrendering control. Slowly, she slides both hands up to cup Bethany’s breasts, running her palms lightly over the soft flesh, just enough to excite, to tease.
Bethany moans again, surprising herself with the volume of the sound, and when Isabela squeezes she arches her back, pushing forward into expert hands. The breath on her neck is hot and it tickles the skin it doesn’t quite touch, just one more sensation of which she’s incredibly aware. Isabela pinches a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and Bethany bites down on her lip, trying to stay quiet.
“Oh we like that, do we?” Isabela asks the skin of her shoulder before biting down hard for just a fraction of a second. Bethany gasps at the suddenness of the pain, exhales shakily when the pirate smoothes over the same spot with her tongue, and finally turns around to face the other woman.
“We do like that,” she agrees, and reaches for the laces of Isabela’s corset. A deft hand grips her wrist and stops her attempt, and when she looks up to meet the pirate’s gaze, surprised, Isabela smiles a wicked smile and makes a scolding tsk sound with her tongue.
“Uh-uh,” she says, returning Bethany’s wrist gently to her side, grasping the hem of her thin linen tunic and pulling her closer. “Ladies first,” she purrs and pulls the garment up, waiting for Bethany to lift her arms so that she can pull it over her head.
Before Bethany has a chance to feel uncomfortable or exposed, Isabela’s hands are on her breasts once more, her mouth at her neck, and the both of them are doing a clumsy, unchoreographed dance to rid themselves of boots. As she’s led slowly back toward the bed, Bethany feels light, almost giddy. When she’s lowered onto the mattress, Isabela straddling her and grinding down against the laces of her pants, the mage raises her own hips up to meet her.
Isabela smiles again, the look on her face feral and wanton. Like an animal she goes for the neck, mouthing first along the underside of Bethany’s jaw, down and over the exposed skin of her throat, leaving a hot trail behind to cool in the night air. She nips at a collarbone, presses a chaste kiss against the swell of one breast, and licks a hot stripe over a nipple before taking it between her teeth and pulling gently. Bethany moans, the sound resonating low in her throat, and even that slight vibration is pleasurable, thrilling.
Isabela pauses only for a few moments to lavish attention on one breast and then the other, kissing and licking and biting her way downward to... oh. Bethany’s mind reels as she feels fingers pulling at the laces just below her navel. Heat rushes to pool between her legs and she lifts her hips a second time, desperate for more contact, unsure how to ask for it.
Isabela chuckles, sliding Bethany’s pants and smallclothes down over her hips with an agonizing slowness that nearly has her squirming. She whimpers when her hips are lifted and Isabela strips her of the last of her clothing, tossing the fabric off the end of the bed to land Maker-knows-where. Bethany doesn’t question the other woman’s actions, merely watches with a maddened sense of urgency as Isabela smiles up at her and winks.
“Shimmy back a little,” the pirate suggests, and Bethany does as she's asked, sliding up to recline against the plush pile of pillows at the headboard. She lies propped with her knees bent, feet flat against the bed linens, thighs together.
Isabela doesn’t leave her any time to feel self-conscious, crawling up the length of the bed and resting a dark, steady hand on the outside of each of her thighs. She leans down and presses her lips just once to each knee, running blunt nails along pale, responsive skin that rarely sees the light of day. Bethany marvels at the sensitivity of her own flesh.
“May I?” Isabela asks, sliding her hand between the mage’s knees before kissing them both once more, awaiting permission.
Bethany whimpers, too distracted to form proper words, and nods her head.
“Say it,” Isabela demands, meeting her eyes.
Bethany’s cheeks burn hot with blush but she holds the pirate’s gaze all the same. “Yes,” she says softly, the word barely louder than a breath. “Maker please, yes.”
A shadow of Isabela’s wicked grin returns and she trails her way down the inside of one thigh slowly, teasing with her lips, her tongue, her teeth. When Bethany feels hot breath ghost over the most intimate of her flesh, she lifts her hips again, growing desperate.
The pirate smiles. “You’re wet,” she remarks almost conversationally, and Bethany is fairly certain she’s going to pass out. “I like wet.”
Isabela runs the tip of one finger between soft pink lips, lightly parting damp curls, and Bethany sighs, finally, finally getting some contact. When Isabela leans down and retraces the same salacious path with her tongue, the mage’s eyes flutter closed, her senses momentarily overwhelmed.
Isabela’s mouth is warm, wet (she likes wet), and impossibly soft against Bethany’s flesh. The woman’s tongue is everywhere at once, licking wide lines over the mage’s clit, circling and teasing at her entrance before slipping quickly inside, withdrawing again too soon. Bethany tries to control her breathing, tries not to push back against that perfect pressure, needing more. Despite her best efforts she’s a stream of moans and half-uttered words; ’bela please, I can’t... ooh. She arches off the bed, Isabela’s arms hooked around her thighs to keep her anchored, incredible mouth pushing her ever further toward the edge.
Bethany doesn’t notice when one of the pirate’s hands lets go of her leg, distracted as she is by the woman lapping and sucking once more at the hooded bundle of nerves just where her lips part. She does notice when Isabela slowly slides a careful finger inside and crooks it slightly, pushing upward and bringing a sensation that makes Bethany cry out loud, modesty be damned.
The pressure is agonizing, blissful, and she rocks her hips against Isabela’s hand, Isabela’s mouth, breath coming heavy and quick. She feels heat start building intensely between her legs, tingling and spreading until the rest of her is gone and all she can feel is too much, too good, and then finally she comes undone, unable to take anymore. Her body spasms again and again, muscles clenching hard at the source of it all, legs shaking and hands fisting the bed covers.
When it slows and then stops, Bethany comes back down languidly. Isabela presses an innocent kiss to her stomach and falls unceremoniously to the mattress beside her, looking distinctly proud of herself.
“I knew I called you ‘sweetness’ for a reason,” she announces with a grin to the mostly empty room.
Bethany laughs and throws a pillow at her, blushing furiously.