Chapter 7: A Jealous Wish
The silence in the Vance house had taken on a new quality. It wasn’t the quiet of peace, but the dense, loaded silence of a settled pact. Marcus made coffee in the morning, kissed her with a warmth that was both genuine and unnervingly devoid of residue. He asked no questions about her plans. When she mentioned she might see Diana, he simply nodded, his smile easy. “Say hi for me,” he’d said, tapping the side of his mug. The normalcy of it was a mirror with a crack running through it. She could see her reflection, but it was spliced with something else, something she had put there.
It made her want to flee into the one place where the consequences were acknowledged, where the distortion was the point.
Diana’s gallery was closed on Mondays. Elara let herself in through the private rear entrance, the code she’d been given feeling like a key to a separate world. The main space was haunting in its emptiness, the artworks lurking under cloth covers like sleeping beasts. She moved through to the back room.
The air here was different today. The usual scent of oil paint and turpentine was undercut by something muskier, animal. The velvet drapes were partially drawn, slicing the sunlight into bars of gold that cut across the space. And in one of those bars of light, Diana was on her knees.
A woman—a brunette Elara didn’t recognize, lithe and trembling—was braced against a worktable, her skirt pushed up around her waist. Diana’s head was buried between the woman’s legs. But this was no ordinary act. Diana’s shoulders were moving with a peculiar, sustained rhythm. A wet, obscene sound filled the quiet room. As Elara’s eyes adjusted, she saw it: a thick, ropelike length of flesh, glistening and deep pink, protruding from Diana’s mouth, buried to what looked like its root inside the stranger.
Diana was fucking her with her tongue.
A visceral jolt, hot and sour, hit Elara’s stomach. It wasn’t disgust. It was a sharp, clawing envy. That was her intimacy, her secret. That miraculous, adaptable flesh was a product of their shared wish, their bond. Seeing it deployed on a random canvas of a woman felt like a theft.
The stranger—Sasha, Diana would later call her—was mewling, her knuckles white on the table’s edge. “Oh god, right there, don’t stop,” she choked out.
Elara didn’t think. The wish formed as a silent, seething command in the center of her mind, aimed at the lamp’s limitless, listening power. I want Diana’s tongue inside me, not hers.
The effect was immediate and chilling. Diana froze. She withdrew, the extended tongue sliding out of the woman with a thick, wet slurp that echoed in the room. It retracted back into her mouth in a smooth, impossible spiral until her lips closed, looking perfectly ordinary. She stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her expression shifting from carnal focus to detached amusement.
“Sorry, Sasha. Playtime’s over,” Diana said, her voice smooth and utterly cold.
The woman, dazed and slick with her own arousal, blinked in confused frustration. “What? Diana, I was so close…”
Diana didn’t even look at her. She was staring at Elara in the doorway, a slow smile spreading. “Another time.” Her tone brooked no argument.
Sasha, flushed and unsteady, fumbled for her discarded underwear on the floor. Her movements were jerky with abandoned need. She shot a bewildered, almost wounded glance at Diana’s impassive profile before hurrying toward the door Elara blocked.
Elara watched the woman’s shame and confusion. She saw the slick shine on her inner thighs. The earlier envy curdled, mutated into something more possessive and expansive. She didn’t move from the doorway.
“Wait,” Elara said, her voice not loud but slicing through the room’s tension.
Sasha halted, clutching her clothes to her chest. Diana’s eyebrow arched, her interest sharpening.
Elara stepped fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her. The lock clicked with finality. She assessed Sasha—the vulnerable curve of her spine, the hungry uncertainty in her eyes. This was a person accustomed to being used and dismissed by someone like Diana. A toy. Elara understood the utility of toys, but she also saw a more complex possibility in the aftermath of her own jealous wish.
“You were close,” Elara stated, walking closer. She reached out, not touching, but letting her hand hover near Sasha’s arm. “It’s rude to leave a guest wanting.”
Diana chuckled, low in her throat. “Feeling generous?”
“Feeling specific,” Elara corrected, her gaze locked on Sasha. “You don’t have to go.” She traced a single finger along the woman’s jawline. Sasha shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed. “You can stay. With both of us.”
Sasha’s breath hitched. This was a script she recognized, one of diminished agency. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Good,” Elara murmured. Then she turned her head, her command clear. “Diana. On the couch. I want to watch her taste you first.”
The power shift was electric and instantaneous. Diana, for all her control, reveled in being directed within the game. She slid onto the deep velvet sofa, spreading her legs with deliberate slowness. She hadn’t worn underwear. Her cunt was glistening from her earlier work, the lips swollen and dark.
“You heard her, Sasha,” Diana purred, reclining back. “Come earn your keep.”
Elara guided Sasha by the shoulder, pressing her down onto her knees between Diana’s spread thighs. The sight was profoundly lewd. Sasha needed no further prompting. She dove forward, her mouth latching onto Diana with a desperate, grateful hunger. Her tongue lashed at Diana’s clit, her lips sucking hard.
Diana’s head fell back, a sharp gasp escaping her. Her hands tangled in Sasha’s hair, not guiding, just gripping. “Yes, just like that, you needy little bitch.”
Elara watched, her own body tight with anticipation. She unbuttoned her blouse slowly, letting it fall open. She pinched her own nipple through the lace of her bra, the sharp bite grounding her. She was the architect of this. This was her wish, her scene.
Sasha was relentless, her technique practiced and intense. Diana’s hips began to buck, meeting that hungry mouth. “Fuck, I’m going to come,” Diana growled, her voice taut.
“Not yet,” Elara commanded softly.
Diana tensed, a growl of frustration caught in her chest, but she obeyed, forcing herself still. The denial vibrated in the air.
Elara finally stepped out of her skirt. She moved behind Sasha, who was still feverishly eating Diana out. She placed a hand on the small of Sasha’s back, feeling the muscles working there. With her other hand, she reached around and cupped Sasha’s own wetness from behind. Sasha moaned against Diana’s flesh, the vibration making Diana jerk.
“You’re so wet for this,” Elara whispered into Sasha’s ear. She pushed two fingers inside her without preamble, curling them. Sasha cried out, her back arching, but she didn’t pull her mouth from Diana’s cunt.
Elara fucked her with her fingers, a steady, deep rhythm, feeling the other woman’s tightness clutch around her. She could feel the exact moment Diana’s control snapped. With a ragged shout, Diana shoved Sasha’s face hard against her and came, her whole body bowing off the couch. Sasha drank her down, moaning as Elara’s fingers thrust into her.
As Diana’s spasms subsided, Elara withdrew her slick fingers. She kissed Sasha’s shoulder. “My turn now,” she said. “Up on the couch. On your hands and knees.”
Sasha, dazed and obedient, crawled onto the couch beside the still-panting Diana. Elara followed, kneeling behind her. Diana, recovering, turned onto her side to watch, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark.
Elara positioned herself. She didn’t ask. She gripped Sasha’s hips and drove her cock—the one she’d wished for, the one that felt more authentically her than anything nature could have designed—deep into the woman’s waiting, soaked cunt in one brutal stroke.
“Christ!” Sasha screamed, her body buckling from the sudden, profound fullness.
Elara set a punishing pace from the start, her thrusts hard and complete. The slap of skin was brutal and rhythmic. She owned this rhythm, this act. Diana watched, mesmerized, her hand drifting down to her own clit, circling slowly.
“You feel that?” Elara grunted, her hips pistonning. “You feel how much deeper I fill you than any man? This is what you wanted when you came here today. This splitting you open.”
“Yes! Yes, god, yes!” Sasha sobbed, her voice shattered by each thrust.
Diana moved closer. She kissed Elara, a deep, messy kiss, tasting herself on Elara’s lips. Then she bent her head and began to lick Sasha’s clit in tight, rapid circles, synchronizing with Elara’s powerful drives.
The triple sensation was too much. Sasha’s body locked, a raw, guttural shriek torn from her as an orgasm detonated through her, her cunt milking Elara’s shaft in violent pulses. Elara fucked her through it, relentless, chasing her own peak.
She felt it rising, a tidal wave of power and pure physical zenith. She pulled Sasha’s hair, yanking her head back. “You take every fucking drop,” she ordered, her voice guttural.
Her orgasm ripped through her, a white-hot claim. She slammed home, holding Sasha impaled as she pulsed jet after jet of come deep inside the trembling woman. The force of it left her vision speckled.
She stayed buried for a long moment, catching her breath. Finally, she softened and slid out. Sasha collapsed onto the couch, a spent, glistening ruin. Diana was watching Elara, her expression one of raw, adoring hunger.
Elara looked at the two women on the couch, then down at her own body, slick with sweat and the evidence of shared conquest. The lamp’s power thrummed in her veins, a silent, approving hum.