Not Like Other Girls
This is another 18+ read as the label suggests. I hate to spoil the story, but TWs are necessary so folks can stay away from content that is likely to cause distress. So…
TW: somnophilia (as a consensual kink), light degradation
Read at your own discretion.
Mila was a fanatic. Lauren watched her raise her eyes to her husband as if staring up at Christ the Redeemer. The stainless steel choker around her neck was not very subtle either. Did kinky couples really have to be so corny and cringe? Like, we get it. You take orders from your husband. Chill.
Aaron was pretty mediocre. The gall of some men. He really seemed to think he was God. Or a God. Mila, with her unquestioning adoration, had given him a God complex. Sure, he was handsome, had brains in his head—a rarity—and was courteous enough, but if Mila was to be trusted, he also hung the sun in the sky. What a joke heterosexual marriage was. Lauren could scarcely believe there were still people who considered her own marriage a poor imitation. When Noa was so far from a mediocre white man demanding adulation.
She looked at Noa out of the corner of her eye, still nodding along to Mila’s work story. If anyone deserved adulation it was Noa, but paradoxically she wasn’t one to demand it… or know what to do with it. Besides, their marriage was nothing like Mila and Aaron’s. It was fine to get your ass smacked sometimes—who didn’t like that—but out of the bedroom there was no force on earth that could make Lauren do something she didn’t want to. And get punished for disobedience? Like she was a child? Forget it.
“So then she was like, ‘Oh, I can’t, I have to find someone to watch the baby’ and we all had to reschedule.” Mila’s wide green eyes doubled in size for emphasis. “A call with Japan. Because there was no one to watch her baby!”
Lauren snorted. “Her husband?”
“Oh, no,” Mila said, “can’t have hubby ‘babysit’.” She rolled her eyes. “She canceled on us last Friday too. Hubby didn’t see the point of girls' night out.”
A bit hypocritical of Mila. Lauren happened to know she had to ask permission from Aaron to go out too. Apparently Aaron dispensed his gracious approvals more readily than that poor woman’s husband, but so what. It was the principle.
“God, I can’t imagine asking someone.” Lauren groaned. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not very girls-support-girls of me to say, but some women are so pathetic. Did we really fight for rights only to throw them away the moment someone’s crusty son deigns to promote us to a mommy-bang-maid?”
Mila withered at that—it was barely perceptible, but enough to invoke a tinge of guilt in Lauren. She wasn’t going to apologise, though. For what? For speaking the truth?
“I don’t think it’s pathetic to derive joy from your family,” Mila said, defensiveness drenching her voice. They were no longer talking about her co-worker. Beside her, Aaron looked a little uncomfortable, but he was clearly going to sit this one out. “Maybe you just don’t know what it's like to be so devoted to someone.”
“Nope, I don’t.” Lauren shrugged. She had never been a particularly devout anything. Her love for Noa felt bigger than the sky, but devotion was the kind of cult-y thing she’d always stayed away from ever since Jehova’s witnesses knocked on her door when she was thirteen. “Like, I know some women are content to be just wives and mothers, but it couldn’t be. I’m not that type. There’s nothing that could compare to the freedom of doing exactly what I want without having to be home for dinner and bedtime. There’s not a person in the world worth that.”
Beside her, Noa smirked. Lauren sensed more than saw it and could easily translate the meaning. Noa loved her independence. She was self-assured enough to appreciate it, confident enough to make space for it. Sometimes Lauren wondered at her luck. Marrying Noa was like winning the lottery twice.
“I used to think that too,” Mila said, now more smug than defensive. “Ten years ago I couldn’t have imagined how much happier I’d be…” The unspoken ending of that sentence was: once I embraced my husband’s leadership.
In some ways, Mila sounded exactly like a tradwife. If you didn’t know it was kink, you’d assume she had a Ballerina Farm-style Instagram account full of photos of her cooking meals from scratch with a baby strapped to her chest and a toddler on her hip.
Lauren had heard the story: Mila was once a free spirit too. Except, she called it trust issues and swore that all it took to resolve them was finally meeting a man she could lean on and “just relax”. Ten years together clearly entitled her to condescension. Lauren and Noa had only been married for one—how could Lauren even begin to imagine that kind of connection?
“Good for you, Milly-Vanilly, but some of us are just not wired like that.” Lauren usually backed down—arguing was pretty pointless—but the implication of Mila’s words today stung more than usual. Lauren wasn’t defective simply because she didn’t let another person’s wants and needs trump her own under the guise of love. “There’s no connection, no matter how meaningful, that I’d choose over my freedom. I’d rather burn my house down than be locked in it.”
And if anyone knew about being locked in, it was Lauren. She’d had what they called “a sheltered childhood”. In reality, her mother’s paranoia and her father’s dictatorial tendencies had kept her under lock and key, both literally and metaphorically. Lauren didn’t even know what a friends’ sleepover looked like. She’d never been allowed trick-or-treating. As for dating, that was apparently a get-away drug to prostitution or something equally as outrageous, as far as her mother was concerned.
She turned eighteen, went away for school, got a job and never looked back.
It’s not that she didn’t value connection or enjoy staying in on a Friday night, her feet in Noa’s lap, both of them reading a paperback. She even sent a text when she was going to be late from work… despite her earlier declaration. But her independence had saved her once and she wasn’t going to simply discard it now that she was married like it was as redundant as her “I’ve never done that” underwear. She hadn’t even changed her name. Everyone expected her to take Noa’s last name, because of course they did, but she didn’t. She had been Lauren Ellis for thirty-one years and she refused to add even a hyphen.
“You can’t be okay with this.” Mila was looking at Noa now. “You must butt heads all of the time. I mean, she’s as stubborn as a yeast infection.”
Okay, points for the colorful comparison, but also what the fuck? Before Lauren could jump in, Noa wrapped an arm around her shoulders and simply said, “Yep. I know who I married.”
Lauren melted in her arms. Not with the awe-struck reverence Mila collapsed into Aaron. Lauren’s trust, her ability to “just relax” were entirely the result of feeling fully accepted. For everything she was—and everything she wasn’t.
The waitress appeared and Mila seemed to give up on arguing. Lauren didn’t miss how Aaron ordered for her, gave her a raised-eyebrows look, but otherwise refused to continue their spat.
***
It was pretty late when they got home. Lauren had sobered in the passenger seat—she’d always been such a lightweight, all it took was one fruity cocktail—thankful for Noa’s offer to be the one driving on the way back. Still, some lingering rum daze prompted her to ask, “You don’t buy any of that crap, do you?” She kicked off her high heels and sighed when her bare feet hit the cold wooden flooring. Whoever invented high heeled shoes must hold the mere notion of comfort in contempt.
“What, about reducing prices? Not for the end consumer, no.” Noa turned on the light in their kitchen and went to the fridge.
“No, I mean…” Lauren paused in the doorway and watched her take out her water bottle—arm and back muscles subtly flexing under her black T-shirt, the familiar lines of her tattoos extending from under the short sleeve right to her wrist. God, how was she so sexy? As Noa tipped the bottle to her lips, Lauren observed the way her throat worked and warmth pooled in her belly. It wasn’t the blinding urgency of lust, but it was definitely the heat of simmering arousal. She coughed. “I mean the whole…devotion thing.”
Noa looked at her with confusion for a moment, or uncertainty. Then she left the bottle on the counter and walked up to her. “I know you love me, baby,” she said, wrapping both arms around Lauren’s waist. “I don’t need you to be anyone other than yourself.” She pulled Lauren closer until their noses touched and when she spoke again her breath ghosted over Lauren’s lips. “Stubborn. And feisty. And impatient.” She gave Lauren a little kiss, their lips barely brushing against each other. “And smart. And sarcastic.” Another kiss followed, this one just a little deeper, the barest hint of tongue. “And kind. And affectionate…” A deeper kiss this time, Noa’s tongue gaining entry, turning Lauren’s brain to mush, making her knees weak. “And mine.”
Mine.
“Yours,” Lauren repeated softly before Noa’s mouth captured hers again.
When Noa said “mine”, she didn’t mean mine like property. Mine like a pair of jeans. Mine like a refrigerator. Mine like a car. She meant mine like a garden to tend to. Mine like a path to walk. Mine like a story to unfold. Mine like responsibility and mine like a promise.
Lauren was glad to be hers in that way. To belong with her. Not to her.
They kissed for a moment longer before Lauren pulled back and said, “I’m happy you haven’t tired yet, of the old ball-and-chain.”
Noa smirked. “I thought you were against chains, baby.”
Cute. Lauren hoped she’d never stop teasing her. Instead of responding, she bit her lower lip, all faux innocence, then turned in Noa’s arms, rubbed her ass against Noa’s fly without an ounce of subtlety, and said over her shoulder, “I’ll get ready for bed.”
She took her time in the shower and then busied herself with her bottles of lotions and perfume on the vanity that seemed to exist in a perpetual state of disarray, no matter how many times Lauren tidied.
She took out the bottle of lube from the drawer and placed it on Noa’s nightstand, then took her satin robe off and sat on the bed, on Noa’s side, just as she heard her turn off the shower. Seconds ticked by in her mind as she waited and she couldn’t have waited more than a minute. It was enough to make her nervous. When Noa entered their bedroom—a towel wrapped around her hips, rubbing the moisture off her short hair with another—the fluttering in Lauren’s belly only intensified.
Noa quickly hid her surprise. Surely, it wasn’t extraordinary to have your wife wait for you naked on the bed…
“What’s that, baby?” Noa’s voice was the kind of hoarse romance novels described in gratuitous detail as she stared into Lauren’s eyes and tipped her head to indicate the bottle of lube.
Lauren swallowed. What she was about to say could either be taken very, very well… or lead to an awkward conversation, forcing them both to acknowledge what had been happening recently. And what it meant. And what—
Lauren stood. Within a touching distance of Noa, that’s where she wanted to be. So she could reach out. So Noa could.
“I…it’s for…it’s so you can…” She swallowed again over the unease that had lodged itself in her throat. “So you can fuck me however you like.”
She didn’t need to say more, Noa knew. For weeks now they’d been doing this. Noa had been doing this. And Lauren was game. Even though she often didn’t remember much in the morning. But knowing that it had happened… oh, God.
Her breath came out in short little huffs, her lungs suddenly too shallow for a full inhale. It started after the funeral. Lauren suspected Noa was seeking comfort more than sexual gratification. She’d woken her up in the middle of the night, restless, desperate to touch her as if to make sure she was still there. Lauren had been barely awake, but happy to let Noa take whatever she wanted, body yielding to Noa’s searching hands in the warmth of slumber still clinging to their bed. Drowsy and mumbling, Lauren had assured her that it was okay. She drifted in and out of sleep, but she could clearly remember Noa’s body, feverishly hot, going stiff on top of her, moaning muffled by the crook of her shoulder. It made her shiver every time.
Then it happened again the following night. Noa—guilt and reluctance tinting her voice—reaching for her in the dark and Lauren—eyelids too heavy, words slurred from the stickiness of sleep in her throat—assuring her it was okay. Of course it was. It was okay every night after that too. Lauren wasn’t always awake for the whole thing, but she often recalled snippets of it in the morning. Noa’s fingers on her clit. The weight of Noa’s arm around her waist, holding her close, holding her in place. Being entered slowly. Noa’s thrusting, restrained, her moans, quiet. Sometimes she touched herself to it when she woke up, Noa already half-way to work. It felt like something she wasn’t supposed to enjoy. She wasn’t supposed to allow. And that only made it hotter.
They didn’t acknowledge it during the day, like it was a secret. Something dirty, almost illicit. It turned Lauren’s solo sessions—that she previously considered a mere release of tension—mind-numbingly erotic.
Realization dawned in Noa’s eyes. She took a step closer, dropping the towel she’d used to dry her hair. “You’re not just okay with it,” she said, her tone awed and a little bit taunting. “It turns you on.” As if to check, her hand landed between Lauren’s bare thighs, fingers lightly slipping over her clit.
It was hard to deny it, caught between Noa’s hand on the small of her back and her fingers toying with her clearly wet pussy. So she said nothing, simply gasping and rolling her hips in response. It had been a while since she was fully awake for this. Life got busy and sometimes evenings had to be spent working on personal projects, not fucking. Nights where she woke up to Noa’s fingers or cock pushing inside her weren’t a substitute for the sex marathons they were capable of when life was less chaotic. But maybe tonight…
“So I can fuck you however I want?” Noa asked more for effect than to make sure she’d heard correctly. All Lauren could do was bite her lower lip and nod, completely mesmerized by the expression of cockiness on Noa’s face. If it weren’t completely earned, it would make her look like a douchebag. Fortunately for Lauren, Noa had every right to be cocky. She circled Lauren’s entrance with practiced ease, just the way Lauren liked it, the barest hint of penetration and—
She took her hand away.
“So I can fuck you however I want?” Noa repeated her question more firmly.
“Y-yes.” Lauren’s voice was all croaky, needy, her mouth dry from breathing through it. Noa seemed to find it amusing. Fine lines formed in the corners of her mouth.
“I thought you weren’t one of those women who gave it their all for their spouses.” Teasing, clearly. Noa’s eyes sparkled with the pleasure of provoking her. Lauren was less appreciative of the cockiness now.
“I’m not giving you—” Her voice broke from the mixture of emotions clogging her throat. It made heat rise to her face. Her body wouldn’t even allow her the small dignity of concealing exactly how aroused she was. Still, she tried to feign contrariness she didn’t really feel. “I’m not giving you anything I can’t take away.”
Noa was silent for a second too long. Thinking. She took a half step back and said, “Take it away then. Go on.”
What?
Lauren stood glued to the floor, head spinning, trying to decide if Noa was daring her or giving her an out. Or if she was disappointed by Lauren’s show of defiance. Though she didn’t look disappointed. And yet Lauren didn’t know how to respond.
As if sensing that, Noa added, “Go on, baby. Put your nightie on. Or at least underwear. You’re not going to bed completely naked, are you? Put your panties on.”
A silent gasp left Lauren’s mouth ajar. Like usual, Noa outmaneuvered her.
She felt so silly. She had to see this coming. She could call Noa’s bluff and put her panties back on like she used to. It was hard to recall now a time Lauren slept in her underwear. She’d done away with panties when Noa started reaching for her at night, she’d decided to make it easier. Make herself—
Her face grew warmer. God. She couldn’t back out now. Noa wasn’t bluffing. And Lauren needed her so badly, her whole body hummed. There was something unspeakably hot about the way Noa had backed her into a metaphorical corner. It only made her more aware of the pulsing, the slickness, the heat of her skin.
Which didn’t stop her from going for one last subterfuge.
“I don’t want to,” she said, voice nearly steady. It was true in the strictest sense. And yet it wasn’t a complete capitulation. An admission of need. Of something deeper, stronger than her will.
Noa smiled the way a falling trap sounded. She stepped closer, so close her nipples brushed Lauren’s. The touch was electrifying, goosebumps inducing, fire starting. It knocked Lauren off balance, it made her analyze her words for missteps.
“Exactly,” Noa said. “You don’t want to. See, other women…” Her fingertips traced a path from Lauren’s ribs down her belly and lower. She rubbed the pads of two fingers on either side of Lauren’s clit until Lauren shivered. A jolt of electricity ran up her body. “…have sex to get their husbands to stop bothering them. Because it’s been too long or because it’s Valentine’s Day or an anniversary. But you…you want me to fuck you however I like. You want me to find you completely naked when I wake up. You even put lube on my nightstand, baby.”
Judge, jury, and executioner.
Lauren parted her thighs half-consciously. Noa’s little snort was infuriating. But then her touch became firmer, she pressed harder… and it was so worth it. So, so worth it. Noa’s finger pushed inside just a little and Lauren clenched like she didn’t ever want to release her.
Then Noa was gone, way too soon again. Lauren tracked her with her eyes—hazy panic rising, spiraling outward from the pit of her stomach—as Noa tossed her towel into the hamper.
“What are you doing?” The question was silly, pointless. Noa opened the top drawer and it was clear what she was doing, what she was looking for. The sheer anticipation made Lauren vibrate like she was trying to burst out of her skin. Too heated, too sensitive, too responsive. She shouldn’t be playing along. Noa was clearly proving a point. But oh, God, was she right. Lauren wanted her, wanted to give her everything.
“You said I could fuck you however I like.” Noa shrugged, securing the harness around her hips.
Lauren couldn’t look away if she wanted to. Noa was outrageously good looking in everyday clothes, but she broke the scale in a strap-on, all hard edges and smooth curves, and bare skin. If Lauren could spend the night kissing and licking every exposed inch of it, she would greet the morning with no regrets, sleep be damned.
Noa gave her a knowing look.
She cupped Lauren’s face and Lauren leaned into it like a cat demanding more attention. Except she wasn’t demanding, she was asking, pleading, begging. It was probably too late to save face anyway. Noa could tell exactly how needy she was. And it didn’t really have to mean anything. Anything other than that.
Noa’s kiss, immediately deep and demanding, tasted vaguely like her coconut toothpaste and it made Lauren’s chest tighten. Not a bad taste for her next 18,262 goodnight kisses.
Noa pulled away with a half-smile. She took a step back and tossed one of their decorative pillows to the floor on the side of the bed, saying nothing. Clearly, Lauren was meant to read between the lines.
It took her a couple of seconds, but realization followed. She blinked and looked down at the green velvety fabric dotted with tiny embroidered flowers.
Noa sat on the bed, the pillow in her feet—a clear invitation.
You said I could fuck you however I like.
Lauren squeezed her legs together. Sinking to her knees—like spanking—was one more of those things best enjoyed in the bedroom and not outside of it.
She couldn’t deny how much it turned her on, but she also couldn’t justify it. So she was left there, suspended in the moment, arousal slicking her thighs, the edges of the world blurring and pulsing around her.
Noa looked at her with quiet expectation. As if the outcome was predetermined, but she held it in a loose hand. In the glow of the bedside lamp her face looked so much softer, the blue of her eyes warmer. Inviting. Corrupting. Like she was saying “Come on, baby, what’s the matter? It’s me. Get on your knees for me.”
And Lauren succumbed. She kneeled on the pillow. In Noa’s feet.
Noa looked… proud. It made kneeling feel like even more of a surrender. The way she gathered Lauren’s hair in her fist, patronizingly, the way she pulled to get Lauren closer, insistently, made Lauren bite back a moan.
“Now,” she said, “I’m gonna teach you how to blow me.”
Huh?
“Do I not do a good job?” Her voice came out high-pitched at the end, childishly petulant. Granted, she’d only tried a couple of times and had effectively zero previous experience. But still. She thought she was decent at it.
“You do, baby.” Noa’s reassurance was delivered softly, her hand caressed Lauren’s cheek with tenderness that went against the way she gripped her hair. “But since you want me to fuck you however I want…”
Oh. Oh. Noa really meant this. It wasn’t going to be just for show. Just for the theatrics of it. Lauren gasped, imagining the next half an hour of their marriage. Her eyes shut closed.
“Nuh-huh.” Noa tapped her cheek. “Eyes on me.”
God. Of course. Eyes on her. Lauren made eye contact, all intentional and bold, then took Noa’s cock in her hand and licked around the tip, noting how it made Noa smile.
“Like this?” If this was going to be a lesson, she might as well feign the innocence of inexperience.
“Yes, baby, just like this.” The crease in the corner of Noa’s mouth was ominous, but Lauren decided she’d tease until she wasn’t allowed to. Demonstratively, eyes still on Noa, she licked from bottom to top and down again. Maybe this wasn’t just for show, but a show never hurt. She repeated the move a couple more times before swirling her tongue around the subtly defined head again.
Noa seemed to enjoy watching her just fine, but she was doing so more with amusement than arousal. Lauren upped her game by moving her hand at the base as if jerking her off. She knew how Noa liked it, slow and steady at first. Noa rolled her hips into it. Controlled. Deliberate.
Lauren punctuated the movement with her wrist, pressing harder when they met, and was rewarded by a string of gasps and soft moans, Noa’s smile slipping. Self-satisfaction wanted to spill out of her, she could barely suppress a grin. Oh, she loved the power she had over Noa in that moment.
“This feels so good, baby,” Noa said, “but I don’t want a handjob tonight.” She took Lauren’s wrist—her fingers completing a circle around it—and removed her hand from the shaft. “Hold them behind your back.”
Fuck. Lauren’s vision blurred until her eyes shut closed, her neglected pussy clenching on nothing. Noa sure knew how to turn the tables.
“Hey.” Another tap on her cheek. “Eyes open. Look at me.”
It was a tall order, but Lauren fought her reflexes. Noa’s face loomed above her, the angle playing with the shadows in their bedroom, the blue of her eyes swallowed by the black of her pupils.
She could put an end to this whenever she wanted to. She could say “No, I’d rather not, actually” and Noa would simply accept that and they’d have simple, uncomplicated, married sex. In fact, she probably should—this position was demeaning enough as it was.
Instead, she put both hands behind her, compelled by the sincerity in Noa’s request, and knitted her fingers together. For a moment, she could barely recognize herself. She pictured herself from the outside—on her knees at her wife’s feet, hair held firmly in her wife’s fist, hands out of the way—and her heart started racing. This must be some other Lauren. Someone who had hijacked her body. Someone who had replaced all complex, tangled thoughts in her head with a single, simple focus: to please Noa.
When Noa smiled approvingly and gently caressed her cheek, Lauren melted. Every tiny little muscle in her body went slack. Projects at work, fights with her mother, annoying little health concerns, it all slipped her mind.
“Just like that, baby,” Noa said and guided Lauren’s head to her lap. Almost on instinct Lauren wrapped her lips around the cock in front of her, eyes locked on Noa. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. As Noa pushed her head down, slowly, Lauren felt her grasp on dignity weaken.
She had seen porn. She wasn’t a prude. She’d even watched some with an ex-girlfriend, quietly wondering about the appeal of two obviously straight women play-pretending sex. But what she and Noa were doing felt so much more pornographic somehow. Because she clearly wasn’t giving Noa a blowjob.
No. A blowjob, if porn was to be trusted, was when an enthusiastic, sexually liberated woman voraciously gobbled up an impressive penis (attached to a mostly stoic man, who occasionally let out a grunt or two), smiling the entire time as if the whole ordeal was akin to a Disneyland trip.
Noa clearly didn’t want that.
Her grip on Lauren’s hair was nearly painful. And Lauren knew she wasn’t supposed to find that hot. But she did. So hot she felt like a burning building, on the brink of collapse. One light touch down her spine and she’d crumble. Noa’s fingers on her clit, just pressing down, not even rubbing, and she’d come.
Instead of touching her, Noa pushed her head further down, slowly but firmly, her blue eyes holding Lauren captive. Studying her.
All fight left Lauren then, every last protest.
She could alway back off. She could put her hands on Noa’s thighs or on her arm and Noa would notice and stop, and then Lauren would say “I’m sorry, but I don’t like it, I just don’t—”
Except that would be a lie. Of sorts. Because she didn’t like it. Not really. Not the way she liked spring sunshine and sundaes. Unlike sundaes, Noa forcing her mouth down on her cock was unpleasant. Uncomfortable. Wrong. Degrading. And so fucking sexy it made Lauren’s head swim with the dizziness of it.
She was sure she was making a mess on the pillow.
Noa pushed her head down again and the cock hit the back of Lauren’s throat. Tears welled in her eyes and she moaned—stop and please, and yes.
Noa’s moan was different. Her head rolled back as she held Lauren there, not advancing, but not letting up either. “Just like that.” And then she looked down at Lauren again and brushed away a tear with her thumb. “Just like that.”
Lauren felt her throat trying to close against the foreign object and when it couldn’t, she gagged. She hated the sound. It was obscene and offensive. Something out of a crude joke. But it hit her like the first drag off a joint. Her body softened, unwound, and she sank deeper into something vast and primordial, something she didn’t know how to swim back up from.
Noa pulled her off her cock, enough to let her gulp air, and then repeated the whole process all over again. And again. And again. And again…
Lauren stopped counting. Her universe shrunk to a single focal point: Noa’s pleasure. Noa’s gasps, the way she moaned—broken, messy sounds. Noa’s thighs slightly shaking, Lauren sensed it without having to look, without having to take her eyes off Noa’s. The smell of Noa’s arousal, thick and musky, hanging in the air, making the room feel humid. Noa’s praise, hissed and whispered, that made every ache worth it.
Noa came with a shudder. Quiet, head tipped back, she held Lauren in place. Her whole body tight like the string of a musical instrument close to breaking. She collapsed on the bed with a sigh, all sweaty and panting, and released Lauren’s hair.
Lauren faltered. She inhaled deeply, spit dripping down her chin, and braced herself on Noa’s thighs, vaguely wondering if she was supposed to ask permission to use her hands.
Noa didn’t seem to mind. “Good job, baby.” She breathed heavily against Lauren’s face, peppering her skin with kisses—the bridge of Lauren’s nose, her cheeks, her eyebrows… And Lauren basked in her affection like it was sunshine, warmth spreading down her body. She felt dizzy, untethered. All of the foggy impulses her brain was sending pointed to Noa.
Like she’d never experienced need before tonight. Now all she wanted was to climb Noa’s lap and rub herself against Noa, and claw at Noa’s back, and breathe Noa in, and let Noa take her, and—
Noa got to her feet and extended an arm toward Lauren. Lauren took it and stood up on legs that felt as unstable as platforms drifting in the ocean. The pulse between her legs was driving her insane. There was something consuming about the ache, the emptiness. She pressed herself into Noa eagerly, seeking relief, and Noa enveloped her in an embrace, hands stroking her back, up and down.
“You did so well, baby,” she said, her breath tickling Lauren’s ear. “Let’s go to sleep, hm?”
Lauren pulled back. “Sleep?”
“Yes, it’s getting quite late. Let’s go to sleep.”
“But…” Lauren’s hips swayed, her mound brushing against Noa’s cock. Sleep was the last thing on her mind. She tried to angle her pelvis, get just a little friction, just a little pressure. Noa laughed. It was a soft sound, muted. She held Lauren’s head in both hands and kissed her, deep and deliberately sloppy. Lauren was going to burst.
“Let’s go to sleep, baby.” Again. With that insistent, gentle tone.
“But what about me?” Lauren hated how petulant her question came off. Like she was asking for something that didn’t go without saying. But it did. It had. Always.
“What about you?” Noa kept cupping her face, all sweet and loving.
“I want to come.”
“Because I did?”
Yes! God, wasn’t it obvious? Lauren tried to still her hips, but they kept on swaying, rocking, seeking Noa. Did she have to beg? Was that what Noa was trying to do, get her to beg?
“Because that’s how it goes?” Noa asked again, a question that didn’t invite an answer. “You’re right, that’s how it goes. In most marriages, if you give your partner a blowjob, it’s understood that you’re getting something in return. It’s only fair.” Oh, God. Where was this going? Lauren was ready to sob. She was dripping down her thighs, throbbing and empty. “But our marriage is different.” Noa’s gaze was intense, despite the warmth in her voice. “Because you’re not like other wives, baby.”
Lauren threw her head back with a wail. Noa was torturing her to prove a point. And the worst of all was, Lauren had walked every step of the way here willingly, eagerly. Blindly.
She tried one last time, already tasting loss. “But—”
Noa wouldn’t let her finish. “Remember how you asked me to fuck you however I like? I did. Now we’re going to sleep.” She held her in place, still as gentle.
This wasn’t a game. A game Lauren could win. Figure out the right moves or fight dirty. But Noa wasn’t testing her or teasing. Her resolve had always been as sexy as it was infuriating. Lauren didn’t need years of experience to know she wouldn’t budge.
Pulling back the duvet, Noa said, “Come on,” and Lauren’s shoulders dropped in defeat. She hesitated only for a second longer, prompting Noa to say, “Get in bed, Lauren.” Her tone was firm, composed. A thrill coursed through Lauren.
Still shaking with arousal and adrenaline, she got between the covers and felt the mattress shift behind her. Noa’s heavy arm around her middle pinned her to the bed. Noa curled against her and the cock pressed into Lauren’s ass.
A click. Then darkness. Lauren’s heart still pounded. Her skin tingled, oversensitive, nearly painful where the tips of Noa’s fingers grazed her belly. But the worst of all were the faint spasms. Her pussy was trying to draw Noa in. Lauren pictured it, could almost feel it, her body refusing to accept reality. If only her hips could stop rocking, maybe she’d sleep…
“Shhh.” Noa placed a hand on Lauren’s hip bone to still her. “Settle, baby. It’ll go away.”
Lauren could still feel the tiny embroidered flowers of the pillow etched into her knees.
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