Chapter 9: The Birthday Gift
Skye woke to an empty bed. The space where Grace should have been was just warm sheets and a dent in the pillow. Morning light cut through a gap in the blinds, painting a sharp line across the rumpled duvet. For a disoriented second, she felt a childish pang of disappointment—it was her birthday, after all. Then she saw the folded square of paper leaning against her desk lamp.
She swung her legs out of bed, the floorboards cool under her feet. The note was in Grace’s neat, looping script.
Skye—Had to run out to make sure your present is ready. Don’t be mad. Go to class, be a good student. Then, at 4 PM exactly, go here.
Below was an address for The Laurent Hotel downtown, a room number, and a physical keycard paper-clipped to the paper.
Don’t be late. Love, G.
A slow smile spread across Skye’s face. Anticipation, hot and liquid, began to pool low in her stomach. She traced the edge of the keycard with her thumb. Making sure your present is ready. The promise from the night before, whispered against her lips, echoed in her mind. She dressed with distracted haste, pulling on a pair of dark jeans and a soft green sweater, the note safely zipped into her jacket pocket.
The day passed in a thick haze. Lectures on economic theory blurred into meaningless sound. Her knee bounced under the desk, a live wire of impatient energy. She checked the clock on her phone every few minutes, the slow crawl of time a form of exquisite torture. Her mind conjured a hundred possibilities, each one stoking the heat that had settled between her legs, a persistent, thrilling ache.
At 3:45, she was standing outside The Laurent, a sleek glass tower in the city center. She rode the elevator up in silence, her reflection in the brass doors looking back at her with darkened eyes. The hallway was hushed, carpet plush under her boots. Room 1412.
She slid the keycard into the lock. A green light, a soft click.
She pushed the door open.
The room was spacious, tasteful. A wall of windows offered a panoramic view of the city graying in the late afternoon light. On a small table by the window sat a vase bursting with sunflowers, a huge, ribboned box of artisan chocolates, a bottle of Skye’s favorite whiskey, a few neatly wrapped packages. It was thoughtful, perfect.
Skye barely registered any of it.
Her gaze was nailed to the bed.
Grace lay in the center of the vast mattress, propped on her elbows. The red was what hit first—a violent, glorious splash of color against the white duvet. It was lace and silk, a contraption that made Skye’s breath vanish. The bra was mostly suggestion, delicate crimson webs barely containing Grace’s small, perfect breasts, the peaks of her nipples stark against the lace. Intricate straps of red lace crisscrossed her toned stomach, framing the hard, defined muscles of her abdomen, drawing the eye down, down to the minuscule red thong. It sat low on her hips, a narrow triangle of fabric that did nothing to hide the neat blonde curl beneath, the front cut so revealing Skye could see the soft, bare lips nestled there.
And arranged around Grace like offerings on an altar were the tools.
Skye’s own black strap-on harness and dildo, cleaned and waiting. The long, worn laces from her rugby boots, coiled neatly. A simple black silk blindfold. A small, sleek bullet vibrator.
Grace’s blue eyes locked onto Skye’s from across the room. A slow, teasing smile touched her lips, transforming her from a shy girl into a vision of deliberate, breathtaking seduction.
“Happy birthday, Skye,” Grace said, her voice a low, warm hum in the quiet room.
Skye’s jaw had literally dropped. She closed her mouth, hearing the blood roar in her ears. Heat ignited in her core, a flashover that soaked her panties in an instant. She kicked the door shut behind her, the finality of the sound echoing.
She crossed the room slowly, each step measured, her eyes devouring the sight. She stopped at the foot of the bed. “Fuck, Grace.”
“You like your presents?” Grace asked, shifting slightly, the lace pulling tight across her body.
“The best one’s right in front of me.” Skye’s voice was gravel. She climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and crawled over Grace, caging her in. She kissed her, deep and consuming, tasting mint and promise. “Happy birthday to me,” she murmured against Grace’s mouth, her hand already skimming down the lace-covered ribs, coming to rest on the hot skin of Grace’s hip.
Grace’s breath hitched. “The laces,” she whispered, a hint of her old nervousness flickering in her eyes, now mixed with wild excitement.
Skye didn’t need telling twice. She took the tough, familiar cords, the ones that had been tied through her boots on a hundred muddy pitches. She took Grace’s wrists, lifting them above her head. Grace offered no resistance, her body pliant, her eyes heavy-lidded and trusting. Skye tied the knots with a practised efficiency—secure, but with a quick-release she could manage with one tug. She tested them, the lace biting slightly into Grace’s pale skin. Perfect.
“Okay?” Skye whispered.
“More than okay,” Grace breathed, straining against the bindings just to feel their hold.
Skye reached for the blindfold. She leaned in, kissing Grace once more, a soft, lingering press of lips. “My turn to take care of you,” she said, and then she draped the black silk over Grace’s eyes, tying it at the back of her head. The world vanished for Grace. Her other senses rushed in to fill the void—the smell of Skye’s skin and the hotel’s clean linen, the sound of her own pounding heart, the devastating vulnerability of being bound and sightless.
Skye sat back on her heels, admiring her work. Grace, tied and blindfolded, dressed in fucking sin-red, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. She picked up the bullet vibrator. It was cool, smooth metal. She thumbed the switch.
A low, insistent buzz filled the space between them.
Grace flinched at the sound, a full-body tremor of anticipation.
Skye started at her throat, tracing the humming tip along the line of Grace’s jaw, down the delicate column of her neck. Grace whimpered, her head tipping back. Skye circled a lace-covered nipple, the vibration transmitting through the fragile material. Grace cried out, back arching, the small peak hardening impossibly further. Skye teased the other, then dragged the vibrator down the path of lace over Grace’s stomach, tracing the defined muscles she’d admired for months.
She hovered. The buzz was a live thing, a hair’s breadth from the damp red fabric of the thong. Grace was panting now, her hips making tiny, desperate circles, seeking contact. “Skye… please…”
“Please what?” Skye’s voice was calm, a stark contrast to the frantic energy coiling on the bed.
“Please touch me. God, please.”
Skye pressed the vibrator firmly against the soaked lace, right over Grace’s clit.
The sound Grace made was raw, shattered. Her body bowed off the bed, held only by the laces at her wrists. Skye held it there, applying pressure, circling slowly. She watched Grace come completely undone beneath her—the twist of her torso, the frantic clench of her thighs, the gorgeous, desperate sounds ripped from her throat.
But she didn’t let her come. Just as Grace’s breathing hit a fever-pitch, on the very edge, Skye pulled the vibrator away.
“No! Fuck, Skye, no, please…” Grace sobbed, thrashing against the bonds.
Skye ran the vibrator back up her body, a cruel, teasing trail. She did it again. And again. Bringing Grace to the brink, then denying her, until Grace was a sobbing, begging mess. Sweat gleamed on her skin, sheening the lace.
“What do you want?” Skye asked, her own control fraying, her jeans tight and uncomfortable.
“You. I want you. Please, Skye, please fuck me. I need you inside me. Now.”
The raw need in Grace’s voice, that broken, beautiful begging, snapped the last thread of Skye’s restraint.
Skye grinned, a wild, possessive thing, and descended on her. She kissed Grace hard, swallowing her next pleas, her tongue pushing deep into Grace’s mouth. Grace moaned into the kiss, her arms straining against the rugby laces, her whole body arching up to meet Skye’s weight.
Skye broke the kiss, both of them gasping. She hooked a finger under the edge of the black silk blindfold and pushed it up, just enough to reveal Grace’s blown-wide blue eyes. “Look at me,” Skye commanded, her voice husky. “Watch.”
Grace’s gaze, clouded with desire, locked onto hers. Skye sat back on her knees and began to peel off her own clothes. It wasn’t frantic; it was a show. She pulled the soft green sweater over her head, revealing the defined muscles of her stomach and the simple black bra beneath. She made eye contact as she unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying out of them slowly. Grace whined, a high, strained sound, tugging helplessly at her bonds.
“Please, Skye… don’t tease anymore, just… fuck me. It’s your birthday, fuck your present,” Grace babbled, her hips rolling in empty air.
Skye chuckled, low and dark. She discarded her bra, now near naked, powerful under Grace’s desperate stare. She leaned close again, her breath hot on Grace’s ear. “You have no idea how sexy you are like this. My shy, blushing Grace. All tied up and begging for it. You’re fucking perfect.”
With that, she pulled the blindfold back down, plunging Grace back into darkness. The loss of sight made Grace cry out, her other senses magnifying the sound of Skye moving, the dip of the mattress.
Skye settled between Grace’s spread legs. The scent of her, musky and sweet, was overwhelming. Skye hooked her fingers into the side of the ridiculous red thong and pulled it aside, baring Grace completely. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned in and licked a slow, firm stripe from Grace’s entrance up to her clit.
Grace screamed, her back bowing. Skye fastened her mouth over her, sucking and laving with a relentless focus. She loved the submission, the total surrender in the way Grace yielded to her tongue. She traced circles around Grace’s clit, then plunged her tongue inside her, fucking her with it, the wet, filthy sounds echoing in the quiet room.
“More, oh god, more, please, I’m so close, don’t stop!” Grace chanted, lost in the sensation.
Skye edged her with her tongue, bringing her right to the brink before softening her licks, drawing out the torment. Just as Grace’s pleas became incoherent sobs, Skye gripped her hips and rolled her over onto her stomach in one smooth, forceful motion. Grace gasped, her face pressed into the duvet, her bound wrists now pulled above her head at a new angle.
Grace heard the rustle of the harness, the decisive click of buckles. Skye was putting on the strap-on over her panties. Then she felt the cool, solid pressure of the silicone tip nudge against her soaked folds from behind.
“Now, Skye, please now, fuck, I need it!” Grace begged, pushing her hips back.
Skye answered with one deep, driving thrust. She sheathed herself completely inside Grace’s tight, clutching heat in a single motion. Grace moaned long and loud into the pillow, the sound muffled by feathers.
Skye set a brutal, punishing rhythm from the start, each thrust punching the air from Grace’s lungs. She picked up the forgotten vibrator, turned it back on, and pressed it directly against Grace’s exposed clit as she fucked her.
The combined assault was instantaneous. Grace’s entire body locked, a sharp, shattered cry tearing from her throat as she came, convulsing around the strap-on so hard Skye nearly lost her pace. Skye rode her through it, the vibrator relentless.
Then Skye dropped the vibrator. Not onto the bed. She shoved it into her own panties, pressing the buzzing toy against her own clit. The sharp jolt of pleasure made her gasp, and she took Grace again, harder this time, her thrusts becoming ragged, empowered by the direct vibration.
She wound her hand into Grace’s short, sweat-damp blonde hair and pulled her head back sharply. “You take my cock so well, you fucking perfect slut,” Skye growled, the dirty words grinding out of her. “This hungry little cunt is all mine now.”
“Yours! All yours!” Grace gasped, her voice ragged, meeting every thrust. “Don’t stop, right there, oh god, right there!”
Skye pounded into that spot, the one that made Grace see stars behind the blindfold. She maintained the vicious rhythm, the vibrator at her own clit pushing her higher. With a final, growled curse, she shoved Grace’s face back into the pillow, her hips pistoning until her own climax ripped through her, a white-hot seizure of pleasure that clenched her entire body. She collapsed over Grace’s back, both of them trembling, breathless, and utterly spent.
She collapsed over Grace’s back, both of them trembling, breathless, and utterly spent. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city far below. Skye’s weight was a warm, comforting pressure, her skin slick with sweat against Grace’s.
Slowly, Skye rolled onto her side, pulling Grace with her. She nuzzled into the nape of Grace’s neck, her lips brushing soft, damp kisses along the slope of her shoulder and the knobs of her spine. Her hand smoothed over Grace’s hip. “Fuck,” Skye whispered, the word thick with awe.
Grace moaned, a soft, satiated sound that quickly twisted into one of want. She pushed back against Skye, her bound hands flexing above her head. “More,” she murmured into the pillow. “Don’t stop.”
Skye laughed, a low, breathy puff of air against Grace’s skin. “Greedy.” She delivered a sharp, stinging swat to Grace’s ass, the crack echoing in the room. Grace yelped, then moaned louder, her body arching.
With deft fingers, Skye found the quick-release knot and untied Grace’s wrists from the headboard. Grace brought her arms down slowly, groaning at the pleasant ache in her shoulders. She started to turn, to ask if Skye was okay, if she needed water, the habitual care rising in her.
Skye didn’t let her turn. She pushed a firm knee into the small of Grace’s back, pinning her face-down to the mattress. “Uh-uh,” Skye murmured. She gathered both of Grace’s wrists in one strong hand and pulled them behind her back. Grace felt the familiar, rough texture of the rugby lace again as Skye looped and knotted them together securely, binding her hands at the wrists.
Another hard slap landed on her ass, making Grace cry out. “Skye!”
“Stand up,” Skye ordered, her voice leaving no room for question. She hooked her hands under Grace’s arms and hauled her off the bed. Grace’s legs were wobbly, barely supporting her. Skye held her steady, then turned her and marched her, naked and bound, toward the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city sprawled beneath them, a grid of twilight and early lights. Grace’s reflection, pale and vulnerable, stared back from the glass. Skye pressed her front against Grace’s back, pushing her firmly into the cool, unyielding surface. Grace gasped at the temperature shock.
Skye’s hands gripped her hips, aligning them. Grace felt the rigid silicone nudge against her, still wet from her own release. Skye entered her in one deep, claiming thrust that stole Grace’s breath, fogging the window before her.
“Oh god!” Grace cried out, her forehead pressing against the glass. The sensation was overwhelming—the cold, hard plain against her front, the hot, relentless drive of Skye filling her from behind, the terrifying and thrilling exposure. Anyone in the towers across the way could see them, a thought that made her clench around Skye impossibly tighter.
Skye set a ruthless, possessive rhythm, each thrust slamming Grace’s body into the window. “You love this, don’t you?” Skye grunted, her breath hot on Grace’s ear. “My good girl, showing off for the whole city.”
“I love you!” Grace moaned, the words tumbling out raw and unbidden, a truth amplified by the intensity. “Skye, I love you so much.”
Skye stilled for a fraction of a second, buried deep inside her. Then she drove forward again, harder, and brought her lips to Grace’s ear. Her whisper was a rough, broken counterpoint to the carnality of their motion. “I love you, too. Now come for me.”
The command, paired with the devastating confession, undid her. Grace shattered, a sharp, screaming climax tearing through her as Skye fucked her through it against the window, her bound hands twitching helplessly behind her.
Before the last tremor had faded, Skye pulled out and spun her around. In one motion, she lifted Grace and threw her back onto the disheveled bed. Grace landed with a bounce, her vision swimming. Skye crawled over her, grabbing her ankles and pushing her legs up until her knees were by her ears.
“Mine,” Skye growled, and plunged into her again, the angle devastating. Grace could only take it, her cries continuous now, a stream of sensation as Skye pounded into her with a final, frantic urgency.
With a guttural shout, Skye came, collapsing onto the bed beside Grace, spent. For a moment, they just breathed. Then, with a tired, possessive grin, Skye maneuvered Grace on top of her, guiding her onto the strap-on in a reverse cowgirl position. Skye lay back, her hands finding Grace’s bound wrists behind her back, holding them as a anchor.
“Ride me,” Skye said, her voice wrecked. “Take what you need.”
Grace, trembling with exhaustion and renewed need, obeyed. She rose and fell, controlling the pace now, impaling herself on the length inside her. Skye watched, entranced, one hand smacking Grace’s ass in time with her movements, the other snaking around to find her clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles.
It was too much. Grace’s body, oversensitized and utterly claimed, convulsed in a final, soul-deep climax. She collapsed backward onto Skye’s chest, and Skye held her bound wrists tight as they rode out the last waves together.
She collapsed backward onto Skye’s chest, and Skye held her bound wrists tight as they rode out the last waves together. The room was a symphony of their shared breath, harsh and slowing. Grace’s weight was a solid, boneless warmth, her skin slick where it met Skye’s.
Eventually, Skye’s grip loosened, her hands moving from restraint to gentle exploration. She traced the red marks the laces had left on Grace’s wrists with a feather-light touch. Her own body felt liquid, spent in a way that went deeper than muscle.
“Okay,” Skye breathed, the word more air than sound. “Okay, Grace.”
With careful, tired movements, Skye guided Grace to roll off her. Grace went willingly, a soft sigh escaping her as she settled onto her side on the rumpled duvet. The red lace was soaked through in places, twisted and ruined in the most beautiful way. Her hands were still secured behind her back.
Skye pushed herself up on one elbow, her movements sluggish with satiation. She leaned over Grace’s prone form, her fingers finding the knots at her wrists. The familiar cords, once taut with tension, came loose easily.
Grace brought her arms around front with a low groan, rubbing at her wrists. The skin was imprinted with the pattern of the lace, a temporary brand. Before she could say anything, Skye gathered her close, pulling Grace’s back against her front, wrapping her in a tight, possessive embrace.
Skye’s lips found the shell of Grace’s ear. “You were incredible,” she whispered, her voice raspy and thick with emotion. “So fucking perfect. Took everything I gave you. My strong, gorgeous girl.”
Grace shuddered, nuzzling back into the solid warmth of Skye’s chest. She turned her head, seeking Skye’s mouth, and found it for a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of salt and sweat and them. “Loved it,” Grace murmured against her lips. “Every filthy, perfect second. I love you.”
Skye’s arms tightened. She buried her face in the crook of Grace’s neck, inhaling the scent of sex and her shampoo. “Love you more.”
They lay like that for a long time, entwined in the quiet dark. The city lights painted faint, shifting patterns on the ceiling. Grace’s fingers absently traced the straps of the red lingerie still clinging to her hips. Skye’s hand splayed possessively over her stomach, her breathing deepening.
“Don’t wanna move,” Grace mumbled, her words slurring with exhaustion.
“Don’t then,” Skye whispered back, her own eyelids heavy.
Sleep pulled them under not with a struggle, but with a gentle, inevitable tide. Grace, still in the ravished red lace. Skye, in only her black cotton panties. Their limbs remained tangled, a knot of skin and warmth and quiet peace, the distant hum of the hotel their final lullaby.