All I Want is You - Part 22
Title: All I Want is You - Part 22
Author: xjekkix
Word Count: 702 words
Summary: What’s meant to be will be.
Rating: R - they’re making…breakfast ;)
Disclaimer: This is not real.
A/N: Beta’d by csifreak90
Samantha closes her eyes. She loves the way Lindsay’s free hand brushes against her stomach, the way the girl’s lips feel against the back of her neck, and just how carefully she pays attention to detail. She knows just what sends Samantha to the edge and back - and when the woman screams for more, more is just what she gets.
Even before, they never seemed to tire of being together. There was always something new to try, somewhere new to try it and things that drove one another crazy that they’d never discovered. But with two very different schedules, it became hard to make time for the best part of their day. They tried to rush it, to make it fit into the short amount of time they managed to get face-to-face, but it wasn’t the same. Samantha liked to take her time; really get the girl going before she made her move. And Lindsay loved to draw things out and make it last for hours.
This time, they promised each other, they would schedule off personal time for exactly that purpose.
Lindsay’s hand slides forcefully between the woman’s legs; she spreads them instinctively, her legs wobbly as she shivers. The girl leans hard against her back, sandwiching Samantha between herself and the marble counter. She moves her hand back and forth between the woman’s thighs, barely touching skin. Warmth radiates despite minimal friction; her fingers are drawn to it.
She traces her slender middle finger along Samantha’s inner thigh, teases as she slowly makes her way inside. With her fingertip, she circles the woman’s clit, pressing gently against the nerve-endings around it. For Samantha, this is torture. She anticipates the feeling; her muscles contract and she slides her palms across the slick counter, desperate for something to grab onto.
Lindsay bends along with her, placing her feet in front of the woman’s. Their ankles intertwine as she forces Samantha’s legs immovable. The woman loves a challenge; the more she fights against the feeling, the more amazing it is.
Samantha does fight it, but not because she doesn’t want it - because already she’s not sure how much more she can take. She can’t escape it. Lindsay’s hand, trapped inside the elastic band of her panties, presses firmly against her skin. No matter which way she moves, jolts of electric joy shoot into the pit of her stomach.
Leaving one hand grasping at the countertop, she joins Lindsay’s hand from the outside of her cotton underwear - for lack of something else to grab hold of, and why not join in. She pushes hard against the back of the girl’s fingers, forcing them deeper inside. Her entire body is trembling, the counter is trembling.
She throws her head back and grabs onto the edge of the counter with both hands now when her phone buzzes against the wall. Distracted, she doesn’t pay any attention to it. Whoever may be calling can certainly wait the few seconds it will take before she’s satisfied.
Lindsay thrusts her fingers inside one last time, standing straight up and bringing Samantha’s tense body with her. The woman holds her breath, trying to make her climax last for as long as possible.
A knock on the front door. The doorknob jiggles. She panics, remembering that she left it unlocked after a middle of the night jaunt with Cadillac.
Samantha groans as she releases her breath and every muscle in her body all at once. The doorknob turns and the door creaks slowly open, quiet whispers from the other side.
She and Lindsay rush apart, fixing their clothing and regaining composure. They fumble, fidget, not sure what to do with their hands. In unison, they tuck them innocently behind their own backs and lean against the counter.
“Samantha, darling…oh, there you are,” Ann says, waltzing in the kitchen with daughter Charlotte following closely behind. She smiles politely, albeit awkwardly, at Lindsay. “I wasn’t sure if you were home. You didn’t answer your phone.”
Samantha swallows hard and remembers the vibration of her phone that nearly interrupted an intimate moment. “Oh, sorry. We were just making l-“
“Breakfast. We were busy making breakfast,” Lindsay says, cleverly covering up Samantha’s almost Freudian slip.
Author: xjekkix
Word Count: 702 words
Summary: What’s meant to be will be.
Rating: R - they’re making…breakfast ;)
Disclaimer: This is not real.
A/N: Beta’d by csifreak90
Samantha closes her eyes. She loves the way Lindsay’s free hand brushes against her stomach, the way the girl’s lips feel against the back of her neck, and just how carefully she pays attention to detail. She knows just what sends Samantha to the edge and back - and when the woman screams for more, more is just what she gets.
Even before, they never seemed to tire of being together. There was always something new to try, somewhere new to try it and things that drove one another crazy that they’d never discovered. But with two very different schedules, it became hard to make time for the best part of their day. They tried to rush it, to make it fit into the short amount of time they managed to get face-to-face, but it wasn’t the same. Samantha liked to take her time; really get the girl going before she made her move. And Lindsay loved to draw things out and make it last for hours.
This time, they promised each other, they would schedule off personal time for exactly that purpose.
Lindsay’s hand slides forcefully between the woman’s legs; she spreads them instinctively, her legs wobbly as she shivers. The girl leans hard against her back, sandwiching Samantha between herself and the marble counter. She moves her hand back and forth between the woman’s thighs, barely touching skin. Warmth radiates despite minimal friction; her fingers are drawn to it.
She traces her slender middle finger along Samantha’s inner thigh, teases as she slowly makes her way inside. With her fingertip, she circles the woman’s clit, pressing gently against the nerve-endings around it. For Samantha, this is torture. She anticipates the feeling; her muscles contract and she slides her palms across the slick counter, desperate for something to grab onto.
Lindsay bends along with her, placing her feet in front of the woman’s. Their ankles intertwine as she forces Samantha’s legs immovable. The woman loves a challenge; the more she fights against the feeling, the more amazing it is.
Samantha does fight it, but not because she doesn’t want it - because already she’s not sure how much more she can take. She can’t escape it. Lindsay’s hand, trapped inside the elastic band of her panties, presses firmly against her skin. No matter which way she moves, jolts of electric joy shoot into the pit of her stomach.
Leaving one hand grasping at the countertop, she joins Lindsay’s hand from the outside of her cotton underwear - for lack of something else to grab hold of, and why not join in. She pushes hard against the back of the girl’s fingers, forcing them deeper inside. Her entire body is trembling, the counter is trembling.
She throws her head back and grabs onto the edge of the counter with both hands now when her phone buzzes against the wall. Distracted, she doesn’t pay any attention to it. Whoever may be calling can certainly wait the few seconds it will take before she’s satisfied.
Lindsay thrusts her fingers inside one last time, standing straight up and bringing Samantha’s tense body with her. The woman holds her breath, trying to make her climax last for as long as possible.
A knock on the front door. The doorknob jiggles. She panics, remembering that she left it unlocked after a middle of the night jaunt with Cadillac.
Samantha groans as she releases her breath and every muscle in her body all at once. The doorknob turns and the door creaks slowly open, quiet whispers from the other side.
She and Lindsay rush apart, fixing their clothing and regaining composure. They fumble, fidget, not sure what to do with their hands. In unison, they tuck them innocently behind their own backs and lean against the counter.
“Samantha, darling…oh, there you are,” Ann says, waltzing in the kitchen with daughter Charlotte following closely behind. She smiles politely, albeit awkwardly, at Lindsay. “I wasn’t sure if you were home. You didn’t answer your phone.”
Samantha swallows hard and remembers the vibration of her phone that nearly interrupted an intimate moment. “Oh, sorry. We were just making l-“
“Breakfast. We were busy making breakfast,” Lindsay says, cleverly covering up Samantha’s almost Freudian slip.