by Sydney Falk
Lou broke the kiss. “Then you’ll get it.”
Sam gasped as Lou set her lips over her erect left nipple and took the tip of it between her teeth, not biting—yet—just holding there, her tongue stroking over it, faint suction in her mouth tugging at the flesh. Warmth flooded her chest, and her arms shifted involuntarily in Lou’s grasp.
Lou’s teeth released the tip, then took the nipple itself in between, this time applying more pressure.
Sam squealed, trying to stay still, trying to do as she was told. She trusted Lou. She just had to remember that and she could make herself do anything Lou asked.
Lou’s free hand took hold of Sam’s other breast, squeezing gently at first, then working up to a kneading. She’d never done it with that much force before, and it was painful but exhilarating.
Sam moaned out, and tried to press up into it. She had known Lou was holding back on some level, as if she was glass. Now, with an equal playing ground, Lou wasn’t holding back, and it felt raw and immediate and needful.
“Listen to you, Sam.” Lou’s head had lifted up now, and she was watching with those bright green eyes in the dim light. Her other hand took hold of her other breast. “Listen to yourself. Listen to the sounds you’re making.”
Samantha panted and listened as she was told. Lou’s word was law, in the moment. Sam was squealing and moaning and panting, shudders pulsing through her body. They were the sounds of an animal, of something primal given form through a human throat but still unmistakeable as inhuman.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Sam?” Lou’s words faltered into a whisper. “I wanted you from the first time I saw you. I just had to hold back. I had to keep to myself. Now I don’t. I don’t have to hold back at all.”
The heat deep inside Samantha’s core spread, pooled, grew into fire. Instinct told her crazy things, told her to lick and suck and burrow against the animal above her.
Lou took the blouse and twisted it a few times into a loose, haphazard band. She laid it above Samantha’s head. “Cross your wrists, Sam.”
Sam didn’t hesitate. She didn’t want to, she didn’t want to give Lou the chance to change her mind or get angry again.
Lou wrapped the band around her crossed wrists, first side to side, then around the side to side loop. With some effort, she tied the whole thing in a tight knot, and sat up, straddling Samantha, the razor grin in evidence again.
“You’re mine, you know.” Lou tilted her head, and Sam was reminded of the way her wolf had done the same thing as she’d blacked out, her bones knotting and reforming. “I didn’t want this for you, but you’re right. It happened. It happened and you’re mine now.”
Samantha forced herself to breathe. She’d wanted to hear those words almost since she’d met Lou, on some level, but logic and reason mitigated it every time, told her it was irrational and therefore Not Acceptable.
Logic and reason were no longer in the room. Lou could do anything to her, just like before—but now, Sam felt no reason to question anything Lou would want. She shifted her hands, and the knot of blouse around her wrists held tight. A corresponding clench in her abdomen seemed to feed the warmth of her core.
“Oh, it’s a tight knot, Sam.” Lou’s voice was small, but it had become more throaty now. “The terrible part is that the wolf wanted it, even though I didn’t. The wolf wanted you this way, just like me.” Lou leaned down, her leather jacket and shirt against Sam’s face for a moment, leaving that scent her brain had registered as meaning safety, comfort, home—leather and cotton and Lou. Sam would never have enough of that scent, never could.
Lou’s tongue brushed over the scar across Samantha’s palm, then did so again, as if washing the wound.
Sam whined loudly. “Please. Please, Lou, please.”
“I’ve been waiting to do this for way, way too long.” Lou’s eyes hardened for a moment. “Stay.”
“Yes, Lou.” Samantha whimpered the words out, without thinking, without questioning. Whatever Lou wanted to do to her, with her, for her—she didn’t care. She trusted Lou, and her heart pounding in her chest told her to give in, no matter the request.
Lou brushed strands of Sam’s hair out of her face, their eyes locked for a moment, and then she broke the look with a blink. “Good girl.”
Sam stifled a fresh moan at that.
The other woman’s hands moved over Sam’s tummy, slow and barely tracing their way along. Lou’s body shifted off Sam, and Lou pulled something out of her jacket pocket.
With a schk it opened, now twice its length. Light gleamed off the edges of it, and it became clear it was a knife.
Sam blinked. “L-Lou?”
Lou’s razor grin betrayed nothing. She slipped her empty hand into the waist of the slacks they’d stolen and Sam felt the metal back of the knife blade against her skin. With the sounds of the fabric giving way came cool air over Samantha’s right leg. The same work was done on the left, slowly but surely, baring Samantha’s flesh.
Lou stood, gripped the bottoms of the cut pant legs in one hand, and lifted Samantha’s ankles with the other, one by one.
Samantha shuddered, whining. She was bare flesh now, exposed to Lou as she had been before, but without any effort on her part. The difference was distinct, and pushed a sense of helplessness through Samantha’s mind.
Lou knelt between Sam’s feet and her nose nudged at Sam’s navel. “Don’t try to be quiet, Sam. Just let it out.”
She nosed at the side of Sam’s thighs, drawing slow tonguetip licks along the flesh. Her breath washed warm over the moisture of Lou’s saliva, and Sam felt Lou’s hands settle on the front of her thighs. A long, wide, slow lick traced from the bottom of her sex to the top, drawing a thick moan out of Samantha and sending a powerful spasm through her body.
The hands on her thighs squeezed as Lou’s tongue took a deeper stroke between the folds, working along, hungry but with a maddeningly slow progression. Louann lapped at Sam’s pussy, strokes that laid warmth over warmth, concentrating the heat deep in her abdomen.
Samantha mewled and felt her legs flex, trying to spread wider, as if her body was trying to give itself to Lou automatically. “Lou,” Samantha breathed out between panting breaths.
“I’ve got you.” Lou’s whispered words danced warmly over delicate flesh, and were followed immediately by her tongue sliding in between, probing so carefully, not wanting to overwhelm her right away. Lou’s tongue touched just above Sam’s opening, then stroked a circle ever so slowly around the edge of it.
Samantha’s hips lifted in an effort to try to get more contact, more touch, more pleasure, but Lou moved with her in concert and kept to the slow movement. “Christ, Lou.”
Louann resumed stroking her tongue along the cleft in Sam’s folds, her pace holding too close to steady for the meltdown Sam was rapidly approaching. For a moment, Lou built up to quick laps, hungry breath washing over Sam’s flesh, but then she slowed her pace again and Sam found herself at a strange plateau, not quite close but also not getting closer.
“Wh-What are y-you—“
Lou’s fingers dug in to Sam’s flesh, quieting her. Lou’s talented tongue teased semicircle strokes further up, supplying not nearly enough stimulation to her bud and the flesh surrounding it.
Sam felt herself break as Lou worked, building a rapid intensity again, expertly laying her tongue in places that Sam couldn’t process any more. As spasms gripped her legs, Sam’s moans turned to shrieks and her shrieks to screams and howls. Lou worked furiously now, pushing Sam through the climax with every touch of her tongue and lips. The intensity grew and snarls vibrated through Samantha’s flesh as Lou’s stimulation pushed the seemingly endless moment, stretching it without tearing it off.
The edge of the climax seemed to dip, and Lou’s mouth matched, slowing pace. For a moment, Samantha let herself try to catch her breath. Then, one of the hands on her legs shifted, and two fingers slid easily inside Sam’s entrance, stretching Sam as they curled
inside her. Lou wasn’t done.
Sam was babbling something as Lou flattened her tongue and pressed it between the upper folds, her lips pressing against her labia, her tongue rubbing over the nub and the flesh around it. Sam’s hips worked without her permission, trying to lift, but a thick growl washed warmly from the edges of Lou’s mouth, and Lou’s free hand let go of Sam’s leg and moved in a flash to her lower abdomen.
Somehow, the pressure of the touch there quieted Samantha’s body from further disobedience.
Lou’s fingers flexed, shifted, and found their target. The fingertips inside Sam pressed at the rough spot inside as Lou’s tongue stroked up, then flexed to tighten, then carved strokes along the sides of Samantha’s clit.
Fresh tension built in her legs, her bound arms, another peak coming through her whole body. Lou seemed to pour into her flesh through her mouth and hand, leatherclad shoulders jostling into her thighs as she tensed.
Lou sensed when the orgasm began to die, and her intensity and pressure and speed settled slower, then slower, matching Samantha’s crash into afterglow right until Lou brought her mouth away.
Sam opened her mouth, breathless and panting, but she had no time to get words out. Lou’s mouth was on hers, hungry still, as if to consume Sam. Sam moaned into Lou’s mouth but could not move, could not find a way to operate her arms and legs, as Lou’s tongue took her mouth as its own, the scent of Sam’s sex still on her lips and chin.
Lou broke the kiss. “Believe me now?”
Sam blinked, then managed a faint giggle and nod.
Lou lay next to her on the bed, stroking her hair, holding her, watching her come back down. The aftershocks spasmed through her body, every one a reminder of the surreal pleasure of Lou’s warm, hungry mouth.
When Sam could breathe again, she leaned over and put her lips to Lou’s, tasting herself, slipping her arms around the woman she loved. “I’m happy with you. I don’t care what the Colbys do. We’ll find a way. We’ll survive, no matter what. Together.”
Lou opened her eyes and a hint of a smile crept into her expression. “Together.”
Samantha had no idea where they’d end up, but with Lou in her arms and fresh endorphins in her blood, she found she didn’t care.
About the Author
Sydney Falk lives on the East coast of the United States. She enjoys nachos, cheesecake, and dirty, dirty stories.
She is married and co-maintains a dog, a daughter, and a number of dying houseplants.
About the Publisher
Playfair Cipher Square is committed to finding authors who can tap raw need and raw passion.