House-Sitting Neighbors Finally Touch

Simone stretched out on the living-room floor of the house she had been minding for two weeks straight, the thick Persian rug soft under her bare shoulders. At twenty-eight she kept her dark hair buzzed short on the sides, longer on top, and the ink that covered both arms and crawled up her neck felt hotter than usual in the quiet evening air. She was butch down to the bone—broad shoulders, small high tits under a loose tank, cargo shorts riding low on her hips—and every night she crashed here instead of her own place next door because Naomi had insisted. “Make yourself at home, neighbor. Use the big bed, the shower, whatever you want.”

Naomi. Thirty-two, soft everywhere Simone was hard. Married to another woman who was currently somewhere in Italy with her, the two of them supposed to be celebrating an anniversary. Yet every evening without fail Naomi’s texts lit up Simone’s phone like a private strip show.

Simone’s phone buzzed against her thigh. She already knew the sound.

Naomi: Hotel balcony. Wine. Missing the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.

Attached was a photo. Naomi in a white linen dress that clung to the heavy curves of her tits and the soft roll of her belly, one strap slipped down so a full pink nipple almost showed. The Mediterranean light made her thick thighs glow. Simone’s cunt clenched hard. She had wanted that body for years—ever since the couple moved in next door and Naomi started bringing over cookies and lingering in the doorway with that slow smile. They had never touched. Not once. Just looks that lasted too long, accidental brushes in the hallway, the knowledge sitting between them like a loaded gun.

Simone typed with one hand while the other slid under her waistband.

Simone: You’re killing me. That dress should be illegal. Show me more.

The reply came fast.

Naomi: My wife’s in the shower. I keep thinking about your hands. Rough. Tattooed. How they’d look grabbing these.

A second photo dropped in. Naomi had pulled the dress down. Both heavy breasts spilled free, nipples dark and tight, the soft undersides marked with faint freckles Simone wanted to bite. Below, the dress was rucked up enough to show the plump mound of her pussy under thin black lace.

Simone’s breath left her in a raw growl. She shoved her shorts down, kicked them off, and let her fingers find her own slick slit. She was already soaked. Two weeks of this—flirty updates, hotel selfies, little confessions—and her body was strung so tight she woke up grinding against the sheets. She rubbed slow circles over her clit while she stared at the screen.

Simone: Fuck, Naomi. You’re dripping for me already, aren’t you? I can see it.

Naomi: Yes. Every night. I touch myself thinking about you house-sitting in our place. Wondering if you’re in our bed. If you’re smelling my pillow. I want your mouth on me so bad it hurts.

Simone rolled onto her stomach on the rug, phone propped against a cushion so she could keep looking while she fucked herself with two thick fingers. The rug scratched her nipples through the thin tank. She pumped slow and deep, the wet sound loud in the empty house. Her free hand squeezed one small breast hard enough to leave marks.

Naomi: Tell me what you’d do if you were here right now.

Simone’s reply was filthy and immediate.

Simone: I’d shove that dress up, bury my face between those fat thighs, and eat you until you screamed loud enough for the whole hotel to hear. Then I’d flip you over, slap that soft ass red, and ride your face until I came all over your tongue. Years, Naomi. I’ve wanted to ruin you for years.

The typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, came back.

Naomi: God. I’m touching myself on the balcony. Fingers in my cunt. People could see. I don’t care. I’m so wet it’s running down my wrist. I keep picturing your tattoos against my skin. Your cocky little smirk while you make me beg. My wife doesn’t know how hard I get when I think about bending over for you.

Simone’s hips snapped forward. She added a third finger, stretching herself open, thumb grinding her clit. The scent of her own arousal rose sharp and musky. She could almost smell Naomi too—that warm, sweet pussy she’d only ever imagined.

Simone: Send me a video. Right now. Show me how you fuck yourself thinking about your butch neighbor.

It took less than a minute. The clip opened on Naomi’s hand working between her legs, thick thighs spread on a lounge chair, the lace panties shoved aside. Two fingers disappeared into pink, shiny folds with a soft wet noise. Naomi’s other hand held her phone; her voice was breathy, low. “Simone—fuck—I wish these were yours. I want your knuckles stretching me. I want you to hold me down on that rug in the living room and make me take it.” The camera tilted up just enough to catch the bounce of her heavy tits as she pumped harder. “I’m gonna come. Thinking about your mouth. Your hands. Oh shit—”

Simone watched the whole thing twice, fingers slamming into her own cunt in time with Naomi’s. When Naomi’s thighs started to shake on screen, Simone came hard, growling into the rug, cunt clamping down so tight her vision whited out. Slick ran down her wrist and soaked into the expensive fibers. She kept rubbing through it, oversensitive and greedy, until a second smaller orgasm ripped through her.

Her phone lit up again while she was still panting.

Naomi: Did you come? Tell me you came watching me.

Simone: All over your fucking rug. Still dripping. My fingers smell like pussy and I keep licking them wishing it was yours.

Naomi: Tomorrow night. Same time. I’ll be alone longer. Wife has a spa thing. I want you naked on that rug when I call. I want to watch you. I want to tell you exactly how I’m going to sit on your face when we finally stop pretending.

Simone rolled onto her back, tank rucked up under her armpits, small tits bare and marked with her own fingerprints. The house felt too quiet, too full of Naomi’s things—her perfume on the pillows upstairs, her soft robes in the bathroom, the framed photo on the mantel of Naomi kissing her wife on some beach. That wife had no idea the texts flying every night had turned into this: two women who had circled each other for years finally saying the filthy parts out loud.

Simone: I’ll be naked. Legs spread. Cunt out. Whatever you want to see. Just don’t stop. I can’t take another week of this without putting my hands on you.

Naomi: I know. I feel it too. Every photo I send I’m shaking. I keep almost booking an early flight home just to walk through that door and drop to my knees. But not yet. A few more days. Let it get worse. I want us starving when it finally happens.

Simone’s free hand drifted back between her legs. She was still swollen, still wet, the aftershocks making her twitch. She dragged two fingers through the mess and held them up, shiny in the lamplight, then sucked them clean while she typed one-handed.

Simone: Starving already. My jaw aches from wanting to be buried in you. When you get home I’m bending you over the back of that couch first. Then the rug. Then every surface in this house until you can’t walk straight. Your wife can watch or not. I don’t give a fuck anymore.

The reply took longer this time. Simone could picture Naomi in that hotel room, thighs sticky, dress half off, biting her lip while she decided how far to push.

Naomi: She won’t watch. But I will tell her eventually. Right now I just need this. You. The way you’ve looked at me since the day we moved in. Like you already knew you’d end up balls-deep in my married cunt. Send me a photo. Your hand on your pussy. I want to see how wet the neighbor made you.

Simone propped the phone up, angled it down her body, and spread herself open with two fingers. Her cunt was flushed dark, lips puffy, the short hair above it soaked. She snapped the shot and hit send before she could second-guess the rawness of it.

Naomi’s response was almost instant.

Naomi: Jesus Christ. I’m saving that. I’m going to come again looking at it. Keep that rug warm for me, Simone. When I walk through that door I’m dropping every piece of clothing and sitting right on your face. No talking. Just my wet pussy and your tongue until I say you can stop.

Simone’s clit throbbed back to full attention. She left the shorts off, left herself bare on the rug, and stared at the ceiling while the last texts sat glowing on the screen. Two more weeks of this would break her. Or maybe only a few more days. Naomi’s flight details were already burned into her brain—the countdown, the exact hour the front door would open, the exact second she would finally get her hands on the soft, curvy body that had haunted her for years.

She reached for the phone one more time.

Simone: Hurry the fuck home. I’m done waiting.

The typing bubbles appeared, then stopped. No new message came. Simone stayed naked on the rug, fingers lazily stroking her still-slick folds, replaying every photo and every filthy promise while the house ticked quiet around her. The tension sat heavy in her gut, unfinished, raw, and growing sharper by the hour. Tomorrow night Naomi would call again. And the night after that. And every night until the woman finally walked through the door and the years of looking without touching exploded.

Simone woke late the next afternoon with the taste of last night still coating her tongue. The house was silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator. She dragged herself upstairs, stripped the tank and leftover slick off her skin, and stood under Naomi’s rainfall shower until the water ran cold. Steam clung to the mirror when she stepped out. She wrapped one of Naomi’s oversized towels around her hips—barely long enough to cover the curve of her ass—and padded downstairs barefoot, hair dripping onto her shoulders, tattoos glistening.

She was halfway across the living room, heading for the kitchen to grab water, when the front door unlocked with a metallic snick.

Naomi stood in the doorway, suitcase still in the hall, travel dress wrinkled from the plane. Thirty-two, soft belly pressing against thin fabric, heavy tits rising fast with each breath. Her eyes locked on Simone’s bare chest, the sharp cut of collarbone, the small dark nipples still tight from the cold air. The towel rode low enough that the top of Simone’s pubic hair showed dark against pale skin.

Neither spoke for a full three heartbeats.

Naomi’s voice came out rough. “My flight got moved. I… didn’t text. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Simone’s pulse hammered in her throat. She didn’t pull the towel tighter. She let it slip another inch. “You’re a day early.”

“I know.” Naomi shut the door behind her without looking away. The click sounded final. She dropped her keys on the entry table and walked closer, heels soft on the hardwood until she hit the edge of the Persian rug. “I couldn’t stay there another night. Every time I touched myself I kept seeing you on this floor. Hearing the way you growl when you come.”

Simone’s cunt clenched so hard she had to lock her knees. Years of hallway glances, of Naomi leaning too close when she handed over spare keys, of those late-night texts that left her dripping—now the woman was right here, smelling like airport and faint perfume, cheeks flushed.

“Say it plain,” Simone said, voice low and scraped. “No more almosts.”

Naomi’s gaze dropped to the towel again, then climbed slow up the inked arms to Simone’s mouth. “I want your hands on me. I’ve wanted them since the day we moved in and you looked at me like you already owned my pussy. I want you to touch me until I forget I’m married. Until I can’t walk.” She took one more step. Close enough that Simone could see the dark outline of her nipples through the dress. “And I know you want it just as fucking bad.”

Simone’s laugh was pure grit. “I’ve been fucking myself on your rug every night thinking about burying my face between those soft thighs. My fingers still smell like it. Yeah. I want it.”

Naomi reached out first. Her fingers brushed the edge of the towel, then flattened against Simone’s bare stomach, sliding up over the ridges of muscle to cup one small, high breast. The nipple stabbed into her palm. Simone hissed through her teeth and grabbed Naomi’s hip hard enough to leave marks, yanking her forward until their bodies collided. Soft met hard—Naomi’s full belly pressing into Simone’s flat one, heavy tits smashing against smaller ones.

“Fuck,” Naomi whispered, and then their mouths crashed together.

It wasn’t gentle. Years of stolen looks detonated. Simone’s tongue shoved past Naomi’s lips, tasting coffee and want. Naomi moaned into it, open and filthy, one hand fisting the short hair at the nape of Simone’s neck while the other yanked the towel free. It hit the floor. Simone stood naked, cunt already shiny, and shoved Naomi backward onto the living-room couch. They went down in a tangle of limbs, Naomi’s dress rucking up around her thick thighs, Simone’s bare thigh slotting hard between them.

Naomi arched, grinding against the muscle, lace panties already soaked through. Simone kissed her like she was starving—biting lower lip, sucking tongue, one tattooed hand sliding under the dress to palm a heavy breast and squeeze until Naomi whimpered. The soft undersides spilled out when Simone yanked the neckline down. She broke the kiss just long enough to look: freckled skin, dark tight nipples, the way they bounced with every ragged breath.

“Been staring at these for years,” Simone growled, and sucked one into her mouth, hard and wet. Her teeth scraped. Naomi’s hands flew to Simone’s buzzed sides, holding her there while her hips rolled up, seeking friction against Simone’s bare thigh.

“More—god, don’t stop—” Naomi’s voice cracked. “I’ve pictured your mouth on me every single night. Your cocky fucking mouth. I want it everywhere.”

Simone switched breasts, leaving the first nipple red and shiny, then kissed back up Naomi’s throat, tasting salt and heat. Their mouths met again, hungrier. Simone’s free hand shoved between their bodies, under the lace, two rough fingers finding Naomi’s swollen clit and circling it with zero patience. Naomi was dripping—slick coating Simone’s knuckles immediately. She pushed two fingers inside without asking, thick and deep, and Naomi’s cunt clenched around them like it had been waiting.

“Jesus—yes—” Naomi broke the kiss to pant against Simone’s cheek, thighs spreading wider on the couch cushions. “Feel how wet you made me. All those texts. All those nights knowing you were here touching yourself. I’ve been empty for this.”

Simone fucked her slow and deliberate, curling her fingers, thumb grinding the clit in tight circles while she kissed her again—messy, open-mouthed, spit shared. Naomi’s soft belly jiggled with every thrust of Simone’s hand. The wet sounds filled the quiet house. Simone’s own cunt throbbed untouched, dripping down her inner thigh onto the couch fabric. She rocked against Naomi’s hip for friction, small tits dragging over the larger ones, nipples catching.

Naomi’s hands roamed everywhere—over the tattoos on Simone’s back, down to grab her bare ass and pull her tighter, fingers dipping into the cleft just enough to make Simone snarl into the kiss. “I want to taste you,” Naomi gasped. “Want your pussy on my tongue. Want you to sit on my face on that rug like I promised.”

Simone pulled her fingers free, shiny to the knuckles, and shoved them into Naomi’s mouth. Naomi sucked greedily, eyes half-lidded, tongue cleaning every drop. Simone watched, jaw tight, then kissed her again so they both tasted it—Naomi’s own cunt, sharp and sweet.

They stayed locked like that on the couch, grinding and kissing and admitting every filthy want in broken whispers between bites. Simone’s hand went back between Naomi’s legs, three fingers this time, stretching her open while Naomi’s nails raked down her back hard enough to raise welts. Naomi’s free hand found Simone’s dripping slit and mirrored her, two soft fingers sliding in deep, palm grinding the short-haired mound.

“We’re doing this,” Simone rasped against her mouth. “No more waiting. I’m going to ruin this married cunt right here.”

Naomi’s answer was a broken moan and a harder kiss, tongue fucking into Simone’s mouth in the same rhythm as their hands. The couch creaked under them. Outside light slanted across the rug they’d both dreamed about. The tension only wound tighter—bodies slick, breaths shared, the line long since crossed but the full explosion still building, every thrust of fingers and scrape of teeth promising more surfaces, more hours, more of everything they had denied themselves for years.

Simone’s fingers stayed buried to the knuckles inside Naomi’s soaked cunt, curling hard against the spot that made the married woman’s thighs jump. Naomi’s own soft hand pumped two fingers deep into Simone, palm grinding the short-haired mound until Simone’s hips snapped forward with a raw snarl. Their mouths stayed locked, spit-slick and filthy, tongues fucking in the same desperate rhythm as their hands. The couch cushions creaked under the weight of years finally cracking open.

Naomi broke first. She shoved Simone upright by the shoulders, eyes dark and wild, then slid off the couch onto her knees on the hardwood. “I need your fucking pussy,” she gasped, yanking Simone’s hips forward until the butch neighbor stood with her bare, dripping cunt right in Naomi’s face. “Been dreaming about tasting this every night I sent those pictures.”

Simone’s hands fisted the longer hair on top of Naomi’s head. “Then eat it. Don’t be gentle.”

Naomi didn’t. She dove in with a starving moan, tongue flattening wide over Simone’s swollen folds, lapping up the thick slick that had already run down her thighs. She sucked the puffy lips into her mouth, chewed them lightly, then shoved her tongue straight into the clenching hole, fucking it as deep as she could go. Spit and cunt juice smeared across her cheeks and chin. Simone growled and ground forward hard, smearing her wet heat all over Naomi’s face, using the grip in her hair to hold her there while she rolled her hips in tight, greedy circles.

“Fuck—yes—look at you,” Simone rasped, staring down at the soft woman on her knees. “Married cunt on the floor eating the neighbor’s pussy like you’ve been starving for it. Louder. I want to hear how much you love this.”

Naomi moaned filthy and wet against her, the vibration shooting straight up Simone’s spine. She sucked Simone’s clit between her lips and flicked it hard with her tongue, two fingers shoving up into the tight heat at the same time, curling and pumping fast. Simone’s thighs trembled. She fucked Naomi’s face without mercy, smearing shiny wetness from nose to chin, the wet slap of cunt on tongue filling the quiet house. Naomi’s free hand shoved under her own dress, rubbing her own clit in frantic circles while she ate, heavy tits spilling free and bouncing with every desperate movement.

Simone held on until her knees started to buckle, then dragged Naomi up by the hair and shoved her toward the Persian rug. They hit the thick fibers hard. Simone flipped Naomi onto all fours, yanked the dress the rest of the way up over that soft, freckled ass, and ripped the soaked lace panties down to her knees. Naomi’s plump, dripping cunt was right there—pink folds swollen and shiny, clit peeking out, the whole thing already dripping onto the expensive rug.

“Stay like that,” Simone ordered, voice scraped raw. She dropped behind her, one tattooed hand spreading Naomi’s cheeks wide, the other shoving three rough fingers straight into that married hole. Naomi cried out and pushed back hard, taking them deep. Simone fucked her like she meant to ruin her—knuckles stretching her open, palm slapping wet against her soft ass with every thrust, thumb pressing against the tight pucker just enough to make Naomi shake.

“Feel that?” Simone snarled, leaning over her back, small tits dragging over Naomi’s soft skin. “That’s me finally owning this cunt. Years of watching you walk around with that smile—now you’re bent over on your own fucking rug taking my fingers like a whore.” She pumped harder, curling, scissoring inside her until Naomi’s arms gave out and she dropped to her elbows, ass high, moaning broken and loud.

“Simone—god—don’t stop—harder—” Naomi’s voice cracked. Her soft belly hung, tits swaying under her with every rough thrust. Slick ran down Simone’s wrist and soaked into the rug fibers right where Simone had come alone the night before.

Simone pulled free only long enough to spit on Naomi’s cunt and shove back in four fingers deep, stretching her wide. Naomi screamed into the rug, hips slamming back to meet every stroke. Then Simone yanked her fingers out, shiny and dripping, and flipped them both. She sat back on the rug, thighs spread, and dragged Naomi over her so their cunts lined up—hot, soaked folds pressing together, clits grinding hard and direct.

They scissored like animals. Naomi’s thick thighs locked around Simone’s leaner ones. Simone’s hands gripped Naomi’s soft hips and pulled her down hard, fucking their pussies together in short, brutal strokes. Wet flesh slapped wet flesh. Cunts smeared slick over each other, clits catching and sliding, the friction raw and perfect. Naomi’s heavy tits bounced above Simone’s smaller ones. They kissed through it—messy, teeth clacking, tongues sharing the taste of Naomi’s earlier cum and Simone’s own juices still coating Naomi’s chin.

“Switch,” Simone growled after a minute of grinding. She flipped them so Naomi was on her back, then climbed over her in reverse, dropping her dripping cunt straight onto Naomi’s mouth while she buried her face between Naomi’s spread thighs. They ate each other sixty-nine on the rug, desperate and sloppy. Simone’s tongue shoved deep into Naomi’s hole, fucking it while her nose ground the clit. Naomi sucked Simone’s clit hard and shoved three fingers up into her from below, pumping fast. Simone rocked her hips, fucking Naomi’s face, drowning her in slick.

They rolled again. Simone ended up on her back this time, Naomi straddling one thigh, grinding her soaked cunt hard against Simone’s while she reached down and fingered Simone open with the same rough hunger. Then they scissored once more—legs tangled, hips snapping, cunts locked and sliding, both women dripping rivers onto the Persian fibers. Simone’s tattoos flexed as she gripped Naomi’s ass and forced them tighter together. Naomi’s soft belly pressed down, her freckled tits swaying as she rode the friction.

“I’m close—fuck, Simone, I’m gonna come all over you—”

“Do it. Come on my cunt. Let me feel that married pussy gush.”

Naomi shattered first with a loud, broken cry, thighs locking, cunt pulsing hard against Simone’s as she ground through it, juices flooding out and coating both of them. The wet heat and the way Naomi’s folds fluttered tipped Simone over a second later. She came growling, hips jerking, squirting a sharp pulse of slick that mixed with Naomi’s mess on the rug. They kept grinding through it, oversensitive and greedy, switching again—Naomi dropping back between Simone’s legs to suck her through the aftershocks, tongue scooping up every drop, then Simone flipping her and eating her out from behind while three fingers still pumped her dripping hole.

They didn’t stop. Simone dragged Naomi into another scissor, this time slower but just as deep, clits rubbing swollen and raw until a second, smaller orgasm ripped through both of them almost at once. Naomi’s nails raked down Simone’s inked arms. Simone bit the soft meat of Naomi’s shoulder hard enough to mark. Their bodies stayed locked, cunts still sliding together in the cooling mess, breaths ragged, hearts hammering.

Simone’s free hand stroked down Naomi’s sweat-slick back, fingers dipping into the cleft of her ass again, teasing. Naomi shivered and pushed into the touch, still hungry. Outside the windows the light was fading. The house smelled like sex and the perfume Naomi had worn on the plane. Simone’s jaw ached from eating her, her fingers were pruned from being buried inside that tight heat, and already her clit was throbbing back to life against Naomi’s soft folds.

Naomi lifted her head, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded. “We’re not done,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “I still need you to fuck me until I can’t remember my wife’s name. Every room. Every surface. Starting with this rug until it’s ruined.”

Simone’s laugh was pure grit against her throat. She rolled them so Naomi was under her again, thighs forced wide, and slid three fingers back into that swollen, used cunt without preamble. Naomi moaned and arched, taking it. The tension only wound tighter—bodies still moving, still greedy, the full night stretching ahead of them with more surfaces waiting and more filthy promises neither of them was ready to stop keeping.

Simone fucked three fingers deep into Naomi’s swollen cunt, curling hard against that spot that made the married woman’s whole body jerk. Naomi’s thighs locked around her wrist, soft belly heaving, freckled tits bouncing with every ruthless thrust. The Persian rug burned under Simone’s knees as she drove deeper, knuckles stretching the dripping hole that had haunted her for years.

“Take it,” Simone snarled, voice raw. “Every fucking inch. This is what you flew home for.”

Naomi’s answer was a broken moan. She grabbed Simone’s free hand and shoved two of those tattooed fingers into her own mouth, sucking hard while her hips slammed back to meet every stroke. Slick poured out around Simone’s hand, soaking the expensive fibers already dark with their earlier mess. Simone leaned down and bit the soft meat of Naomi’s inner thigh hard enough to bruise, then dragged her tongue up to suck that throbbing clit between her lips.

Naomi came with a scream that cracked in the quiet house. Her cunt clamped down like a fist, pulsing wet and hot, juices flooding Simone’s mouth and wrist. Simone kept pumping through it, greedy, tongue flat and filthy, until Naomi’s legs shook so hard she tried to twist away. Simone held her open, eating every drop, then flipped her onto her stomach and yanked those thick hips up again.

“Not done,” Simone growled. She spit on the swollen folds and shoved four fingers back inside, stretching Naomi wider than before. The married woman sobbed into the rug, ass high, soft flesh jiggling with every slap of Simone’s palm. Simone fucked her like she meant to leave her ruined—raw, deep, relentless—until Naomi came again, gushing harder this time, a sharp pulse of slick that ran down Simone’s forearm and pooled beneath them.

Simone pulled free only long enough to straddle Naomi’s face, dropping her dripping cunt straight onto that open, hungry mouth. “Eat me while you still can breathe.”

Naomi moaned and dove in, tongue shoving deep, nose grinding Simone’s clit. Simone rode her hard, small high tits bouncing, tattoos flexing as she braced on the rug. She reached back and worked three fingers into Naomi again from behind, fucking both of them at once. The wet sounds were filthy and constant—cunt on tongue, fingers slamming into soaked flesh. Simone’s orgasm hit like a truck. She ground down hard, flooding Naomi’s face, thighs shaking, growling low and continuous as she came all over that married tongue.

They collapsed sideways, tangled, still touching. Simone dragged Naomi on top of her and lined their cunts up again. Legs locked. Hips snapped. Swollen clits rubbed raw and direct while they kissed through the mess—tongues tasting each other’s cum, spit shared, teeth scraping lips. Naomi’s heavy tits smashed against Simone’s smaller ones. Soft belly pressed flat to hard muscle. They scissored slow and deep, grinding until another orgasm ripped through both of them almost together, bodies locking, juices mixing fresh on the ruined rug.

Simone rolled them so Naomi was under her one more time. She pushed Naomi’s thick thighs wide, settled between them, and licked her open with long, greedy strokes. Two fingers worked back inside, curling, while her tongue focused on the oversensitive clit. Naomi’s hands fisted the short hair on top of Simone’s head, holding her there, hips rolling up in helpless little circles.

“Simone—fuck—I can’t—”

“You can. One more. Give it to me.”

Naomi shattered again, quieter this time but deeper, whole body seizing, cunt fluttering around Simone’s fingers while fresh slick coated her chin. Simone stayed down there until the last tremor faded, then crawled up Naomi’s body, dragging her wet mouth over freckled skin, soft belly, between those heavy tits. She sucked one dark nipple hard, then the other, before their mouths met again—slow now, deep, tongues sliding lazy and thick with the taste of everything they’d done.

They stayed like that, sweat-slick and breathless, limbs tangled on the Persian rug that smelled like sex and the perfume Naomi had worn on the plane. Simone’s free hand stroked down Naomi’s back, fingers tracing the curve of her ass, dipping just enough to make her shiver. Naomi’s soft thighs stayed wrapped around Simone’s leaner ones. Their cunts still touched, swollen and sticky, every small shift sending aftershocks through both of them.

Naomi broke the kiss just enough to look at her. Cheeks flushed, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded and dark. She smiled—slow, wrecked, completely open.

“I’m canceling the rest of the trip,” she whispered against Simone’s mouth. “Texting my wife right after this that I got sick and need a few more days alone. We’re spending every one of them in bed. Every inch of each other. I want your mouth on me when I wake up. I want your fingers inside me when I fall asleep. I want to learn the exact sound you make when I sit on your face and grind until you can’t breathe. Before she comes home… you’re mine.”

Simone’s laugh was pure grit, low and satisfied. She kissed her again, deeper, one hand sliding back between Naomi’s legs to cup that used, dripping cunt like it already belonged to her.

Naomi pulled back just far enough to speak, voice raw and certain.

“Tell me you’re going to ruin me so thoroughly these next few days that I forget how to walk straight when she gets back?”