Chapter 60: Worship
The scent of coffee and bacon pulled Stephanie from the depths of a satiated, weightless sleep. She blinked, the world coming into focus as soft, golden morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the penthouse bedroom in warm hues. She was alone in the massive bed, the silk sheets cool against her bare skin. The memory of the morning, of Veronica’s mouth and her own shattered cries, flooded back, warming her from the inside.
She stretched, a soft groan escaping her as pleasantly sore muscles protested. The collar was still around her neck, a familiar, comforting weight.
A clatter came from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a low, familiar curse. Stephanie smiled, pushing back the duvet. She didn’t bother with a robe. The feel of the air on her skin, in this space that was becoming hers, felt like a claim.
She padded barefoot into the main living area. Veronica stood at the marble island, her back to Stephanie, a vision of contrasting textures. She wore only low-slung silk pajama pants, her powerful back and shoulders bare, the muscles shifting as she arranged plates. Her Afro was a magnificent, untamed halo against the light.
The table was set with surprising care: fresh orange juice, a bowl of vibrant berries, crispy bacon, and fluffy scrambled eggs. Classical music, something with gentle strings, played softly from hidden speakers.
“You cooked?” Stephanie asked, her voice still raspy with sleep.
Veronica turned. Her sharp green eyes swept over Stephanie’s naked form, from her sleep-tousled hair down to her toes, a possessive heat flashing in them before she schooled her features into their usual gruffness. “I ordered. Don’t get used to it.”
Stephanie just smiled, knowing the truth. The care in the presentation was Veronica’s. She slid onto a stool, the cold marble of the seat a shock against her thighs. “It looks wonderful.”
“Eat,” Veronica said, placing a plate in front of her before taking the adjacent stool. They ate in a comfortable quiet, the city humming far below them. Stephanie stole glances, watching the way Veronica’s throat worked as she drank her coffee, the focused intensity she gave to a simple piece of toast.
Every bite Stephanie took, she felt Veronica’s gaze like a physical touch. It lingered on the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the way her hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward. The air thickened, charged with a silent, building current.
Stephanie reached across the island for another strip of bacon. As her fingers closed around it, Veronica’s hand moved.
Smack.
The sound was sharp, clear in the quiet room. A stinging, delicious heat bloomed across the swell of Stephanie’s ass cheek. She gasped, the bacon falling from her fingers.
Veronica didn’t say a word. She just bit her lower lip, her eyes darkening to a stormy sea-green, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. The sight of it, that controlled ferocity, sent a bolt of pure lust straight to Stephanie’s core. She felt herself grow instantly wet, a fresh ache throbbing between her legs.
“Veronica…” Stephanie breathed, her accent thickening.
In one fluid motion, Veronica stood, closed the distance between them, and spun Stephanie’s stool around. She dropped to her knees on the plush rug, her hands pushing Stephanie’s thighs apart without ceremony.
“You’re soaked,” Veronica growled, the pads of her fingers sliding through Stephanie’s slick folds. “Just from a little slap? You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
Before Stephanie could answer, Veronica’s mouth was on her.
There was no gentle preamble this time. This was hunger. Veronica licked into her with a deep, groan, her tongue thrusting hard, fucking her with it. The obscene, wet sounds filled the space, louder than the music, and Veronica moaned against her, the vibration ripping a sharp cry from Stephanie’s throat.
“Fuck, listen to that,” Veronica panted, pulling back for a second, her chin glistening. “Listen to how fucking wet you are for me. This perfect, pretty cunt, dripping just for me.” She dove back in, her focus shifting to Stephanie’s clit, sucking the sensitive bud into her mouth with relentless, rhythmic pulls.
Stephanie’s hands flew to Veronica’s head, fingers tangling in the thick curls, not guiding, just holding on. Her hips bucked off the stool, meeting every thrust of Veronica’s tongue. The coil inside her, still loose from the morning, wound tight with terrifying speed.
“I’m—I’m gonna…” Stephanie choked out.
Veronica redoubled her efforts, one hand sliding under to cup Stephanie’s ass, squeezing the stinging flesh, the other circling a finger around her entrance before plunging two fingers deep inside her. The stretch was exquisite, perfectly filling.
“Come, then,” Veronica commanded, her voice muffled against Stephanie’s flesh. “Come all over my fucking face.”
It shattered her. The orgasm was a raw, convulsive wave that tore through her, wringing a ragged scream from her lungs. Her cunt clenched violently around Veronica’s fingers, her vision whiting out at the edges. Veronica didn’t let up, drinking her down, licking and sucking until the sensations tipped from pleasure into a sharp, overwhelming sensitivity.
Stephanie slumped, gasping, but Veronica just moved her mouth lower, lapping at her entrance, pushing her tongue inside as far as it would go. The overstimulation was madness. A second peak, thinner and sharper, was already building on the wreckage of the first.
“No, too… too much…” Stephanie whimpered, but her body betrayed her, hips still twitching, seeking more.
“You can take it,” Veronica snarled, adding a third finger, stretching her impossibly full. “One more. Give it to me.”
The third orgasm wasn’t a wave. It was a detonation. A silent, seizing shock that locked every muscle in Stephanie’s body. A high, thin sound escaped her parted lips as her consciousness flickered, the world tunneling into darkness. The last thing she felt was the relentless, worshipful stroke of Veronica’s tongue before everything went black.
She floated in a warm, dark sea. Sensations returned slowly. The softness of the bed beneath her. The weight of a damp cloth, moving gently, carefully over her chest.
Stephanie forced her eyes open. She was back in the bedroom, tucked under the duvet. Veronica sat beside her, naked, her expression one of intense focus. In her hand was a small antiseptic wipe, and she was methodically, tenderly cleaning around the delicate silver hoops that pierced Stephanie’s nipples.
“You passed out,” Veronica said quietly, not looking up from her task. Her touch was clinical, yet infinitely gentle.
“You… killed me,” Stephanie mumbled, her voice a thread.
A ghost of a smile touched Veronica’s lips. “Just a little death.” She finished with one nipple, leaning down to blow softly on the clean skin. The cool air made the peak tighten furiously. Stephanie shivered.
Veronica moved to the other, her big hands impossibly careful. “My sister’s in town,” she said, her tone shifting, a layer of tension returning. “Jacqueline. She just texted. She’s… impulsive. Might show up unannounced.”
The words were a warning, but Stephanie was too blissfully spent to grasp their weight. She just watched the concentrated frown on Veronica’s face as she tended to her.
“She is nice, your sister?” Stephanie asked sleepily.
Veronica’s jaw tightened. “She’s a chaos magnet with a good heart.” She capped the antiseptic and set it aside, her hand coming to rest possessively on Stephanie’s sternum, over the collar. “This… our… it’s no one’s business.”
Before Stephanie could respond, the distinctive chime of the penthouse doorbell echoed through the apartment.
Veronica froze. Her eyes snapped to the bedroom doorway, then back to Stephanie’s. The softness evaporated, replaced by the razor-sharp alertness of the courtroom. “Fuck.”
The bell rang again, insistently, followed by a cheerful, muffledged voice. “Ronnie! I know you’re in there! I brought patties!”
Veronica swore under her breath, a fluent, violent streak. She moved with sudden urgency, grabbing a robe from the foot of the bed and tossing it to Stephanie. “Put this on. Stay here.”
But as Veronica stood, pulling on her own pajama pants, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed from the foyer.
“Too late,” Veronica muttered, striding out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.
Stephanie scrambled into the robe, tying the belt with trembling fingers. She heard the front door open.
“Jacqueline! What the hell? I didn’t buzz you up.”
“The doorman remembers me, silly! Oh my god, your view is even more insane than I—”
The voice, bright and musical, cut off abruptly.
Stephanie crept to the bedroom doorway, peering out. In the vast living room stood a young woman who could only be Veronica’s sister. She was shorter, with the same sharp green eyes, but her hair was in long, tidy braids, and her smile was open and easy. It was frozen now, her eyes wide as they took in the scene: the disheveled breakfast island, the two plates, the stool still slightly askew.
Then her gaze landed on Veronica, bare-chested and furious in the doorway, and then traveled past her, locking onto Stephanie in the robe, her hair a wild cascade, her lips swollen, the marks of passion likely clear on her throat.
Jacqueline’s expression cycled from shock to dawning, delighted comprehension. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face, mirroring her sister’s but devoid of its ferocity.
“Well,” Jacqueline said, her Jamaican lilt dancing with amusement. She held up a paper bag. “I guess I should have brought three patties.”