Page 67 of Obedience

‘Jesus—Fuck, you feel amazing,’ Greta breathed.

‘Harder, G, please. I need to be fucked by you. Fuck me, please,’ Dylan unashamedly begged.

The rhythm of Greta’s thrusts quickly changed from slow and steady to deep and frantic, the wet, slick sound of her hand turning Dylan on even more. Rocking with a new fervour, Greta was clearly desperate for more pressure and friction. Sensing her need, Dylan slid her hand over her own belly, pushing it between them, giving Greta her perfectly kinked knuckles to grind against.

‘Oh my God,’ Greta moaned quickly on a sharp breath, her weight shifting unsteadily at the sudden sensation.

Greta quickly found her rhythm. Her own hand fucking Dylan hard, while gliding in long, heavy strokes over the back of Dylan’s wet fingers. Their deep moans grew in volume, pushing against the walls and filling every inch of space around them.

Dylan’s gaze slowly moved over the woman she was falling for, her eyes landing on her own glistening hand as Greta’s glorious arse ground against it. ‘You’re fucking dripping on me,’ Dylan rasped, urging Greta forward with a strong, splayed hand. ‘Let me see you.’ Rising to her knees slightly, Greta leaned forward, holding her pelvis virtually still as Dylan started to scissor her fingers in long strokes on each side of her clit.

‘Ohhh my fuuucking…Dylan—fuck!’

The combination of sensations quickly had Dylan unravelling completely. With Greta’s fingers buried deep, her own fingers slowly milking Greta’s pulsing clit and the divine smell of the arousal drenching her hand, Dylan bucked and moaned and begged.

As Greta’s stuttered cries and whimpers dragged her toward the edge, Dylan growled, ‘Make me come on your fingers.’

Relentlessly and recklessly, Greta fucked Dylan so hard and so deep, it was obscene and messy and utterly sensational. The fingers of her other hand gripped the muscle of Dylan’s thigh as she started to shake.

‘Dylan—I’m…’

‘Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Fuck don’t stop. Do not fucking—’ Dylan ground out through erratic breaths, coming on Greta’s hand as Greta came on hers.

Their simultaneous orgasms tore through them. Electrifying ripples and shudders pulsing over Dylan’s skin in wave after wave, as Greta’s body jerked violently on top of her.

With her fingers still inside Dylan and her thighs shaking, Greta stayed in place, straddled over Dylan’s pelvis, her head falling back towards her shoulders as she steadied her breaths. ‘Jesus Christ, Dylan,’ she panted.

‘Fucking hell, G… I’ve waited so long for you to do that to me. Fuck.’

After slowly withdrawing her fingers, Greta pressed both her hands into her own trembling thighs and pulled her spine into a straight line. As Greta scooped her hair up and allowed the weight of it to fall over one shoulder, a mesmerising bead of sweat trickled down her back. Dylan's eyes locked onto it, watching it slide all the way down until it vanished between her arse cheeks. Greta swung her leg back over Dylan and slumped on her back by her side, her skin radiating a fierce heat. A few moments passed as their ragged breaths evened out.

Huffing out a huge breath, Dylan tossed an arm over her eyes. ‘Is this what men feel like?’ she joked softly.

Greta laughed. ‘What?’

‘Men. One orgasm and done.’ Dylan tried to moisten her dry lips with her tongue. ‘That was incredible… I’m fucking fucked!’

Greta laughed with her chest, turning onto her side. Head propped on one hand, she fixed her gaze on Dylan’s neck, watching the heavy bob of her throat as Dylan tried to catch her breath as she chuckled. ‘But Miss St John, you didn’t do anything,’ Greta teased, draping a leg over Dylan’s thighs.

Dylan peeped at Greta from under her arm. ‘It’s tough holding a hand like that, G!’

Greta looked at Dylan as though she was hilarious and beautiful and too fucking much all at once. She tugged her arm down, before cupping her cheek and kissing her. ‘You can fuck me against a wall and carry me through my apartment, but you can’t keep a hand still for a few minutes and wiggle a couple of fingers?’

‘Err, that knuckle and finger thing is bloody tricky, G! I am cramped and done!’ Dylan joked, dramatically throwing her arm back over her eyes.

‘You’re not nearly done, Dylan, so your twenty-eight-year-old self better dig deep.’

Dylan reached to playfully slap Greta’s arse, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from her, before rolling them both over and pressing herself between her soaking thighs. Framed by Dylan’s arms, Greta craned for a kiss.

‘You know the problem with your generation, Doctor Vincent?’ Dylan said, holding her mouth just out of reach.

‘Oh?’ Greta laughed. ‘Please do enlighten me, Miss St John,’ she urged in her most convincing lecturer voice, dropping her head back to the pillow, still having not got her kiss.

‘You Gen Xers are quite the entitled bunch aren’t—’

Greta interrupted with a guffaw. ‘That’s rich coming from a Gen Zer! My generation was the last to experience real life before smartphones and the internet,’ Greta laughed around her words as Dylan playfully stifled a yawn, an arched eyebrow disappearing into her curls as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘We had the eighties and nineties, Dylan. And judging by your taste in music, heavy rotation of band tees and knowledge of lesbian culture way back then, you wish you did too.’

‘Ooh, touché.’ Dylan closed the gap between them, feathering her lips over Greta’s before slowly trailing her hot breath over Greta’s jawline. ‘Tou-fucking-ché,’ she whispered, before quickly forcing her mouth onto Greta’s neck, rendering her immediately hysterical.