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Lucy isn't expecting a visitor. She'd close her door, but the redhead's hot as hell and she's been going through a dry spell.
"You kissed my boyfriend."
She sighs. "Buckley?"
"That's him."
"Then take it up with him. Look, I'm sorry, but I didn't even know you existed. That's on him."
The redhead smiles. She looks half feral. "Oh, we did that already. But I think you and me have something we could work out."
Lucy cocks her head. "Do we?"
The redhead is named Taylor, it turns out, and she's more than a little bit vicious. She gets Lucy stripped and on her back in bed in record time. "You want to make it even?" she asks. But she doesn't give Lucy time to answer before she sits on her face.
And hell yeah, Lucy isn't going to complain about this. Taylor's gorgeous, all soft curves and a body built for aesthetics, not for practical purpose. Lucy's hot, she knows that, but she's not hot like Taylor is. Lucy is sturdy, practical muscle, covered with scars from various misadventures, and designed for efficiency. Hell, she's even got short hair just because she can't be assed to wash and condition a mess like Taylor's got flowing down over her boobs. Lucy spent a long time looking at them while Taylor was getting her out of her sleep shorts and tank. They're small, which makes them each a perfect handful. Lucy wants to get her hands on them, wants to cup one and flick Taylor's nipple until she's squirming and writhing. But instead, she's been given a mission.
Lucy's no stranger to pussies. She has a series of tried and true methods. She doesn't go down just to blindly grope around and beg for praise, the way the men she sleeps with usually do. She gets her hands on Taylor's hips to keep her steady and waits until Taylor's got a good grasp on the headboard.
She must have shown up wondering how Lucy would take this, because she isn't wet. Lucy plans to change that. Her first lick is heavenly. Taylor's so responsive. She squirms and snaps, "Hurry up."
Lucy lifts her long enough to get out, "Can't rush an artist, beautiful."
Taylor responds to this by grinding down on Lucy’s mouth. She gets back to work. If Taylor is used to bad oral, then whatever. That’s her problem. Lucy is used to good sex, thanks much, and she intends to enjoy herself.
Taylor’s fucking gorgeous down here, too. Not that Lucy can see much, but she can feel plenty. She’s clean shaven, which is a shame, because Lucy would love to bury her nose in her pubes and walk around smelling her all day. But that’s surface level. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is the feeling of Taylor’s slit as Lucy explores it, licking and sucking her clit and lips until she’s got a feeling for what Taylor likes.
She likes to be surprised. When Lucy varies what she’s doing, switches from languid licks to fast, smooth exploration, she jolts and then leans into it, seeking more. She doesn’t chase her pleasure unabashedly—not yet, at least, and Lucy thinks she’ll change that, if she’s lucky—but she does give hints, little sighs of pleasure and moments where she lets herself chase Lucy’s tongue.
What the hell were straight men doing to this poor woman? She was clearly the sort of person who deserved to be pampered and cared for the right way so that she’d pull your hair and make demands during sex. Fucking obviously. Thank fuck Lucy didn’t sleep with Buck if this is how he treats women.
Taylor isn't satisfied. “I didn't think I'd have to draw you a map.”
Those are fighting words. Lucy is damn good at giving pleasure when she chooses to be, but she was also the edging champion when she was in college. So instead of redoubling her attention on Taylor's clit and making her come quickly, she pulls back. She licks into her, focusing on her lips, still providing a steady rhythm, but never allowing a crescendo. Taylor whines with frustration.
Lucy keeps going, as tempted as she is to lift Taylor to inform her that this is why it doesn't pay to be a brat. Sure, her jaw is getting tired, Taylor's weight starting to feel heavy on her neck and shoulders, but she isn't done yet. She wants to drown in Taylor's pussy, to stay here until she physically can't force her body to anymore.
“I need,” Taylor says, but she bites off the rest of the sentence. Lucy keeps going.
Taylor's body begs before her mouth does. Her legs start trembling from the effort of holding herself up, her thighs squeezing together around Lucy. Her breathing is shallower, rapid, almost panting. It's hard to hear with Taylor’s body blocking her ears, but Lucy always has been a good listener. And one of her hands comes down off the headboard. She buries it in Lucy's short hair and steers her, holding her face to Taylor's clit. Lucy doesn't give in, just licks lightly at the clit. Not enough pressure to come, not even with how turned on Taylor is.
Finally, Taylor cracks. “Lucy, please, I need—please make me come, please. I need you.”
Is there any sound more beautiful than begging?
She gives Taylor what she’s craving, finally, enough pressure to have Taylor crying out, her pussy fluttering around nothing as she comes on Lucy's face. She's already drenched, the whole lower half of her face covered in Taylor, so a little more hardly matters. Lucy licks her lips. It's welcome, if she's honest. She likes the way Taylor tastes.
Taylor stays there, gasping for breath. Lucy lets her. She’d happily drown in Taylor and come back to life to beg for more.
And, if she’s honest, she doesn’t know what the protocol is. What should happen next. In a normal hookup, she’d already be touching herself, flirting with Taylor by telling her she keeps her strap in a box under the bed, and vibrators in the nightstand.
But she didn’t pick Taylor out for herself. And Taylor doesn’t seem like she’d know what to do with Lucy, for all of her big talk when Lucy was teasing her. Maybe she should let herself be vulnerable, let herself ask. But when Taylor finally rolls off of her, Lucy doesn’t say anything. She keeps touching herself, her eyes on Taylor’s breasts, the way they swing freely as she climbs out of Lucy’s bed. Taylor is so unselfconscious now that she’s gotten what she wants. And then Lucy’s gaze drifts to Taylor’s round, pert ass and soft thighs as she walks away.
Lucy comes on her own hand as Taylor slips her dress back on, slowly covering herself. She hovers by the door for a moment before she calls, “See you, Donato,” over her shoulder.
And yeah, maybe it’ll be the last time. But Channel 8 covers their calls occasionally. Lucy can do something heroic as hell again, nab herself an interview. And a second chance. Maybe this time she’ll work up the courage to ask for more.
Maybe this will be the time she’s as brave as she pretends to be. Maybe. Stranger things have happened.