Chapter 4: Velvet folds
The taste of Eleanor’s skin lingered on Vivienne’s tongue, salt and warmth and something indefinably her. Vivienne’s mouth remained sealed over Eleanor’s nipple, swirling, sucking, drawing deep, shuddering breaths from the woman beneath her. Eleanor’s hands were anchors in Vivienne’s silver hair, not guiding, just holding tight, her hips lifting off the crimson velvet in small, involuntary arcs. The low moan vibrating in Vivienne’s own throat surprised her – a raw sound of pure discovery, echoing Eleanor’s gasps.
She released Eleanor’s breast with a soft, wet pop, lifting her head. Eleanor’s nipple glistened in the lamplight, dark and impossibly hard. Vivienne stared, mesmerized by the flushed peak, the rapid rise and fall of Eleanor’s chest beneath her. Her own breath came in shallow pants, the unfamiliar thrill of giving pleasure thrumming through her veins like electricity. Eleanor’s eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, met hers. A lazy, utterly satisfied smile curved her lips.
"Not bad, Professor," Eleanor murmured, her voice thick and rough. Her thumb brushed Vivienne’s cheekbone where a strand of silver hair clung damply. "For a beginner."
The teasing remark, delivered with such languid heat, sparked something fierce in Vivienne. Beginner? Perhaps. But the hunger burning low in her belly wasn't beginner’s luck. It was primal. Possessive. She wanted more. More of Eleanor’s taste, more of her sounds, more of the power humming beneath her skin. Her gaze drifted downward, past the flushed swell of Eleanor’s other breast, over the smooth plane of her stomach. The lean muscles tensed slightly under Vivienne’s scrutiny. The simple black lace briefs Eleanor wore seemed suddenly like the most fascinating barrier.
Vivienne’s hands, which had been braced on Eleanor’s shoulders, slid down. Slowly. Tentatively. Her palms skimmed the warm skin of Eleanor’s ribs, feeling the subtle definition beneath. She traced the dip of Eleanor’s navel with a single, curious fingertip. Eleanor sucked in a sharp breath, her stomach muscles contracting visibly. The reaction sent a fresh jolt of daring through Vivienne. She leaned down again, but not to Eleanor’s breasts. Instead, she pressed her lips to the taut skin just above the waistband of the lace briefs. A kiss. Soft. Testing.
Eleanor’s hips lifted again, higher this time, pressing against Vivienne’s mouth. A silent plea. "Vivienne…" The name was a breath, a ragged pull of air.
The sound, raw with need, dissolved Vivienne’s lingering hesitation. The academic, the widow, the woman who played it safe, receded entirely. Only this remained: the scent of Eleanor’s skin, the heat radiating from her core, the overwhelming urge to explore, to claim, to unravel her completely. Her hands slid lower, fingers hooking into the delicate lace waistband of Eleanor’s briefs. She hesitated only a fraction of a second, meeting Eleanor’s burning gaze. Eleanor’s eyes held no mockery, only fierce encouragement, a silent yes burning brighter than the lamp.
Vivienne tugged. Gently, firmly. The lace slid down Eleanor’s hips, catching momentarily on the curve before yielding. Vivienne helped them over Eleanor’s thighs, down her legs, peeling away the last dark scrap of fabric. Eleanor lifted her hips, aiding the removal, her movements fluid, expectant. The briefs joined the discarded pile of clothes on the floor.
Eleanor lay fully exposed beneath her. Vivienne’s breath caught. The lamplight painted golden highlights on the smooth skin of Eleanor’s inner thighs, the dark, neatly trimmed curls glistening faintly. The intimacy was staggering, profound. Vivienne’s gaze lingered, tracing the contours, the hidden folds, the source of the potent scent that filled her nostrils – musk, salt, Eleanor’s unique, intoxicating essence. Her mouth watered.
Slowly, deliberately, Vivienne slid lower on Eleanor’s body. Her knees pressed into the plush velvet on either side of Eleanor’s hips. Her hands slid beneath Eleanor, fingers splaying across the smooth skin of her lower back, lifting her slightly, positioning her. Eleanor’s breath hitched, her thighs falling open wider in silent invitation. Vivienne felt the tremor run through Eleanor’s body, a vibration against her palms. The raw vulnerability in this powerful woman, laid bare and waiting, was almost more than Vivienne could bear. Almost.
She lowered her head. The scent intensified, dizzying, primal. Her lips brushed the soft skin of Eleanor’s inner thigh, high up, near the crease. A kiss. Feather-light. Eleanor jerked beneath her, a choked gasp escaping her lips. Vivienne kissed lower. Another. Closer to the heat. She felt the tremor intensify, heard the sharp intake of Eleanor’s breath. Her own pulse hammered in her ears, a frantic drumbeat urging her on.
Her mouth found the damp, silken skin just beside Eleanor’s core. She kissed it, open-mouthed, tasting salt and heat. Eleanor cried out, her hands flying back to grip Vivienne’s hair, fingers tightening almost painfully. "God… Vivienne…" The name was a broken plea.
Vivienne slid lower still. Her breath washed over Eleanor’s glistening folds. The scent was overwhelming now, rich and heady. She hesitated, poised on the precipice, her lips hovering mere millimeters from the source of Eleanor’s heat. The anticipation crackled in the air, thick and electric. Eleanor’s hips lifted, seeking, desperate. Her thighs trembled against Vivienne’s shoulders.
Vivienne closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with Eleanor. Then, with a certainty that felt both terrifying and utterly right, she lowered her head the final fraction of an inch. Her tongue touched Eleanor. A slow, deliberate stroke along the slick, swollen length of her. The taste exploded on her senses – complex, musky, profoundly intimate. Eleanor arched off the velvet with a cry that was pure, shattered ecstasy, her fingers clenching convulsively in Vivienne’s hair, holding her exactly where she was.
The cry tore from Eleanor’s throat, raw and echoing off the exposed brick. Vivienne’s tongue pressed flat against Eleanor’s clit, the rhythm instinctive now – firm, deliberate strokes that stretched the swollen flesh taut with each pass. Eleanor’s hips bucked wildly against Vivienne’s mouth, seeking more pressure, deeper friction. Vivienne held firm, anchored by Eleanor’s fingers tangled painfully tight in her silver hair, the sting grounding her amidst the sensory storm.
Heat bloomed beneath Vivienne’s tongue, intense and radiating. The taste was overwhelming – salt, musk, something uniquely Eleanor – flooding her senses. Her own body pulsed in response, a deep, answering throb low in her belly, echoing the rhythm she maintained against Eleanor’s clit. Vivienne’s free hand, resting on Eleanor’s trembling thigh, flexed. Her fingers ached. They burned with the need to slide lower, to breach the slick heat pooling beneath her tongue, to explore the tight, yielding depths she could feel clenching rhythmically against the air. It was a visceral pull, a mirror to the remembered pressure inside herself, the profound fullness Eleanor had shown her.
"Inside," Eleanor gasped, the word ragged, barely audible above her own harsh breathing. Her thighs trembled violently against Vivienne’s shoulders. "Fingers… Vivienne… please." The plea shattered Vivienne’s focus, a desperate command cutting through the haze of sensation. She lifted her head fractionally, breaking contact just long enough to meet Eleanor’s gaze. Those fierce green eyes were wide, dilated, stripped bare of all control, reflecting only raw, urgent need.
Vivienne didn’t hesitate. Her damp fingers, slick from Eleanor’s arousal, slid down from Eleanor’s thigh. They traced the soaked folds, encountering slick heat and astonishing softness. Eleanor whimpered, her hips lifting higher, offering herself completely. Vivienne’s middle finger found Eleanor’s entrance, pressing gently against the tight, pulsing ring of muscle. It yielded instantly, welcoming her inside with a hot, wet grip. Vivienne pushed deeper, slowly, feeling the incredible warmth, the intimate clench, the textured walls closing around her knuckle. A low groan escaped Eleanor, her head thrashing back against the crimson velvet.
The sensation was profound. Vivienne felt Eleanor’s internal muscles ripple and tighten around her finger, a pulsing rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of her own heart. It was like her own depths – that remembered pressure, the shocking intimacy of being filled. She curled her finger slightly, seeking, remembering Eleanor’s own touch inside her. Eleanor cried out again, sharper this time, her body arching impossibly high. "There!" she gasped, her voice cracking. "God… there."
Vivienne pressed the pad of her finger against that spot, firm and insistent, while her tongue returned to Eleanor’s clit. She resumed the rhythmic licking, heavy and deliberate, stretching the sensitive flesh with each stroke. Her finger moved inside Eleanor, shallow thrusts timed with the circling pressure of her tongue. Eleanor’s cries fragmented into wordless sounds, sharp gasps and choked moans. Her thighs clamped hard around Vivienne’s head, trapping her, demanding she stay right there, doing exactly this.
The tension coiled tighter, palpable in the air, thick as the scent of their bodies. Eleanor’s breath hitched, caught in her throat. Her muscles locked, rigid beneath Vivienne’s touch. A tremor ran through her, violent and all-consuming. Then she shattered. Her climax ripped through her with silent, convulsive force, her body bowing off the velvet, her inner muscles clamping down viselike on Vivienne’s finger. Only a ragged gasp escaped her lips, followed by a shuddering, endless release that seemed to drain her completely. She collapsed back onto the sofa, boneless, trembling, her chest heaving as she fought for air. Vivienne gentled her touch, her finger still inside Eleanor, feeling the deep, rhythmic pulses gradually subside. Her tongue softened against Eleanor’s clit, lapping gently now, tasting the aftermath.
Eleanor’s grip on Vivienne’s hair finally loosened, her hand falling limply to the cushion. Her eyes were closed, lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and chest. Vivienne slowly withdrew her finger, the movement eliciting a soft, involuntary sigh from Eleanor. She lifted her head, resting her cheek against Eleanor’s inner thigh, watching the powerful tremors slowly ease. The silence stretched, filled only by their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city far below. Eleanor’s hand found Vivienne’s hair again, not pulling, just resting, fingers trembling slightly as they stroked the silver strands.
"Jesus," Eleanor breathed finally, her voice wrecked, a hoarse whisper. She opened her eyes, blinking slowly, her gaze unfocused before finding Vivienne’s face. A slow, dazed smile touched her lips, utterly devoid of its usual sharpness. "Professor Sterling." She swallowed, her throat working. "You…" Words seemed to fail her. She just shook her head slightly, the smile deepening into something awed, almost reverent. Her thumb brushed Vivienne’s damp cheekbone. "Where the hell did that come from?"