Chapter 2: The Virgin's Confession
The taste of herself on Bette’s tongue was a shock, intimate and primal. Memphis watched, transfixed, as Bette cleaned her skin with a slow, deliberate swipe, her dark eyes holding Memphis’s with an intensity that made the room feel airless. When Bette released her wrist, it was only to roll onto her side, facing Memphis fully on the rumpled sheets.
“You’re trembling,” Bette observed, her voice low and raspy from her climax. She didn’t touch her, just watched. The space between their bodies felt charged, a live wire.
“I don’t know why,” Memphis whispered. Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs.
“Adrenaline. Fear. Want.” Bette listed the reasons softly, as if cataloging attributes of a fascinating new artwork. “All of the above.”
Memphis nodded, her gaze dropping to Bette’s mouth, then lower, to the softening, glistening cock resting against her thigh. The evidence of what they’d just done was everywhere—the smell, the sticky feeling on her skin, the shattered calm of the room. She had done that. She had brought that powerful sound from Bette’s throat.
“Look at me.” Bette’s command was gentle but absolute. Memphis obeyed. “Tell me what you want now. Right now, in this moment. The first thing that comes to your mind.”
“I want…” Memphis’s voice cracked. She swallowed, forcing the words out. “I want to feel you. Not just my hand. I want to… feel you where I’m wet. Where I’m aching.”
Bette’s eyes darkened, the pupils swallowing the warm brown. A slow, approving smile played on her lips. “Okay. Come here.”
She guided Memphis with a hand on her hip, turning her onto her back. The sheets were cool against her heated skin. Bette loomed over her, propped on one elbow, her other hand trailing a path from Memphis’s collarbone, over the rapid flutter of her heart, down the plane of her stomach. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Memphis’s jeans.
“These need to go.”
Memphis lifted her hips, a clumsy, eager movement, and Bette peeled the denim down her legs, taking her plain cotton panties with them. The cool air hit her wet cunt and she flinched, a sob of embarrassment and relief catching in her throat.
“God, look at you,” Bette breathed, her gaze raking over Memphis’s nakedness. “So fucking beautiful.”
Memphis felt exposed, utterly open under that hungry scrutiny. But she also felt seen in a way she never had before. Bette’s eyes weren’t judging; they were devouring, appreciating.
Bette’s touch returned, fingertips brushing through the soft curls, then lower, tracing her outer lips. Memphis jerked, a gasp ripped from her.
“Easy,” Bette murmured, but her own breath hitched. “You’re soaked, baby. Soaked for me.” She slid a single finger through the slick folds, a slow, gathering motion that made Memphis’s hips lift off the bed. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”
“No. Never.” The words were barely audible.
Bette said nothing, just lowered her head. Memphis felt the hot burst of her breath first, then the flat, firm stroke of her tongue. It was a long, slow lick from her opening all the way up to her clit.
Memphis cried out, her hands flying to tangle in Bette’s dark hair. It was too much. It was not enough. The sensation was brighter, sharper than anything she’d ever imagined—hot, wet, purposeful.
“Bette… please…”
“Please what?” Bette lifted her head, her chin glistening. “Use your words.”
“I don’t know the words,” Memphis whined, tugging at her hair.
“Then just feel.” Bette dived back in, her mouth fierce and dedicated now. She licked and sucked, her tongue circling Memphis’s clit with a pressure that bordered on painful, then retreating to plunge shallowly inside her. She used her hands to spread Memphis wider, holding her open, fucking her with her tongue. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room, a brutal counterpoint to Memphis’s broken moans.
Memphis was unspooling fast, a coil pulled too tight. The pressure built in a terrifying wave, centered on that desperate, pounding point under Bette’s mouth. “I’m gonna… Oh god, I’m gonna…”
Bette redoubled her efforts, sucking her clit hard, and Memphis shattered. Her back arched violently, a raw, wordless scream tearing from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her, blinding and seismic. She pulsed around Bette’s tongue, her vision whiting out at the edges.
When she drifted back, boneless and trembling, Bette was kissing her way up her body, her weight settling between her thighs. Memphis could taste herself on Bette’s lips, salty and musky, as they kissed deeply, messily.
Bette’s cock, which had softened, was now hard again, pressed against Memphis’s thigh. The feel of it, solid and insistent, sent a fresh, weaker jolt of desire through her spent nerves.
“You’re incredible,” Bette whispered against her mouth.
Memphis, emboldened by her own climax, by the taste of her own pleasure on this woman’s lips, shifted beneath her. “I want to try. I want you.”
Bette stilled, searching her face. “Are you sure? We can stop. We can do this another thousand ways first.”
“I’m sure.” Memphis felt a sudden, fierce certainty. She reached between them, her fingers wrapping around Bette’s shaft, guiding it to her entrance. The broad, slick head pressed against her, a pressure so different from a finger or a tongue. Promising fullness. Stretching. “I need to feel you inside me.”
Bette groaned, a sound of pure want, and lowered her forehead to Memphis’s shoulder. “It might hurt. Just at first.”
“I don’t care.”
“Breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”
Memphis dragged in a shaky breath as Bette pushed forward, just the crown, a blunt, impossible stretch. She gasped, her nails digging into Bette’s back. It did hurt—a bright, burning pinch that made her eyes water.
Bette froze. “Okay?”
“Don’t stop,” Memphis pleaded, her voice tight. “Please, don’t stop.”
With a painstaking slowness that seemed to cost her every ounce of control, Bette pushed deeper. The burning stretch intensified, a feeling of being split open, reshaped. Memphis cried out, a sharp, broken sound, and Bette captured it with a kiss, swallowing her pain as she finally, completely, sheathed herself inside her.
They stayed like that, locked together, Bette buried to the hilt, Memphis stretched taut around her, both of them panting, sweating. The pain began to recede, dissolving into a feeling of profound fullness, an ache that was already transforming into something else.
“Fuck,” Bette gritted out, her entire body rigid with the effort of holding still. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.”
Memphis moved her hips, an experimental, tiny rock. The motion sent a shock of sensation through her—the drag of Bette’s cock along walls suddenly awake, electric. A low, guttural moan escaped her. It didn’t hurt anymore. It felt… it felt like being claimed.
“That’s it,” Bette encouraged, her voice raw. “Take what you need. Move for me.”
Memphis rocked again, then again, finding a rhythm. Bette began to move with her, pulling back almost all the way before sliding home in a slow, devastating stroke. Each thrust knocked a soft “ah” from Memphis’s lips. The feeling was overwhelming—the stretch, the friction, the deep, rubbing pressure against something inside her that made her see stars.
“Harder,” Memphis heard herself beg. “Please, Bette.”
That was all the permission she needed. Bette’s control snapped. Her thrusts became powerful, driving, the bedframe knocking a steady rhythm against the wall. She fucked her with a frantic, possessive energy, each slam punching a cry from Memphis’s throat.
“You feel that?” Bette growled, her face buried in Memphis’s neck. “You feel how deep I am? That’s my cock, Memphis. All of it. And it’s yours.”
The filthy words, the raw possession in her voice, tipped Memphis over the edge. A second, harder orgasm detonated inside her, clamping down on Bette’s cock in a series of relentless, milking spasms. She screamed, her body bowing off the bed.
Bette shouted, a raw, broken sound, and drove into her one last, brutal time. Memphis felt the hot, sudden rush of her release deep inside, a pulse that seemed to go on forever, mingling with her own climax until the sensations blurred into one endless wave of ecstasy.
Collapse was gradual. Bette’s weight came down on her, heavy and welcome. Their sweat-slicked skin stuck together. The only sounds were their ragged, merging breaths and the faint city noise seeping through the windows.
Bette finally softened and slipped out of her. Memphis winced at the unfamiliar, empty feeling, the new, tender ache between her legs. She felt hollowed out, remade.
After a long while, Bette shifted, rolling to the side and pulling Memphis with her, tucking her against her body. She didn’t speak. She just held her, one arm a solid weight across her ribs, her lips occasionally brushing her hairline.
Memphis stared into the dark room, her mind a swirling blank. The lavender scent was gone, overwritten by the salty, animal truth of them. Her body throbbed in places she’d never known could feel. She was a virgin no longer. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, curled against the heat of the woman who had just shattered and remade her, she felt a strange, exhausted peace.
It was broken by Bette’s voice, so soft it was almost a vibration against her skin. “Stay.”
It wasn’t a question about tonight. Memphis heard the wider, deeper question in the word. She turned her face into Bette’s neck, breathing her in.
“Okay,” she whispered.
And for now, it was enough.