Chapter 9: The Revelation
The stairs seemed longer than they'd been the first time. Each step was an unspoken question and answer, a rhythm of trust being rebuilt. Ellie's hand was warm in hers. Lydia felt a bead of sweat run from her hairline down her collarbone, that faded crucifix still swinging gently between her breasts as she moved.
When they reached the top, Ellie paused. Her grip tightened around Lydia's fingers, those dark eyes searching the smaller woman's face with an intensity that made Lydia feel like she was being read like a book written in a language she barely understood. Ellie's bedroom door was ajar, cracked just enough to let a sliver of warm amber light spill into the hallway.
"So I've been thinking," Ellie said, her voice low and textured, dipping into the kind of hushed register that sent a prickle racing down Lydia's spine, "about that run you went on this morning."
Lydia swallowed. "What about it?"
That smile that appeared at the corner of Ellie's mouth wasn't sweet. It was dark, possessive. It sparked a heat in Lydia's stomach that had nothing to do with the warmth of the staircase.
"I've been thinking about how your thighs looked in those little shorts. How your stomach muscles flexed when I watched you breathe. How you kept touching your collarbone." Ellie stepped closer, her body a solid wall of invitation, those fingers still tangled in Lydia's. "And I've been thinking about how much I wanted to pull you into my room and peel every scrap of that sweaty little running outfit off you."
Lydia's breath hitched. A warmth spread through her, sudden and insistent, pooling low in her belly. She felt herself flush from her chest up to the roots of her hair, and for once, she didn't care. To have those words directed at her, to be desired this openly, to be watched and wanted with such raw confession—it cracked open something inside her.
Her pulse a wild thing in her veins.
"Then why haven't you?" Lydia heard herself ask.
Ellie's eyes went dark. She opened her mouth to say something, but Lydia wasn't done. An impulse—bold, reckless, fuelled by a hunger that had been starving for years—grabbed hold of her. She stepped past Ellie and into the bedroom, her eyes scanning the space. The velvet-black curtains were drawn so tight that only thin veins of golden sunlight bled through the fabric. Candles sat on every surface, some half-melted, their wicks dark from recent flames. The air was thick with patchouli. Something smoky. Ellie's scent, clinging to the sheets of that huge, unmade bed.
Lydia stopped in the middle of the room. She hooked her thumbs under the hem of that dusty rose tank top, the fabric clinging to her skin, damp from her run.
The moment her arms crossed to lift, she saw Ellie's expression shift. The composed mask crumpled, replaced by a rawness, a hunger that looked almost reverent.
Lydia pulled the top over her head. She was in her sports bra, still slick with sweat, her cute, athletic torso bared. She tossed the top aside and stood there, letting Ellie look. Letting herself be seen.
"Come here," Lydia said.
Ellie crossed the room in three strides, her long legs carrying her with a fluid, predatory grace. When she tried to pull Lydia close, Lydia's hands snapped up, gripping Ellie's wrists, spinning them so gravity and momentum reversed. Ellie's back hit the door with a soft thump, the sound swallowed by the heavy wood. Lydia pressed herself against her, a hand sliding up Ellie's side to her ribs.
"I'm in charge tonight," Lydia murmured. It was not a request.
Ellie's eyes were wide. Her pupils blown. She nodded, her lips parting.
"Say it."
"I want you in charge." Ellie's voice was a delicate, breathless surrender. "You're in charge."
Something clicked inside Lydia, slamming into place. The anxious, walled-off girl who spent her mornings in oversized hoodies and her evenings convincing everyone she was fine evaporated. In her place stood this woman, this raw, hungry presence, her mouth latching onto Ellie's neck, kissing teeth and tongue down the column of her throat. She tasted salt and perfume.
"Fuck," Ellie whispered.
Lydia bit down on the jut of Ellie's collarbone. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp. Her hands found the hem of Ellie's lacy black top, and she rucked it upward impatiently. Ellie's arms raised, and the garment went sailing across the room. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts spilled free, full and pale, her nipples already hard little pebbles in the dim candlelight.
Lydia let out a low, guttural sound she didn't recognize as her own. She palmed Ellie's breast, thumb flicking across the tight bud, and Ellie arched into the touch.
"Get on the bed," Lydia said. "On your back."
Ellie didn't hesitate. She crawled up the tangled mess of silk sheets like she couldn't move fast enough. The comforter bunched beneath her knees. She lay back on the velvet throw pillows, her dark hair a dark angel's halo of black lace around her head.
Lydia stood at the foot of the bed, drinking her in. Ellie lay there completely exposed from the waist up. Her black lace shorts hugged her hips, and the slight sheen of moisture was already blooming through the thin fabric, staining it darker where her cunt sat slick.
"The shorts too," Lydia said.
Ellie hooked her thumbs under the elastic, lifted her hips, and shimmied them down her legs. She kicked them off somewhere into the darkness of the room. She lay there. Naked.
Lydia felt her mouth go dry. Ellie's body was long and lean, all elegant lines and soft planes. Her legs were parted, one knee bent, her dark-haired cunt bare for Lydia to see. The outer lips glistened. The sight sent a pulse of raw, terrible want through the smallest woman.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Lydia breathed.
Ellie smiled, something wicked, something knowing. She let her fingers drift to her own belly, trailing down, lower. But before she could touch herself, Lydia moved. She climbed up the bed, a predator in her sports bra and compression shorts, leaving one clean sock in her wake. She grabbed Ellie's wrist, moving the searching hand away.
"Did I say you could touch?"
A shaky exhale. "No."
Lydia straddled her hips, settling her weight, the heat of Ellie between her legs. She leaned down and kissed her, slow and punishing and deep. Ellie's mouth opened beneath hers, pliant and eager, a quiet moan vibrating in her throat.
A strange urgency took her. Lydia broke the kiss. She rolled off and grabbed the pillow, shoved it under Ellie's hips, tilting her up, exposing her cunt to the flickering dim light. The air felt cool on Ellie's slick skin, and she squirmed, a low whine escaping her throat.
"I want to taste you," Lydia said. "And then I want to do whatever I want with you."
"Mhm," Ellie breathed.
But Lydia didn't lower her head. She shifted down the bed, positioning herself between Ellie's legs. Only she didn't use her mouth. She lifted her foot, still clad in its sock.
"What are you—" Ellie's question broke off as the cotton-covered sole of Lydia's foot pressed gently against her outer lips.
Ellie made a choking sound. Her eyes flew wide open, rolling back into her head as she thrust her hips involuntarily against the soft pressure. "Holy shit, you remembered."
"I remember everything about that night," Lydia said, her voice low and even as she worked the ball of her foot against Ellie, putting slight, teasing pressure on her clit. The fabric dragged, a dull friction that made Ellie hisp and squirm, needy sounds spilling from her throat.
She ground her foot in slow, unhurried circles. Ellie's legs shook. Her hands twisted in the sheets, knuckles white. Her hips chased the pressure, rolling against the sodden fabric of the sock, soaking it through.
"Please," Ellie gasped. "Lydia, please, baby, please."
"Please what?"
It was a filthy tease, but Lydia's own cunt was throbbing inside her sweat-soaked shorts. She could feel her own slick heat building, her clit aching with every desperate sound Ellie made.
"Fuck me," Ellie begged. Her voice was shred. "Fuck me open. I've been wanting this all week, wanting you to use me, please."
Lydia withdrew her foot. Ellie let out an animal sound of protest, but Lydia was already sliding off the bed. She crossed to the tall, antique wardrobe in the corner. She pulled open the doors, raking her gaze past hung dresses. It was there, nestled on a lower shelf near a box of condoms and a bottle of lube, most of it untouched.
A leather harness and a silky black dildo attached to a familiar base. It looked brand new, never used.
Lydia lifted it carefully, the leather cool and supple in her hands. She turned back to the bed. Ellie had propped herself up on her elbows, her face a perfect study of wideness, shock, and dawning anticipation.
"I've never done this," Lydia said, holding the strap-on up. Her hands shook. She tightened her grip. "I've never topped."
Ellie stared at her. The silence stretched, thick enough to be a thing you could cut with a knife.
"Shut up," Ellie said. "Really?"
The word came out a half-laugh, a disbelieving breath. Lydia's cheeks burned, but she didn't look away. "I don't know why I—I always wanted to. But I never had the confidence. The girl I was with before..."
Her voice trailed off. But Ellie was already shaking her head.
"I've never bottomed," Ellie said. The confession was soft, cracked with vulnerability. "I've always been the one to give. To take care of someone else. I've never let anyone..." She trailed off. "Before you touched me that night, I'd never just let someone else take the lead."
They stood in that dim velvet-lit study of trust, both of them trembling with the weight of their admissions. On the bed, spread open and wanting, and beside Lydia, harness in hand, terrified out of her mind.
Then Ellie smiled, a stunning, ragged thing. "So we're both virgins at this."
Lydia let out a crack of laughter, and the tension shattered.
"Fuck it," she said. "First time for everything."
She climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between Ellie's legs. The harness felt alien in her hands. She fumbled with the buckles at her hips, a nervous heat building in her belly. Ellie reached out, her fingers brushing over the leather straps. Her touch was gentle, grounding.
She helped work the harness up Lydia's legs, letting the straps settle around her hips and between her thighs. The leather was snug, pressing against the damp fabric of her compression shorts, sparking against the heat of her.
Lydia looked down. The dildo jutted out from her pelvis, this thick, black, intimidating thing. The sight made a shiver race up her spine.
Then she looked at Ellie. So open before her. The vulnerability in that face made something twist in her chest.
"Come here," Lydia said, her voice softer now. She gestured between her legs. "Suck it for me first."
Ellie lowered herself off the pillows, crawling unselfconsciously toward her. She settled between Lydia's outstretched thighs, dark hair trailing over her hands, her face close to the object strapped to Lydia's hips. She looked up at Lydia with dark, hooded eyes.
She licked her lips. Then she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the head, sucking gently, her tongue swirling around the silicone.
Lydia's breath punched out of her. A bolt of sensation shot straight to her core, electric and impossible. It wasn't the physical feeling, not really. It was the sight of it. The way Ellie looked up at her. The power bending the air of that velvet room.
"Fuck," Lydia moaned, her hips rolling forward involuntarily.
Ellie took it deeper, down her throat, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked it. Lydia's hands sank into that dark hair, guiding her.
"That's it," she whispered, her voice throaty. "Show me how much you want it."
Ellie moaned in response, the vibration traveling through the silicone, up the harness, straight into the marrow of Lydia's bones.
Finally, when Lydia thought she might beg, she pulled Ellie off, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to the glistening dildo.
"Turn over," Lydia said. "On your hands and knees."
Ellie did it without hesitation. She rose on all fours, her back a dip of elegant spine, her perfect ass presented to Lydia in the amber candlelight, wet and open and waiting.
Lydia positioned herself behind her. The dildo nudged at Ellie's slick entrance. Ellie looked back over her shoulder, eyes wild, lips parted, pupils huge.
"Do it," Ellie breathed. "Fuck me open, baby. I want to feel you."
Lydia grabbed Ellie's hips with both hands. And thrust.
Ellie's mouth opened on a silent cry. She shoved herself back against the intrusion, involuntarily seeking more, impossibly greedy. The sound of Lydia's groin slapping against Ellie's ass was wet and obscene.
"God, you're so tight," Lydia choked out, the sensation of the harness and the pressure against her own clit making her eyes roll back.
"Keep going," Ellie gasped. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking dare stop."
Lydia began to move. Slow and deep at first, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back home. The rhythm grew faster, wilder. Her hips snapped forward in an instinctive rutting motion, hunger taking control, raw and primal.
"I've been thinking about this all week," Lydia grunted. The constriction in her throat was new. "About making you feel good. Making you see me."
"I see you," Ellie sobbed, delighting as the dildo jabbed deep. "I see you, Lydia. You're so fucking—"
Her words shattered into a moan as Lydia drove in at an angle that made her collapse forward, elbows buckling. Her face pressed into the mattress. Her hips were in the air, her ass grinding back.
Lydia bent over her, pistoning her hips harder, faster, chasing a fast-rising animal inside her. Her sweat-slicked chest pressed against Ellie's back. She dragged her nails down the sides of Ellie's ribs.
"I want to feel you come around me," she whispered into Ellie's ear. "Can you do that for me?"
"Yes," Ellie gasped. "Yes, please, please, make me come."
Lydia reached around, pressed her fingers through Ellie's hair, found her clit, swollen and slippery. She rubbed hard little circles, hips never stopping.
It took only seconds. Ellie's entire body locked up, her spine bowing so deeply she screamed into the mattress, a muffled, raw, feral sound of pure release. Her cunt clamped down around the dildo in a fluttering, rhythmic grip.
The vibration through the silver chain, the echo in Lydia's clit, sent her spiraling with her. A broken sob tore from her throat as she thrust through it.
Ellie collapsed fully. Lydia pulled out slowly, the dildo sliding free with a wet sound that made her tremble. She unbuckled the harness with shaking fingers, letting it fall to the floor. Then she collapsed on top of Ellie, a blanket of sweat and shaking limbs.
Ellie rolled over beneath her, their mouths finding each other in a messy, clumsy, desperate kiss.
"Not bad for a couple of first-timers," Ellie whispered, voice shot to husk.
Lydia laughed, breathless, and kissed her again. She was trembling, still, every nerve fizzing. She might have said something true then. A confession to match the one she'd made downstairs. But Ellie was already pulling her close, wrapping miles of leg around her, and for one fragile, safe moment, she let herself sleep.
Her last thought as the dark edges began to fuzz into gold was this: she wanted to stay here. She wanted this to be it. The fear of what that meant would have to wait until morning.