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Pixie was all she could see, all she could smell, all she could feel. Swallowing Lacy’s whimpers between her glossy lips as they kissed, she had Lacy pinned and helpless between her body and the plush mattress. Her hand held Lacy’s wrists in place above her head, knees shoving her thighs apart without quarter.
A whine of complaint danced on Lacy’s tongue when Pixie removed her other hand from where it had been fondling her breast until it felt like it was bruising, but the sound died on her lips when it instead trailed down between her spread legs and stroked her clit. She murmured pleas and moans, far beyond intelligible, hips canting up just barely. Her cheeks, neck, chest, burned with embarrassment and fiery need.
“Please—“ She stuttered out when Pixie finally let her breathe, in control of everything, though it didn’t seem as though Pixie needed any more encouragement. She murmured a soft affirmation, lips placing searing kisses down her neck so it would inevitably be stained in shades of red and purple by morning, and Lacy knew she could feel the hammering of her heart from where her tongue settled against her pulse like it was home.
Pixie’s middle finger barely teased her before it slid inside her down to the knuckle with no resistance, and Lacy’s mouth fell open in pants as she began thrusting without hesitation. Working her over, wetter, working her open, waiting to hear Lacy’s brokenly soft plea for more before slipping in another finger.
The panting grew more and more frenzied with each time Pixie pushed her fingers knuckle-deep, each time she crooked her digits just so to draw out a series of pleas and moans somewhere between French and English, each time she swirled her thumb elegantly around Lacy’s clit and had a dam of sticky fluid coat her fingers down to her wrist.
She leaked like a faucet onto the sheets and into the open air that hung between them with her words, spilling from her mouth in breathy, accented French. She begged and pled, trying to wrench her hands free, to be good and hold on.
Pixie let up from her assault on Lacy’s neck, nuzzling against her cheek and kissing the corner of her mouth, “You can do it, Lace. Let go.”
“Mer-merci—“ She stuttered, jerking her hips against Pixie’s hand before blinding starbursts lit up behind her eyes and the cord in her belly pulled to its tightest and snapped. Her walls fluttered and clenched, gushing as she came down hard. Pixie kept thrusting, kept thumbing her clit, smirking against her cheek when Lacy’s movements grew jerky with overstimulation.
Lacy stared at her with wide eyes when she realized Pixie wasn’t stopping.
“You can give me more than that,” Pixie told her through a cheshire grin.
She was fucked, Lacy thought with a near-scream that came from her hoarse throat.