Chapter 6: The Race Home
The cold night air did nothing to cool the heat between them. They ran, sneakers slapping against wet pavement, hands locked together so tightly their fingers ached. Laughter bubbled out of Grace, breathless and giddy, a stark contrast to the focused intensity she’d felt on the dance floor, in the kiss. Skye’s thumb stroked over her knuckles, a silent promise.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
Their shared house was dark and quiet. The door to their room clicked shut, and then Skye was pushing her against it, her mouth finding Grace’s in a kiss that was all hungry tongue and desperate heat. Grace’s hands, previously so shy, now roamed with a clumsy urgency, dragging Skye’s shirt up and over her head, fumbling with the clasp of her bra until it gave way. Skye’s strong hands made quicker work of the simple buttons on Grace’s dress, pushing the fabric aside until Grace’s small, perfect breasts were constrained only by her simple sports bra. The cool air pebbled her skin.
They kissed against the door, a tangle of limbs and gasps. Skye’s skirt pooled at her feet, her bra following. She stood there, flushed and magnificent in just her black lace panties and socks, all defined muscle and soft curves under the dim light from the hall. Grace drank her in, the sight more intoxicating than any drink at The Violet Door.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Grace breathed, her voice rough.
Before she could say more, Skye’s hands were under her thighs, lifting her with a grunt of effort that sent a thrill straight to Grace’s core. She loved this—the effortless strength, the feeling of being completely surrounded by her. Skye carried her the few steps to her bed and deposited her on the comforter, climbing over her immediately, their mouths meeting again in a wet, open kiss. The weight of her, the scent of her sweat and perfume, was everywhere.
They broke apart, panting. Skye hovered above her, her long hair a dark curtain around their faces. “You okay?”
Grace could only nod, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Skye bit her lip, a flicker of that old nervousness crossing her features. “You sure? ‘Cause I’ve got… I wanna try something with you. If you’re up for it.”
“Yes,” Grace said, the word leaving her in a rush. “Anything.”
Skye smiled, a slow, wicked thing, and shifted off her. Grace’s eyes tracked every movement as Skye walked to her wardrobe, the muscles in her back and legs flexing. She rummaged in the back and pulled out a harness made of simple black straps, and a silicone cock, a pale, realistic length that made Grace’s stomach clench with a mixture of fear and sharp, undeniable want.
Skye came back to the edge of the bed, holding it. She was blunt, clinical in her explanation, watching Grace’s face. “It’s a strap-on. I wear this. It’s for me to… to fuck you with. If you want that.”
Grace stared at the object, then at Skye’s earnest, worried eyes. This was it. The final barrier. The thing that made it real, irrevocable. Her mouth was dry. She swallowed. “I want you to,” she whispered. “Use it on me.”
The relief on Skye’s face was profound. She stepped into the harness, pulling the straps tight over her hips, securing the cock that jutted out from her lace-covered pelvis. It was a surreal, powerfully erotic image. Skye, all fierce beauty, now fitted with this artificial tool of pleasure. She looked powerful. Owned.
She climbed back onto the bed, a predator returning to its prize. Grace lay still, watching. Skye’s hands hooked into the waistband of Grace’s boy-shorts and pulled them down her legs, they joined the dress on the floor. Grace was left in only her white sports bra and her stupid white ankle socks, completely exposed. She felt wildly vulnerable, and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life.
Skye settled between her thighs, the tip of the silicone resting against Grace’s wetness. She was soaked, her folds slick and hot. Skye leaned down, bracing herself on her arms, her face inches from Grace’s. “Last chance to back out, baby. Tell me you want it.”
Grace lifted her hips, a silent plea. “I want it. I want you to fuck me, Skye. Please.”
The please did it. Skye’s control tightened. She pushed forward, slowly, with an exquisite, devastating patience.
The stretch was immense, more than fingers, more than anything Grace’s imagination had conjured. It was a full, blunt pressure that burned for a second before melting into a deep, filling ache. She gasped, her head pushing back into the pillow, her hands flying to clutch at the sheets. Her knuckles were white.
“Breathe,” Skye murmured, frozen above her, her own body trembling with the effort of staying still. “Just breathe through it. You’re so fucking tight, Grace.”
Grace obeyed, dragging air into her lungs. The initial shock subsided, replaced by a sensation of being utterly filled, owned, connected. She felt stretched to her limit, a delicious, impossible fullness. She experimentally flexed her inner muscles around the intrusion, and Skye moaned, low in her throat.
“Okay?” Skye whispered.
“Y-yes,” Grace managed.“More. Move.”
Skye withdrew an inch, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. The slide was smoother, aided by Grace’s arousal. Another withdrawal, another thrust, deeper, establishing a rhythm that was gentle, reverent. The wet, soft sound of it filled the room, obscene and perfect.
Grace’s moans started low, building with each measured stroke. The friction was incredible, lighting up nerves she didn’t know she had. It wasn’t just the physical sensation; it was the sight of Skye above her, jaw clenched in concentration, eyes dark with lust and something else, something tender, focused entirely on her. It was the feeling of Skye’s strong hips driving into her, the harness straps digging into Skye’s skin, the proof of her commitment to giving Grace this.
“Fuck,” Grace whimpered, her gymnast’s legs coming up to wrap around Skye’s waist, heels digging into the small of her back, pulling her deeper. “Right there. Skye, don’t stop.”
Skye’s rhythm faltered, then became more insistent. The gentle fucking evolved into something harder, needier. The bed began to creak in a steady, urgent tempo. Grace’s sports bra was damp with sweat, her socks the only absurdly innocent thing left on her body. She was unravelling, each thrust shattering another piece of her carefully constructed world.
“You feel so goddamn good,” Skye gritted out, her breath hot against Grace’s neck. “Taking me so well. Your perfect, tight little pussy is fucking mine now.”
The filthy words, so unlike Skye’s usual playful flirting, sent Grace over an edge she hadn’t seen coming. The coil in her belly snapped. Her back arched off the bed, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm ripped through her, violent and all-consuming. Her channel clamped down viscously around the silicone cock inside her, milking it, waves of pleasure turning her bones to liquid.
Skye kept fucking her through it, dragging the climax out until Grace was sobbing, overstimulated and sensitive, pushing weakly at Skye’s hips. “Too much… stop, please, Skye…”
Skye stopped immediately, plunging deep and holding there as Grace trembled beneath her. She was panting, her own need a visible tension in every cord of her neck. Slowly, carefully, she pulled out.
The sound was lewd. The feeling of emptiness was profound. Grace felt hollowed out, used, and utterly complete.
Skye collapsed beside her, hastily unclipping the harness and letting it fall to the floor. She gathered Grace into her arms, pulling her close against her sweat-slick skin. Grace nuzzled into her neck, her whole body humming, aftershocks still twitching through her.
They lay in silence for long minutes, the only sound their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal.
Grace finally stirred, lifting her head. She looked at Skye’s face, then down her body. Her own desire, banked but not extinguished, flared anew. With a newfound boldness that tasted like power, she traced a finger over Skye’s abs, down to the waistband of her damp black lace panties.
“My turn,” Grace said, her voice raw from screaming, but firm. She met Skye’s gaze, seeing the surprise and instant, heat there. “You said it was my turn. I’m not finished with you yet.”
Skye’s eyes widened, then darkened with pure want. A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah? Show me.”
Grace moved with a gymnast’s certainty, swinging her legs off the bed. The harness was still warm from Skye’s body. She picked it up from the floor where it had fallen, the silicone cock gleaming, slick with her own fluids. The sight sent a fresh, possessive thrill through her. She stepped into the straps, her hands fumbling slightly on the buckles before she secured them snug around her hips and thighs. The weight of it, the purpose, felt alien and powerfully right.
Skye watched, propped on her elbows, her gaze a physical caress. Without a word, she rolled onto her stomach. She kicked her black lace panties the rest of the way off, leaving her in only her thin athletic socks. She presented herself, back arched, ass in the air, face turned to the side on the rumpled pillow. The display was blatant, trusting, and it stole Grace’s breath.
“C’mere,” Skye said, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Grace climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Skye’s spread legs. The view was brutally intimate. She placed a trembling hand on the small of Skye’s back, feeling the heat of her skin, the powerful muscles lying beneath. She’d seen this body a hundred times changing for rugby, for the gym, and never, ever like this.
“You… you tell me,” Grace whispered, her earlier boldness fraying at the edges. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Skye looked over her shoulder, her expression soft. “You won’t. Use plenty of spit or… just use what’s already there. Go slow until you’re all the way in. Then it’s all yours, baby.”
Grace nodded, a student absorbing a vital lesson. She guided the tip, wet with her own excitement, to Skye’s entrance. She pushed, gently. There was resistance, a tight, clutching heat that made Skye groan and push back. Grace slid in an inch, a stunning, silken friction. Skye was incredibly tight around the artificial length.
“Fuck, Grace,” Skye breathed, her fingers clawing at the sheet. “Just like that.”
Grace pushed deeper, a slow, relentless invasion, watching as the silicone disappeared into Skye’s body. She kept going until her hips were flush against Skye’s ass, until she was buried to the hilt. They both held there, breathing hard. The connection was profound. Grace was inside her. The one who had always been untouchable, the confident one, was now yielding completely.
“Okay?” Grace asked, her voice tight.
“So okay,” Skye panted. “Now move. However you want.”
Grace began to move. Her first thrusts were tentative, shaky, a clumsy piston motion. She kept her hands on Skye’s hips, feeling the muscles work. The sound was wet, shameless. Each push drew a low, appreciative grunt from Skye.
“Harder,” Skye demanded, pushing back against her. “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.”
The permission unlocked something. Grace’s grip on Skye’s hips tightened, her fingers digging into the firm flesh of her ass for leverage. She pulled back and slammed forward, a sharp, driving thrust that jolted Skye up the bed. Skye cried out, a raw, filthy sound of approval.
“Yeah! Just like that! Fuck me!”
Grace obeyed. Her inexperience melted away under a wave of primal instinct. She set a brutal, pounding rhythm, her hips slapping against Skye’s skin with a sharp, rhythmic smack. The strap-on harness rubbed insistently against her own naked clit and swollen lips with every thrust, building a secondary, urgent pleasure. She was fucking Skye, and fucking herself on the base of the toy at the same time.
A lewd, powerful feeling surged through her. With a grunt, she hooked her fingers under the front of her restrictive sports bra and yanked it up and over her head, tossing it blindly across the room. Her small breasts were free, her chest heaving. The air felt electric on her skin.
She leaned over Skye’s back, grabbing her hips anew, using her full weight and strength to drive into her. Her thrusts lost their ragged edge, finding a deeper, more sensual rhythm. She fucked her with a focused intensity, as if she could pound a permanent claim into her very bones.
Skye’s moans dissolved into a stream of incoherent, dirty words, gasped into the pillow. “Oh god, right there, you fucking fill me up, your pretty little cunt is so good at this, fuck, don’t stop, Grace, please don’t stop!”
Hearing her own name like that, a desperate prayer in the middle of obscenity, undid Grace completely. She shoved Skye’s face down harder into the pillow, mashing it sideways as she pistoned into her. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the ragged symphony of their breathing, the incredible clenching heat around the toy.
Skye’s body went rigid. A high, choked scream was torn from her and swallowed by the fabric of the pillow. Her back arched violently, her internal muscles seizing around Grace in a series of brutal, rhythmic spasms. She was coming, utterly silent now except for the desperate gasp of air she finally sucked in.
The feeling of Skye climaxing around her, the visual of her powerful body surrendering to tremors, tipped Grace over the edge. The relentless friction of the harness against her own exposed, sensitized flesh crescendoed. Her own orgasm erupted without warning, a silent, shocking wave that clenched her stomach and turned her vision white. She kept thrusting, grinding through it, milking both their climaxes until her arms gave out and she collapsed forward onto Skye’s sweaty back.
They lay there, a tangled, breathing heap. Grace’s face was buried in Skye’s shoulder. The strap-on was still inside, a now-soft connection. After a long moment, Grace carefully pulled out and rolled off, hastily unbuckling the harness and letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
She curled onto her side, facing Skye. Skye slowly rolled over, her face flushed, her hair a wild dark frame around her features. She looked wrecked, beautiful. They stared at each other in the heavy quiet.
Skye reached out, her fingertips tracing the line of Grace’s jaw, then her swollen lips. “Holy shit,” she whispered, a laugh caught in her throat.
Grace caught her hand, kissing her palm. She felt raw, new, like a layer of skin had been scrubbed away. “Yeah.”
The distant memory of the crowded bar, the cheering women, the first kiss, felt like a lifetime ago. This was the truth the noise had been pointing toward. This sweaty, silent aftermath.
Skye tugged her closer, and Grace went, fitting her body against Skye’s, leg over leg, skin to sticky skin. The last of the adrenaline bled away, leaving a profound exhaustion in its wake. Outside their window, the first grey light of dawn began to bleed into the black sky.
“They were right, you know,” Grace murmured into the hollow of Skye’s throat.
“Who?”
“Everyone at The Violet Door. They were cheering for this.”
Skye’s arms tightened around her. A long, contented sigh moved through her body. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The truth was pressed between them, in the smell of sex on the sheets, in the peace on their faces, in the unbreakable tangle of their limbs as sleep finally pulled them under.