Page 77 of Windlass

Stevie proved Angie’s point by sliding a second finger in with terrible slowness; Angie felt her body open, practically begging by the time Stevie was fully inside her.

Her legs gave out fully this time. Stevie walked her backward a step until they came to the wall of discarded outfits. Angie clung to a hook with one hand and Stevie with the other as Stevie drove deeper into her.

“Don’t come,” Stevie repeated in her ear, matching the words to the rhythm.

As if. She whimpered. Stevie placed her hand over the hand Angie had already clapped to her mouth. Angie moved her own hand out of the way so she could bite down on the side of Stevie’s palm to keep quiet. The rustling of the cloth was damning enough.

Stevie kissed her ear in between her recitation of the command. Angie could have told her this alone could bring her to climax, but Stevie could figure that out for herself.

One thing was sure. This definitely counted as fucking. Her body tensed, Stevie’s fingers directly where she needed them.

“Don’t come.”

“Mrhmmm,” she said around Stevie’s hand.

“I didn’t catch that.”

The hook holding her up came free from the drywall with a crunch. Stevie caught her, pulling her hand from Angie’s mouth to do so, though her other hand remained inside her, never breaking its rhythm.

The voices from the other stall went quiet.

“Guess it can’t hold that many clothes,” Stevie said, not an ounce of chagrin in her words.

Angie came quietly, shuddering around Stevie’s fingers with a force entirely inappropriate for the surroundings.

Stevie spent the evening in her new favorite place: Angie’s lap. Or rather, it had always been her favorite place, but now she was allowed to admit it. She lay stretched on the couch, cheek on Angie’s thigh and one arm around Angie’s waist while Angie used Stevie’s head and shoulders as a desk. The scratch of Stevie’s pen against her sketchbook vibrated pleasantly through her skull. Periodically Angie paused, and occasionally her free hand stroked some part of Stevie absentmindedly. That was enough to keep her content. For now.

“Hey, remember when you broke the mall?” Stevie shifted a little so she could see Angie’s face.

“I brokeone hook.”

“And the rules.”

At this, Angie glanced down, mouth quirking in a smile, unconvincingly contrite. “Oops, still doesn’t count?”

“It’s not that I want to argue with you, but how exactly do you figure that?” How, she also wanted to ask, did Angie always smell so damn good?

“I’m the only one who came so counts as half. Do you think the proportions on this are weird?” Angie held up her sketch for Stevie to examine.

She gave it as critical a look as she could manage for anything created by Angie’s hand. “Maybe a little up at the top, there?”

“By the wing? Good catch.”

Stevie kissed Angie’s thigh. “So you’re saying we still have a half left?”

“Or, I get one orgasm subtracted next week.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

Angie stopped sketching. Setting the pad down, she trailed the end of her ballpoint pen across Stevie’s back. “Pretty sure you’d be the one doing it to me.”

“Pretty sure I told you not to come.”

“You set me up to fail.”

“You don’t have any willpower.” Stevie regretted the words immediately. What an absolutely idiotic challenge to issue.

“Don’t I?” Angie tapped the pen. “Try me.”

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