Chapter Text
Overlapping voices and music bordering on too loud clamored in the background, the din washing over her distantly. The scent of stale body odor, punctuated by sharp tangs of obnoxiously-floral perfumes and barely-masked alcohol, permeated the air. Rumi scowled into her glass, the bartop faintly sticky where the heel of her palm pressed down. She had officially been ditched, again. And, sure, maybe she didn’t mind it as much when they were at their usual spot, a very queer bar on the edge of town. But tonight Abby had suggested a new place, and Jinu had practically dragged her along, and she, like a fool, had not faked a sudden and severe medical emergency like she should’ve once it became apparent she wouldn’t be getting out any other way. Jinu had promised to stay with her, but he always says that, and it’s always a lie. So, really, she only had herself to blame for her predicament.
Rumi took another sip of her drink, her scowl deepening. She never liked these stupid drinks, anyway. Always felt like they’re overcompensating for the absence of alcohol by worsening its flavor in every other way imaginable.
There’s an unpleasant, grating screech of wood as someone dragged out the barstool next to her and took a seat. Already, it’s an assault on her senses, the heavy breathing she could hear even above the music, the invasive cologne that’s entirely too leathery and musky.
“What’s someone as gorgeous as you doing here all alone?”
It’s an unoriginal line and a tale as old as time, and they both know he’s only after one thing. Rumi swigged down the last of her drink, giving her a second to gather herself before replying. She didn’t bother to look at him. “Sorry, but I’m not interested.” Unusually blunt for her, maybe, but she’s already fed-up with the night. She’d probably already be on her way home by now, if not for her desire to escape Jinu’s future griping about how she never gave the place a try. Even now, she could practically hear what he’d say.
“I just want to chat,” the guy said, inching closer. A lie, she knew. Rumi did look up then, catching the stubble on his chin and the smarmy grin on his lips that she wanted to wipe right off.
“I prefer quiet,” she said.
“Then what are you doing at a bar?”
‘I was coerced by my dumbass best friend and then got ditched’ was most definitely not the thing to say here, so instead she said, “Just wanted a drink and a moment to myself.” It’s barbed, and she hoped that he would let go already, but of course he didn’t.
“You know, if you really want quiet, I know a place we could go.” He leaned in closer, and Rumi stiffened, feeling herself wanting to reel back, reclaim her own space.
“No, thank you,” Rumi said, pushing to her feet. “In fact, I think I’m gonna go the bathroom.” She rushed away, moving quickly but not so frantic that he could see that he got to her. That’s one of the rules: never let them get to you, and if they do, don’t let them see it.
Rumi strode across the bar, aimed vaguely in the direction of the bathrooms despite the fact that she didn’t actually need to go, shoving past people left and right. She stopped once she got clear of the crowd, lingering in the back, where she had a bit of space. She exhaled heavily, and—
A meaty hand wrapped roughly around her upper arm. A confident, claiming touch.
“I didn’t realize it was customary to bring your drink with,” the same fucking voice said, and all of a sudden her vision was swimming with that same smug expression, and she realized that she’d brought her glass with on instinct, even empty as it was, something grounding and secure in the cool drip of condensation against her palm. He’d followed her, and she was frozen, not shaking him off, not telling him to go die in a ditch, just standing there uselessly.
And then there’s another touch. Gentler, more careful, even in its abruptness. An arm flung around her shoulders, a telltale backwards tug, pulling her half-against a warm body. It wasn’t enough to dislodge the man’s hand, but his expression did falter.
“Hey, babe. Been looking everywhere for you.”
The voice was low, honeyed, warm in all the right places. It fell over Rumi in a way the man’s voice hadn’t, settling into her bones and gnawing faintly, already leaving impressions on her marrow.
And yet another touch, this one lighter, a palm splayed across the small of her back, a second body pressing into hers from behind.
“Yeah, we thought we lost you for a sec there.” This voice, a little higher, but no less deadly.
Not one, but two strangers.
“Can’t you see you’re interrupting something?” the guy snapped at them.
“Can’t you see,” the first voice mocked, “she’s not yours?”
The implication (not yours, but ours) landed hot and heavy between her thighs, a teasing, heady weight. She could’ve sworn the temperature cranked up right then and there from the way she felt the blood rush to her face. She held her breath, scared of shattering whatever the fuck this was, but her heart didn’t get the memo. It thundered in her chest like a rising drumbeat.
“I’d walk away, if I were you,” the second voice added. “But I hear it’s a sign of wisdom to know when to quit and clearly, you’re lacking in that department.”
Rumi saw the man’s face redden, and he opened his mouth like he had something else to say. But the first voice was quicker, and came out impossibly sharper. “That means, let the fuck go.”
“Before we call security,” the second one chimed in. The first muttered something Rumi couldn’t entirely make out, but it sounded something like, more like before I take matters into my own hands. As if she hadn’t spoken, the second person continued, “After all, we wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would we?” Saccharine-sweet venom coated the words, and Rumi didn’t know how to admit that their voices were doing things to her.
For a moment, it seemed like he’d argue, but his gaze fell on whoever it was behind Rumi — they were slightly taller, she could tell, and their arm remained casual around her shoulders even though she could feel the tension practically vibrating off of them — and he paused. Whatever he saw there must have knocked some sense into him, because genuine fear crossed his eyes for a half-second, and he released her arm and stormed away.
The second he was out of sight, all the touches fell away, and Rumi mourned their absence immediately.
“What an asshole.” The first voice.
“I know. Hey, you okay?” The second.
Rumi turned slowly, not sure what to expect. Some part of her was bracing, anticipation bordering on intimidated at the very least, if not scared, like a held breath waiting for the moment it met the rest of the air. But the rest of her — oh, it already seemed to know, a hum sliding along skin, seeping deeper, a cascade of sensation along her bones.
Rumi saw them, and she found she couldn’t breathe. They were beautiful — no, scratch that. They were downright ethereal, stunning in a way that made her falter for words. They were something that had to be witnessed.
The taller of the two had long, soft-looking hair that appeared red underneath the low lighting. She’s all sharp angles and cheekbones, something a little too rough to go down smoothly, like a burning shot of alcohol. On the bottom she wore jean shorts over fishnet leggings, and on the top — a black leather corset over a dark cold-shoulder shirt that revealed a generous amount of collarbone that Rumi definitely wasn’t looking at. Finally, she had kohl eyeliner drawn into wings, a lipstick a few shades shy of blood-red, and a fucking choker that’s just a simple black band, and yet, the casual authority of it (in spite of it, maybe) left her mouth dry.
There’s an undeniable draw to her, and Rumi was already wondering how that roughness might translate in… other situations. (No! No thirsting after your rescuers. Bad Rumi!)
And the second savior of hers (no, nothing hers, she scolded herself), the shorter one, had a rounder face and eyes softened by a glimmer of kindness. Her dark hair was pulled up into twin buns, with small bangs in front, and somehow the style suited her perfectly. She had glitter shaped like hearts at the corners of her eyes, and she wore a long-sleeved crop top that revealed — Rumi held in a squeak when she noticed — lines of partially-hidden tattoos on the dips of her stomach and the edge of her ribs. Even with her softer edges, she felt like no less of a reckoning, like promises were tucked in every little look and flicker of movement.
The pair of them stood close to one another, their arms and sides brushing, but neither of them paid the contact any mind. There was something comfortable and second-nature about the way they stood side-by-side, like they knew the only direction they didn’t have to be on-guard was the one the other occupied.
“...You okay?” the shorter one asked, her brows narrowing slightly, concern coloring her voice now. “You look a little out of it.” Her hand twitched, but she didn’t reach for Rumi.
Oh no, now she’s gone entirely too long without speaking and probably came across like a creep. She searched for words, fumbling slightly. “Yeah.” Her voice came out rougher than she intended, and she cleared her throat, trying again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you for the help back there, by the way.”
And, oh, her voice hit them visibly. The taller blinked, eyes widening for a split second. The shorter swallowed, hand twitching by her side again. Rumi’s mind spun, trying so hard not to read into anything — it was a nice thing that they did, of course, but that’s just what good people did in such situations. It didn’t mean anything.
(Can’t you see, she’s not yours?)
“Of course,” the shorter one said, a touch lower.
“He should consider himself lucky he didn’t get punched in the face,” grumbled the other, her arms raising to cross around her chest, a stormy look overtaking her. “He sure had it coming.”
Rumi didn’t know what to say to that — and, in all honesty, she felt a little bit pathetic for not handling it herself (and for being fucking turned on right now, but that was irrelevant). She’d frozen where she shouldn’t have, required intervention where it shouldn’t have been necessary. And now she’s — there’s — she’s all caught-up on these two strangers, on the hint of a spiralling tattoo on the shorter’s body and the visible muscle on the red-haired girl’s upper arms and shoulders, and the hollow of her throat, and following those sharp lines of her jaw and to–
A twitch of a smile on dark lips.
Rumi blinked, realizing she’d been checking out her rescuers, again, who were clearly in a relationship based on the looks of it.
She thought they might have noticed. (She glanced up briefly to see amusement — no, scratch that, they definitely noticed).
What’s more, though, was that if the telltale heat she spotted in their gazes was anything to go by, she thought they might like it.
The shorter smiled. It’s slow, careful, mindful of what had just happened, but still, something about it illuminated her entire face. “You’re welcome to join us at our table, if you’d like,” she said then, not exactly shy, but a little cautious nonetheless. “There’s always room for one more.” It’s a question, underscored with playful warmth, an invitation. An open door that carried no expectations, no weight, an offer she knew with certainty that she could accept without any strings attached. It could be merely a comfort or friendly gesture if Rumi wanted, and nothing more, and that they wouldn’t push her for anything else.
Or….
“Actually,” she heard herself say, thankfully with more confidence than she was feeling, “I think I will.”
It’s an invitation of her own.
And based on the spark that ignited in their expressions, they heard it in her voice.
The shorter of the two reached out a hand to Rumi then. Not grabbing, but waiting in the space in-between them for Rumi to take it. A confirmation of sorts, another question for Rumi to answer — one of many, she’s beginning to suspect.
Rumi took it. She expected sparks, electricity, something awakening and powerful in equal measures. But it’s not. Instead, it’s grounding. Something about the touch was secure, deeper than the skin, reaching beneath to brush her in a way that comforted, held.
Before she could dwell on it, she was being led through the bar, the shorter one guiding her while the taller lingered a step behind, as if to keep any other potential jerks at bay. It made her feel safe in a way she didn’t know what to make of. An uncomfortable thought poked at her mind, but she shoved it away, because—
They arrived at an empty booth in the corner of the bar, about as secluded as you’d get in a venue like this. It wasn’t quiet, not by a long shot, but at least the music didn’t feel like it was on a mission to give her the migraine of the century.
The shorter girl let go of Rumi’s arm and slid into one side of the booth. Rumi hesitated for a second before sliding across from her, not next to her — because she was feeling bold, but not that bold. Still, that didn’t stop a wave of disappointment from hitting her when the taller girl sat not next to Rumi, but next to her partner, leaving both of them across the table from her.
“I’m Zoey, by the way,” the shorter said.
“Mira.” The other.
It’s like an answer to a question she hadn’t known she was asking.
“I’m Rumi,” she said, glancing down at the tabletop with its spots of grime and overlapping rings of moisture from drinks’ condensation, and for a split second, she feared she must’ve misinterpreted everything. They’re already a couple, for starters, and they sat across from her, not next to her, the offer to join them had only been a nicety, maybe one that she hadn’t even been meant to take them up on, and how could she have ever thought they might be interested in her, and—
A subtle noise, a cleared throat. Rumi glanced up, worried that her thoughts were painted all over her face, and already forming the bones of an escape plan, a sorry my bad this was a mistake I’ll just go now on the tip of her tongue, when Mira spoke.
“Rumi.” Mira said her name like she’s tasting it, rolling it around in her mouth, feeling out its lilt and consonants. And fuck, it’s literally just her name, but somehow it’s so sensual that Rumi felt almost uncomfortably seen, exposed, in the back of this bar she hated. Then Mira grinned, a little devilishly, and added, “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Her voice was low, simmering. It’s not even anything Rumi hadn’t heard before, not with her track record of occasional hookups whenever her needs flared up, but coming from Mira, a riot of grace and heat and teeth rolled into one person — somehow, it felt brand-new.
Zoey nodded, her mock seriousness belied by the faint smile playing across her lips. “I agree, Mira. Whatever are we going to do with such a pretty girl?” She tapped her chin with a finger and low hum, like she was weighing options.
(Rumi really wanted to hear those options.)
“Buy her a drink, obviously,” Mira said.
The way they spoke about her like she wasn’t there was already going to her head — well, that might be a bit of a lie. It was going straight between her thighs, where a growing heat drew her attention with every quickening breath.
To make matters worse, they were both watching her the whole time they spoke, not wavering, not even glancing at one another. No, their attention never left Rumi, two pairs of eyes studying her face with every word with an intensity that had her practically melting. They were monitoring her reaction, testing the waters — and she saw the way Mira’s gaze caught on Rumi’s shoulders when her breath hitched, the way Zoey latched onto her lips when they parted to take a steadying inhale.
Seemingly pleased with their findings, Mira leaned back slightly and flagged over a server. When they arrived, she said, “She’ll take a cosmo.” The words were accompanied by a slight flick of her hand towards Rumi, to indicate who the drink was for, a gesture that should not have been as attractive as it was.
“Wait,” Rumi blurted a second too late, her mind lagging at an embarrassing speed, “I don’t drink.”
Mira raised one eyebrow questioningly at the empty glass Rumi’d been carrying, now on the table between them.
Rumi shrugged. “Virgin.”
Mira nodded smoothly and turned back to the waiter. “Make it virgin.”
Rumi fought to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn’t deny that she was impressed by how quickly Mira took it into stride.
“And I’ll take a strawberry daquiri,” Zoey chimed in. “And she—” a gentle elbow to Mira’s side— “will have a martini.” Mira snorted just a little at that, but Zoey ignored her. The server took down their orders and left, and just like that, their attention was back on Rumi. She squirmed slightly, unsure if she preferred having a distraction there or not.
“So…” Mira began, raising an elbow to the tabletop and resting her chin on a fist, her attention never straying from Rumi. “What has you here all alone tonight?”
The question’s an echo of one she’s already heard tonight, and yet, it’s so different now coming from them, and was genuine without being pushy.
Rumi let out a half-hearted chuckle, breaking eye contact and absentmindedly nudging her empty glass around on the table. “Well, you see. I was dragged here by my best friend, and then I was abandoned,” she said like it explained everything, which, okay yeah might be a little dramatic, but in her defense, she’d suffered a betrayal. (Again).
“That’s tragic,” Zoey said, but there was something mischievous on her face. “I hope you know we won’t abandon you.”
Mira immediately added, “Yeah, Rumi. I actually think we’ll take real good care of you. If you want us to.”
Rumi just about choked. Damn her. Normally she was more confident and less affected than this, but having two insanely hot women hitting on her at the same time might just be the death of her.
They’re still waiting for a reaction, and in her attractive-women-induced stupor, she only managed to nod jerkily. It’s not a very smooth response, not by a long shot, but they both seemed amused anyways, with Mira smirking and Zoey even raising a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes twinkling.
A familiar light flannel and mop of dark hair caught her attention, and she turned to see Jinu, the traitor, with his arm around a boy she’s never seen before. He caught her looking and waved with a stupidly Jinu grin. Even from a distance, she could practically make out waggling eyebrows as he registered the situation — namely, the two women sitting across from her — and switched from a wave to a thumbs-up. She scowled back and flipped him off because she could. His head tipped back in a laugh, and he must’ve been pretty proud of himself, because he didn’t even bother to return the gesture.
“Jackass,” she muttered under her breath.
Mira and Zoey both stiffened, their heads swiveling towards the crowd and scanning. “Where?” Mira hissed, and Rumi blinked, before realizing that they’d misinterpreted the situation, thinking the man from earlier had come back.
“Oh, not like that. Sorry. It’s just my so-called best friend,” she said, a little playful, a little irritated.
Immediately, they relaxed, both of their expressions melting into amusement as they turned back to her.
“He’s just — leaving me here!” Rumi continued, indignation creeping into her tone. “I can’t believe him. I’ll have to revoke his bestie status.”
Zoey made a wounded noise. Confused, Rumi’s eyes flitted over to her. Mira said, clearly feigning hurt, “You don’t wanna be left with us? Are we that bad of company?”
“Yeah, Rumi, are we?” Zoey added, pouting slightly.
“I, uh—no, no—” Rumi rushed to say, tripping over the words.
“I’m starting to think maybe you don’t want us around,” Mira said, and Rumi knew they were teasing her still, but something about it, whether the words or the tone or something else entirely, made everything collide at once — her frankly-shit week, the bar that she hadn’t even really wanted to go to, finding herself alone, that asshole following her, and the aftermath — and suddenly she wasn’t feeling so meek anymore. No, because now she wanted something, and she’d do what it took to get it. A familiar shot of boldness surged through her blood. She might as well have grown fangs for the way she smiled now, all fluid nonchalance and rough-edged playfulness as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
“Or maybe,” Rumi said innocently, a bit too sweetly, “You just haven’t done a good enough job to convince me yet.”
The air around them shifted instantly. Mira straightened in her seat, gaze narrowing in on her, and that smirk sharpened dangerously, curving almost like a snarl, now. Rumi held her gaze without flinching, raising a brow, just waiting.
When Mira didn’t back down, or soften the moment with a laugh or comment, Rumi wondered for half a second if she’d taken it too far. But then Zoey leaned into Mira a little, bumping the taller girl with her arm.
“You hear that, Mir?” Zoey said, reaching out to touch Mira’s wrist, right over her pulse point. “She needs convincing.”
Mira didn’t look away. “Oh, I heard it, alright.”
“Should’ve said something earlier, baby,” Zoey murmured. “We’d be more than happy to help… convince you.”
And then Mira muttered, so quietly that Rumi almost couldn’t make it out, “...brat.”
Rumi’s almost ashamed of the way that single word, growled like a curse, sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. She was beginning to feel like a rabbit that had been dropped into a game it didn’t fully understand, but she couldn’t say she was particularly upset about it.
Thankfully, she had a moment to recover, because the server approached their table again, holding a round tray. Rumi’s distracted enough by the arrival of her drink, which was a grapefruit-red and had the typical slice of lime cutting into the rim, that she doesn’t even notice Zoey moving until there’s a solid warmth pressing into her side, and she startled slightly.
“I didn’t want you getting lonely, all over here by yourself,” Zoey hummed, entirely too casual about the way their sides were now pressed together. Zoey lifted her drink to her mouth and took a sip, and Rumi fought to hold onto the courage she’d so easily had moments ago. Moments ago, when they weren’t touching.
When Rumi glanced back at Mira, she’d returned to that cool and composed look, and she was also trying her drink. But in the way Mira held herself, in the slight clench of her fist around the glass, like she had to put in effort to not break it, there was a new edge, a fire barely contained by smoothed-over expressions and half-tensed muscles.
Rumi couldn’t help but wonder exactly what would happen if she lost control.
Rumi couldn’t help but want it to happen.
She distracted herself by picking up her own drink and taking a sip. It’s better than her first was, with a fruity edge, and she took another, slightly-bigger sip.
“So, gorgeous.”
Rumi blinked, turning her head to see Zoey studying her. “Yes?” Rumi asked with all the self-assuredness she could muster.
“How’s the drink?” Their shoulders bumped.
“It’s not bad,” Rumi said lightly.
“Can I try it?” Zoey asked.
She nodded, sliding the glass closer to her, but rather than take it, Zoey raised a hand to Rumi’s jaw and leaned in, kissing her.
Rumi froze for only a moment, her brain racing to catch up to the moment. But when it did — Zoey was kissing her, lips soft and insistent, her thumb swiping back and forth along her cheek. Rumi kissed back, gently at first, but Zoey wasted no time deepening the kiss, her tongue brushing along Rumi’s lower lip until she opened them. Zoey made a low sound of approval, sliding her tongue in and flicking gently at her mouth. Rumi bit back a groan, already hating how affected she was by this, especially when Zoey’s other hand rose to her hair and held her in place as she kissed her, slow and steady.
Right about when Rumi was beginning to worry for lack of oxygen, Zoey pulled back, looking entirely too self-satisfied. “I think you’re right,” she said casually, her tongue darting out to taste her lower lip. “It’s not bad. In fact, I think it’s positively delicious.”
“Maybe I sold it a bit short,” Rumi agreed, a touch breathless, something she’s sure Zoey noticed despite her best efforts.
“You’re so impatient, Zoey,” Mira tutted from across the table, her voice cutting over the air between them. “Rumi, maybe you should come sit by me instead. I’d take my time with you.”
“You’re just jealous I got to kiss her first,” Zoey taunted, her hand rising to settle on Rumi’s forearm, not gripping, just softly touching.
“Mm. We’ll see who’s jealous later,” Mira murmured.
Zoey looked at Mira then, and Mira looked back. Rumi couldn’t see Zoey’s expression, and Mira’s was indecipherable – perhaps not to someone who knew her better, she realized with a small pang. Left in the strange, brief silence, Rumi squirmed. She wasn’t sure what to make of what was still happening, and was still uncomfortably aroused, and Mira noticed.
“You feeling left out?” Mira asked, voice dripping in faux sympathy. “Even though Zoey already gave you a kiss?” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Awfully needy for someone with such an attitude.”
Rumi’s breath caught in her throat. “Awfully confident for someone who’s done nothing but talk,” she returned, once she regained her ability to speak.
That hand around her forearm tightened, just a fraction.
“Stop distracting her, Mira,” Zoey whined. “See how cute and quiet she was until you piped up?”
Mira smirked and leaned back. “My apologies. Continue, then.”
Zoey sighed and turned her head to look at Rumi. For a slow, agonizing minute, that’s all she did — look at Rumi, studying her wordlessly, taking in whatever it was she found there. Eventually, the corner of her mouth quirked up, and she seemed almost pleased.
“So,” Zoey said, tone deceptively light, “I get the sense that you’re someone who likes to be a good girl. Hm?”
Rumi shivered, and she swallowed down the pathetically simple and probably breathy ‘yes’ building in her throat. Instead, she said, “When I’m given a good reason, maybe.” It came out a little more winded than she wanted it to.
And, oh, that absolutely delighted Zoey. The shorter girl leaned in, still grinning, and whispered, “I think we both know that’s not true.” As if that didn’t hit Rumi hard enough, Zoey kept going. “I think we both know the bratting is a bit of a façade, hm? That what you really want is to be good.”
And Rumi couldn’t breathe again.
Zoey’s grin twitched. “But, I’ll humor you. Hypothetically, what would be a good reason, in your eyes?”
Rumi pretended to consider, humming as she took the pause to collect herself. “Hypothetically,” she mused aloud, “If two very attractive women rescued me from a jerk at the bar, bought me a drink, and kissed me, that might be a good enough reason…” she trailed off purposefully before adding, “If they were to take me home, that is.”
Zoey’s eyes darkened noticeably. “Good to know,” she breathed, leaning in closer, her breath brushing against Rumi’s neck. Rumi shivered again, waiting for the kiss, the touch, whatever it would be, but it never came.
“Rumi.” Zoey sounded faintly amused.
Rumi jolted back into the moment. “Hm?”
A grin, more felt than seen. “You haven’t tried my drink yet.” Zoey’s hand left her arm and encircled her own glass, bringing it to her lips and taking a swig. The bottom of the glass had only barely met the surface of the table when they’re kissing again, this time with urgency, Zoey’s tongue not even asking before sweeping between her lips. She tasted like strawberry and rum, sweet and spiked at the same time, and kissed fervently. When Zoey pulled back this time, Rumi was panting, her chest rising and falling with the force of it.
She told herself she was not this winded from a simple kiss, except she was.
“How was it?” Zoey asked.
Rumi stared at her. “What?”
“The drink,” Zoey said, clearly delighted at Rumi’s fumbling.
“Oh, yeah.” She rubbed her lips together, as if trying to remember, as if the taste and sensation wasn’t seared there, didn’t still linger around the edges of her mouth. “I don’t know,” she said innocently. “It was hard to tell. I think I might need to taste it again before I can decide.”
Zoey huffed out a laugh, already reaching for her drink again, only for another hand to snatch it away first. “I think I’ve had quite enough,” Mira just about growled from the other side of the table, holding the drink out of reach. “In fact, I think it’s about time we got out of here.”
“But we haven’t finished our drinks yet,” Zoey pointed out, grabbing for Mira’s glass instead.
“—and besides,” Mira continued, as if Zoey hadn’t spoken, “You can’t just give her what she wants so easily. You’ll encourage bad behavior.” She stood, snatching her own glass out of Zoey’s hand for good measure, and set everything on the table as far away from Zoey as possible.
Zoey turned away from Rumi to look at Mira instead. “I can’t believe you want to leave already. And here I thought you were the one saying you’d ‘take your time.’”
“And I will. Once we get there,” Mira said, crossing her arms. She was an imposing presence, especially towering over them like she was, but Zoey didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. No, she just huffed, as if annoyed, and turned back to Rumi, putting her mouth right back where it had been — hovering over her neck and collarbone. Closer, even — close enough to kiss, but she didn’t.
“Zoey,” Mira hissed from above them. “One brat is plenty, you know.”
Zoey laughed at that, puffing breaths over Rumi’s skin. “Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Zoey said, finally pressing her lips to Rumi’s skin in a chaste, closed-mouth kiss on the side of her neck. It should be nothing to her, but Rumi exhaled shakily anyways, the small touch making her want more.
“I would love it if we were somewhere more private. Within the next thirty seconds, preferably.” Mira’s hand darted out and grabbed Zoey’s shoulder. “Unless you’d rather be punished where everyone can see.”
Zoey just grinned fiendishly at that.
Mira snorted at the lack of reply. “Should’ve known. While you might not mind, it’s not about you right now, is it? We have Rumi with us, and I’d rather keep her to ourselves.” Rumi shivered faintly at that.
“I suppose you’re right,” Zoey said sulkily. “I don’t want to share her. Well, with anyone else, that is.” A ghost of a conspiratorial smile brushed along Rumi’s collarbone before the shorter girl finally retreated and stood up.
Zoey turned around to offer a hand to Rumi. “Want to get out of here, pretty girl?”
There’s that nickname again — and they both looked at her this time with barely-disguised hope, and she knew it was a genuine question. They were offering an easy out if she’d changed her mind, and although she hadn’t, knowing that they were looking out for her like that warmed her chest.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teased, and immediately, Zoey’s shoulders relaxed and she smirked again, back to that casually assertive demeanor of hers. Mira, on the other hand?
Mira stood still — too still. And when the taller girl stepped around Zoey, her movements were abrupt and intentional. Mira reached over and grabbed Rumi’s arm, half-yanking her out of the booth and up against Mira’s side. Her touch was nothing like Zoey’s, demanding where she gave and unyielding where she was soft, but it didn’t affect her any less. Her breath hitched as the hard lines of Mira’s side, her hips and thighs and shoulders, pressed into her body, all heat and contact and closeness. Mira didn’t linger, not for a moment. She moved like she was sick of this place, of these people and the pounding music.
The drinks were left on the table, half-finished.
Mira practically hauled Rumi out of the venue, shielding her from the chaos all the while with broad shoulders and a withering glare if anyone stepped in their way. The moment the door closed behind them, and the cool air of nighttime rushed to greet their skin, Rumi expected to be unhanded, but she wasn’t. No, Mira just kept going, dragging her down the sidewalk and across the street to the parking lot. It wasn’t until they reached a dark gray sedan that Mira released her arm to fish through a small over-the-shoulder bag, palming the keys.
Mira looked at her then, and Rumi realized she was in the way, standing between Mira and the driver’s side door. Mira took a step closer, but Rumi didn’t budge. She waited to be ordered to move, or even simply manhandled out of the way, but Mira just… stood there, expectant. Determined not to be the first to yield, and taking perhaps a little too much joy out of feigning ignorance, Rumi looked down at her own nails, pretending to pick at the cuticles. A small thrill ran through her as she braced for whatever correction Mira would give her.
But none came. Instead, there was a beat of nothing except the distant hum of nearby cars and her own echoing heartbeat. Then, Mira’s voice cut through the still.
“Do you want to hear a secret?”
Rumi glanced up with a cheeky oh, did you want something? look, and asked innocently, “I don’t know, do I?”
Mira’s eyes flashed. “Brat.” She took another half-step forward, all she could without running into Rumi. Rumi didn’t flinch. In the clear air, she swore she could make out the hint of something spiced, like cardamom or amber. They were close enough to kiss at the slightest movement, close enough that in better lighting, Rumi would be able to dissect the exact color of Mira’s eyes, compare their hues to a variety of senselessly beautiful things.
Mira inclined her head slightly and crooned, “We had our eyes on you from across the bar, you know. We were hoping that—well.” When Mira smiled then, it felt like more of a baring of teeth than anything.
If Mira’s goal had been to knock her down a notch, she’d succeeded, because Rumi felt her pulse stutter and her expression waver. She couldn’t just hand Mira victory, though, so she hurriedly swept together the last-remaining dregs of her resevoir of confidence and returned, “And you called me needy? When you wanted me from just a look across the bar?”
Mira moved so fast that Rumi could barely follow what was happening. She felt her back hit the side of the car, rough but not painful, and the warm pressure of Mira’s body against hers. Mira crowded her against the car door, hands braced on either side of her head, and leaned forward until her mouth nearly skated over Rumi’s ear.
When it hit Rumi that she was being pinned to the side of a car by one of the most stunning women she’d ever seen, it took all of her willpower to remain standing and not simply melt into the ground right then and there. Especially after Mira said, voice husky, “If I’m so wrong about that, then why did you already look wrecked from the moment you first saw us?”
An involuntary whine fell from her. She felt Mira’s smug grin.
And, oh, Rumi’s so gone. She’s pretty sure this might be the best thing that’s ever happened to her.
“You looked like you wanted to start begging right then and there,” Mira added, infuriatingly nonchalant, pulling back a few centimeters so she could study Rumi’s face. Mira’s gaze flickered down to her lips, and for a moment, Rumi’s certain she’s about to be kissed. Rumi went to make the first move, leaning toward the taller girl eagerly, her hands already rising to grip at Mira’s shoulders, when Mira stepped back and the cold rushed in again. She blinked, confused, her lips pulling into a pout at not getting that kiss she wanted — until she saw the amusement.
“Angel.” Mira said the petname with only a touch of irony. “If I kiss you now, we’re not making it into the car, much less all the way home.”
The car beeped from behind her, jolting her back into the present. Rumi moved without much thought (still affected by Mira’s words ringing through her mind), and one of them — she didn’t register who — opened the back door for her. Before she knew it, she was stepping inside a backseat with faded leather and a strangely-comforting scent of something sweet.
She clicked on her seatbelt mechanically, more muscle memory than anything, and tried not to squirm while she waited for the car to start. Mira sat in the front, behind the wheel, and Rumi fully expected Zoey to take the passenger’s seat. That’s why it caught her off-guard when the shorter girl instead slid into the backseat next to Rumi, casting her a wolfish smile.
“We’re ready,” Zoey sang, and Mira started the engine.
They’d barely even left the parking spot itself when Rumi felt a hand settle on the top of her thigh. It clicked then why Zoey had chosen to sit next to her instead of in front, and she bit her tongue to stifle another whine.
Rumi stayed unmoving as Zoey shuffled a little closer, her hand creeping higher up her thigh. Blunt nails brushed along skin, charting a course of their own, exploring with a touch that was light, but far from shy.
Zoey tried to scoot even closer, but her seatbelt caught, restricting her. She made a frustrated noise, and for a moment, her hand retreated from Rumi’s thigh. Before Rumi could try to drag her back, a click sounded, and Zoey crawled over the seat between them and swung one leg over her lap. Zoey pressed herself flush against Rumi, trapping her in-between the seat and her caging warmth, and, looking immensely pleased by their sudden proximity, leaned in to kiss her again.
From the front seat, Mira snorted. “That’s not very safe, Zoey.”
“Better keep your eyes on the road, then,” Zoey fired back, clear enough to understand even though her lips were on Rumi’s. Mira huffed, but her objection was quickly forgotten by Rumi when Zoey deepened the kiss, her hands already back to wandering.
This kiss was searing, demanding, and her mind was spinning from every swipe of Zoey’s tongue and half-swallowed gasp of Rumi’s. Zoey kissed her again and again, barely giving her any time to breathe in-between, seeming to love the way she melted into it even as her lungs started to burn.
Zoey’s hands found her upper arms first, brazenly squeezing her biceps, and then her shoulders. Zoey made a noise into Rumi’s mouth at her discovery, and Rumi felt herself flush. She knew she had muscles — she worked out regularly, after all — but hearing the blatant desire from the woman on her lap, knowing that those muscles had an effect, was something else entirely.
Zoey pulled away for half a second, ducking down to nose at her neck instead, and Rumi sucked in one breath after another. That didn’t stop her next breath from catching in her throat when Zoey’s hands travelled down, brushing along her ribcage before coming to rest at her waist, right below the hem of her shirt.
Rumi opened her mouth — to say what exactly, she hadn’t exactly figured out yet — but Zoey kissed her again, harder, teeth bumping against her tongue for a moment. Fingers, unexpectedly warm, dipped beneath the fabric, grazing sensitive skin. Zoey didn’t even break the kiss as she thumbed at Rumi’s sides.
It was criminal how slow and assured that touch was as she explored the contours of Rumi’s abdomen. The unhurried pace, as if she had all the time in the world to become acquainted with every muscle and curve, contrasted with the starved way Zoey licked into her mouth.
Zoey broke the kiss without warning, and while Rumi would have objected under ordinary circumstances, she took the pause to return oxygen to her lungs.
Zoey, somehow, seemed far better off than she was, only a tad breathless as she murmured, “I can’t wait to get all this—” emphasized with a pinch at the fabric of her shirt— “off of you.”
Rumi stifled a groan, even as she let her head fall forward onto Zoey’s shoulder. She didn’t want to fold just yet — they hadn’t even touched her properly — but fuck, if the soft, proud rumble in Zoey’s chest, caught between a laugh and a hum, wasn’t messing with her ability to have coherent thoughts. If she didn’t already love the way her hands felt, contented and treasuring even as they uncovered, took.
“Shy already?” Zoey whispered.
“N-no,” Rumi insisted, pulling back and immediately missing the way her head had weighed down on Zoey’s shoulder.
“Cute,” Mira sighed. “Look at me, Rumi.”
Rumi glanced up into the rearview mirror without thinking, and Mira was already watching them, dark and intent.
She knew she likely already looked like a mess — lips a little swollen, her blush like evidence she’d tried to hide away — and judging from the way Mira’s eyes raked over her in the mirror, drinking in every little detail, it didn’t go unnoticed.
Those hands on her waist tightened suddenly, nails digging into her skin. Rumi shivered, the sting of pain a direct line to her core.
“Stay out of this, Mira,” Zoey demanded, not even bothering to turn around to scold her girlfriend. “I thought you were gonna keep your eyes on the road.”
“Can you blame me?” Mira asked lazily, turning the wheel evenly. “You two just look so good like that.”
“Don’t listen to her, Rumi,” Zoey said, her touch softening again and moving up, up. “Your only job right now is to focus on me.”
“Have it your way, Zoey,” Mira practically sang back. “Because we’re almost there, and we both know you’re not getting her all to yourself for much longer.”
Zoey didn’t answer her. Instead, she leaned in and claimed Rumi’s lips again, fierce and possessive in a way that made Rumi feel so wanted. Knuckles skirted along the edge of her bra, just barely daring to graze the underside of her breasts. Rumi was grateful that Zoey was still kissing her like she’d never get another chance to, because otherwise, she might already be pleading.
The car jerked to a stop. The engine cut off.
Zoey didn’t move.
The back door was thrown open, and Mira’s voice washed over them. “You done shoving your tongue down her throat?”
“No,” Zoey said, voice muffled.
“Mm. Too bad.”
Rumi didn’t see what happened, but she felt Zoey get yanked backwards and off of her, and heard the soft yelp that melted into a whine. When she opened her eyes, Mira had a hand in Zoey’s hair, which was now half-down and already ruffled.
“You’re no fun,” Zoey grumbled.
“How about you stop complaining and get our girl inside the house already?” Mira tugged on Zoey’s loose hair, coaxing another whine from her throat, and Rumi clenched her thighs together at the sight. Zoey was just so beautiful, and the way she subtly surrendered into Mira’s hands with the slightest lean, as if she didn’t even realize what she was doing, was devastating.
Still, Zoey’s eyes shot to Rumi, as if remembering the end goal was not, in fact, to make out in the backseat of the car for the rest of the night. Just like that, the momentary surrender was gone, and Zoey lunged for her, hands fumbling to undo her seatbelt.
The journey to the house passed in a blur. Rumi barely registered the unbuckling of her seatbelt, or the hands pulling her upright, or the lips that found hers again easily, like a brand-new muscle memory Zoey couldn’t get enough of. She hardly felt the cold air of night that transformed into a hovering warmth as they crossed the threshold of the door.
Zoey barely let her breathe the whole way into the house, but if Rumi thought she’d have a moment of rest once they made it there, she was sorely mistaken. Because the first thing Zoey did once the front door shut behind them, quiet but resolute, was pin her to the nearest wall.
“It’s my fucking turn,” Mira snapped from somewhere behind Zoey. Zoey groaned a protest, crowding her closer against the wall, but that didn’t stop Mira from grabbing her hair and pulling her off Rumi.
For a moment, Rumi was without either of them. She wasn’t proud of the way her legs were already shaking, and she wasn’t even sure if she’d still be standing if she didn’t have the wall for support.
And then Mira was on her, the pressure everywhere all at once, strong arms pushing her further against the hardness to her back, her thighs bumping against Rumi’s, and her mouth — god, her mouth. She finally, finally kissed Rumi, a growl building behind those teeth as she claimed her.
Mira kissed like a drowning, an impossibly encompassing feeling, like something she’d been chasing her whole life. Her lips moved like they were running out of time, not giving Rumi a chance to come up for air as her tongue ran along the edge of her mouth, and then inside, knocking against her canines and sucking lightly.
Rumi let out a minuscule squeak when two hands grabbed and lifted her off the ground like it was nothing, before dropping her right back down - onto Mira’s thigh. The sudden, overwhelming pressure had her crying out, and Mira made a low noise in response, sounding almost feral.
Mira tensed her thigh against Rumi, and a rough moan tumbled from her mouth. A pleasant fog was building in the recesses of her mind, and all she could think was, not yet. Not yet; put up at least a little more of a fight first.
And so, when Mira deepened the kiss again, Rumi opened her mouth pliantly. Mira hummed, pleased by her giving in so easily, and moved in closer.
And that’s when Rumi bit down.
Mira, caught off-guard, jumped back at the sudden pain and gasped in a breath.
Rumi only barely managed to stay on her feet when Mira’s thigh stopped supporting her, but it was worth it to see the dubious expression on Mira’s face as she lifted a finger to her lip, checking for blood. There was none, but still, Rumi grinned, proud to have genuinely surprised her.
Mira’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, you have no idea what you’ve done,” Zoey said cheerfully from the side.
Mira didn’t even look at Zoey. She stalked forward and seized Rumi, and for a moment, the whole world went sideways.
Rumi let out an indignant squawk when she realized she was being carried, thrown over Mira’s shoulder almost effortlessly like a sack of potatoes. “Hey!” she protested, but Mira didn’t budge.
Mira wasn’t laughing, either.
Rumi was carried down the hallway — of which she only saw flashes of the hardwood floor — and into a softly-lit room with a plush cream-colored rug. Mira unceremoniously dumped her onto the exceptionally large bed, and crawled up after her.
“Rumi,” Mira said, all teasing gone as she stared down at her, not touching her yet anywhere, as if she wanted to keep a short distance. “Choose a safeword.”
“Stoplight system,” she said automatically.
Mira nodded. “You got that, Zo?”
“Yep!” Zoey, who had followed them in, chirped. She climbed onto the bed to Rumi’s left side, leaning in close but also not touching her, not yet. “Red, yellow, green it is.” A gentle, real smile. “And how do you feel about marks, pretty girl?”
“Sure,” she stammered out, trying hard to focus on the nature of the question and not the image that popped into her mind of them leaving marks for her to appreciate later. “Just—just not anywhere super visible, please.”
They both smiled.
“Be careful with that one,” Zoey whispered to her like a secret, jerking a thumb in Mira’s direction. “She’s a biter.”
“You’re a biter,” Mira groused. “And a hypocrite, at that.” She turned back to Rumi and added, “While we’re at it… pain?”
“Yeah,” Rumi agreed, the word catching. She cleared her throat. “Fine by me. But in… in moderation.”
She didn’t miss the way Mira’s eyes lit up at that.
“Strap?” Mira questioned next, and Zoey shot the pink-haired woman a look.
Rumi didn’t know them well enough to decode what that look meant, so she just nodded and coughed out a, “Yes. Definite yes.”
Mira looked a little too happy at that, but before Rumi could linger on the implications of that, Zoey asked, “And overstim?”
“Go crazy,” Rumi said.
Zoey beamed, and Rumi tried not to tremble right then and there. She wasn’t sure if she was excited or nervous. Or a bit of both.
And then Zoey reached out and, with a gentleness that caught Rumi off-guard, tilted her chin upwards and captured her lips in a kiss. This one was slow and melting, unguarded in a way that Rumi didn’t quite know what to do with.
“You’re so greedy, Zoey,” Mira chastised, and Rumi stifled a groan when she felt hands smooth over her thighs, kneading lightly into the muscle. “Didn’t you kiss her for long enough?”
“Not nearly,” Zoey mumbled, kissing her again, perfectly unhurried. In their room and away from the stifling air of the bar, Zoey smelled of something soft and sweet that Rumi couldn’t completely place. She caught a hint of vanilla on the next half-stolen inhale and drank it in almost greedily.
Mira just grunted. “You really need a lesson in patience. Why can’t you ever just be good?”
“It’s more fun this way,” Zoey said innocently once she pulled away from Rumi. All that sweetness had faded away, leaving behind that same smug, unaffected demeanor from earlier.
Mira glared at her. “You just can’t help but brat, can you? How many times—” she yanked out and pulled at Zoey’s other bun, dislodging the hair band and freeing those dark curls. “—am I going to have to remind you that this isn’t about you? It’s about Rumi.”
Zoey whined into her grip, and Rumi saw the tension seep from her limbs, letting Mira hold up much of her weight by her hair alone.
“So how about you sit back and watch the show for now, and you can have your way with her later?” Mira finished with a little scolding shake.
Zoey pouted all the way to the headboard, which Mira propped her against with a force that felt like punishment. Mira left Zoey there and returned to Rumi, settling above her again with a smile that feels like a secret, like a letter passed between them.
“Just you and me, pretty girl.” Mira kissed her sternum through her shirt.
“Rude,” Zoey muttered from her spot against the headboard.
Mira ignored her, lips skimming fabric as she kissed a wandering path up to Rumi’s collarbone and neck, meeting skin there. She mouthed along the curve of her bone, surprisingly gentle in her exploration. Fingertips snuck beneath the hem of her top, grazing against her waist, not even grabbing her.
Mira kissed her way back down Rumi’s torso again, achingly slow, moving like she had all the time in the world and intended to use it. Each leisurely press of closed lips, each intentional pause between movements, only drew it out further. Mira went methodically, patiently, as if she’d be content to simply do this all night and nothing more.
It was made even more maddening by the fact that the kisses were closed-mouth, all lips with just the occasional flick of tongue, but no teeth yet, not even a scrape. It left Rumi on the edge, her muscles bracing, waiting for the moment when Mira would bite down and make good on all that talk she’d been hearing that evening. But she never did.
Rumi tried not to squirm, she really did, but Mira was being… nice. Too nice. And Rumi was on edge without meaning to be, the anticipation curling in her gut and underneath her skin, only escalating as Mira slowly, so slowly, began pushing up her shirt until her stomach was bare.
And abruptly paused.
Rumi glanced down, a little nervous that something was wrong. But Mira was just… staring at her stomach. More specifically, at the faint outline of her abs. They’re not anything super impressive, in Rumi’s opinion, but Mira was looking at them with widened eyes filled with such undisguised want that she felt uncharacteristically shy.
She fought the urge to shift and cover up, to curl her arms around her stomach protectively. And then she heard Zoey’s voice, nakedly awed.
“Wow.”
Rumi huffed out a small laugh.
“I mean,” Zoey continued, sounding slightly breathless despite having done nothing except sit there, “I could tell you had muscles but… damn.”
Rumi’s mouth twitched. She still felt the urge to hide, but she couldn’t deny that she was a little proud of their reaction.
Mira didn’t say anything, but that self-assured mask of hers had slipped for a moment, revealing something just slightly softer underneath. And somehow that was just as, if not even more, rewarding.
Then Zoey said, a touch quieter, but no less firm: “Yeah, I’m definitely grinding on those.”
Mira snorted. Rumi stifled a groan at the image that popped into her head of Zoey, bare on top of her, thighs clenching as she—
Rumi looked back down at Mira, and just as quick as it had slipped, that mask of hers was back on again, a cocky expression overtaking her features.
“I thought I told you to sit back and watch,” Mira drawled to Zoey.
“I am!” Zoey protested.
Mira made a disbelieving noise, one Rumi recognized as a warning.
And then, as if she couldn’t wait even a second longer, Mira made eye contact with Rumi, her gaze searing, and leaned down. Her lips met muscle slowly, deliberately.
Mira littered kisses there too, over every dip and ridge, and Rumi fought the urge to brace beneath each touch for the punishment she knew was coming. Eventually.
Rumi must’ve not been doing a good enough job at not squirming, because she felt Mira smile against her belly button and glance up.
“What is it?” Mira asked, expression all faux innocence. “Am I going too slow for you, princess?” She tilted her head slightly, her pink-tinted hair following the movement and pooling over Rumi’s stomach.
Princess—?
The indignation must’ve shown on her face, because Mira chuckled, her breath close enough that it fanned over bare skin. “Yeah,” Mira said, “‘Cause clearly, you’re used to being spoiled. Never had anyone put you in your place before.”
Rumi scoffed, offended. “That’s rich, coming from someone who hasn’t done much yet at all except run her mouth,” she retorted. “I’m starting to think you don’t have any intention of following through.”
Vaguely, she registered Zoey giggling from behind them. But she was focused on Mira, waiting for her to finally snap, to bite or scratch or touch her or something.
But Mira didn’t take the bait. She just smirked a little and leaned back down, kissing the edge of her rib again, closed-mouth and everything. She continued that painstaking exploration, hands teasing at the edge of her bra strap, not yet lifting it, just smoothing over the elastic.
Finally, Mira lifted the strap up and over, wiggling the garment around Rumi’s shoulders until it eased off of her. Mira didn’t linger. She kissed the underside of her breast, tongue darting out just slightly, as if to taste. It would almost be sweet, if not for the undercurrent of anticipation leaving Rumi on edge.
“Rumi.”
Rumi blinked, torn out of the moment. She glanced over her shoulder to find Zoey watching her with dark eyes.
It turned out to be a ploy, though, because Mira seized the moment of distraction to finally sink her teeth in, biting Rumi on the same spot.
Rumi jerked, only barely managing to stifle a yelp. She turned back to Mira with a glare.
“You’re playing dirty,” Rumi accused.
“How about you stop complaining and just focus on me?” Mira murmured into her chest, before biting her again. It wasn’t a particularly rough bite, but Rumi still stiffened, a small jolt of pain running through her.
Mira was watching her. Studying, eyes flickering over every twitch and grimace. Testing, Rumi realized, to see her reaction to the bite. And where her limit was.
It shouldn’t have affected Rumi as much as it did.
Rumi let out a mocking laugh. “You call that a bite?” she scoffed.
It was subtle, but she still caught it when Mira’s jaw ticked.
Zoey giggled again. “Oh, you’re making her mad, Rumi.”
Mira ignored Zoey, instead tilting her head a little to the side, angling herself over one of Rumi’s ribs, and bit her again. Harder, but not hard enough.
Rumi tamped down her reaction as best she could, playing unaffected, and said, “Really, I thought—”
Mira’s eyes flashed. That was the only warning Rumi got before she struck, sinking her teeth into the side of Rumi’s breast, clamping her jaw down powerfully.
Rumi hissed, her hips bucking up involuntarily into the solid heat of Mira’s abdomen. The pain radiated so perfectly, throbbing so good.
Rumi bit her own lip to stop herself from asking Mira to do it again.
But Mira seemed to tell that she liked it regardless. Rumi could feel the outline of a self-satisfied smirk against her skin.
And so she opened her mouth, fully intending to say something else bratty — they all knew it — when Mira brought down her palm to the outside of Rumi’s thigh, right underneath the hem of her shorts.
The slap of skin on skin cracked the air between them, and Rumi jumped beneath the hit, more from the unexpectedness of it than the pain.
But Mira wasn’t done. She didn’t lift her hand, didn’t go to strike Rumi again; instead, she dug her nails into the flesh of her thigh and dragged down. Lines of pain exploded, and Rumi battled a gasp, arching a little against her will. Her mind was already spinning, thinking about the beautiful scratch marks that would be there in the morning, how good the evidence of their touch would look on her—
“What do you think I’m made of? Glass?” Rumi taunted, even as a slight pant betrayed her. “It’s insulting, really.”
Those nails dug in harder. Rumi really did gasp then, and she felt Mira’s satisfaction at getting the reaction out of her.
“Fine. You want it rough?” Mira said, voice husky. “I’ll give it to you. Lift your hips.”
Rumi looked up at her and blinked innocently. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Mira didn’t wait. She grabbed Rumi’s hips, yanking them upwards with one hand and unbuttoning her shorts with the other. She shimmied the shorts and Rumi’s panties down her legs with ease, chucking them to the side without even looking to see where they landed.
And then the nails were back, dragging over the top of her thighs, and Rumi shuddered. Mira gripped her opposite thigh with her free hand, forcing her knees open, keeping her exposed.
“You’ll learn soon enough that I don’t repeat myself,” Mira said, those nails clawing a path to the inside of her thigh, where the skin was more sensitive. When Rumi jumped underneath her, Mira’s hold on her tightened, locking her in place.
“Now.” Mira watched her, not an ounce of give on her face. Her voice came out low, condescending. “Are you ready to give up that little attitude of yours, or will I have to fuck it out of you?”
Rumi’s breath caught so hard she almost choked.
“Why are you even asking?” Rumi managed to say. “I thought you were planning to do that either way. Unless you think you can’t.”
The smack rang through the air, Mira’s palm landing on Rumi’s thigh again, this hit harder than the first. It stung, and Rumi exhaled sharply, trying not to squirm.
Mira tsked. Without preamble, she bent forward and sealed her mouth around one of Rumi’s nipples, sucking hard. Rumi cried out, but the sudden pleasure didn’t stay — because Mira brought her teeth down, scraping harshly before she bit.
And Rumi’s whole body reacted, jerking almost violently, half of a cry falling from her mouth before she clamped her jaw shut.
Mira didn’t seem happy about that. She bit down harder, even working her jaw side-to-side a little, until she coaxed another sound out of Rumi. Only then did she release her bite, a faint pop filling the air as she drew back.
Mira smoothed over the bite with a consoling lick, flicking the tip of her tongue over her nipple, before moving up to Rumi’s neck. As per Rumi’s request, she didn’t bite or suck hard enough to leave a mark, but she did nibble lightly, as if testing for sensitivity.
And Rumi was sensitive there, but she tried to hide it, stifling whimpers and the urge to bare her neck to give Mira more access. But Mira seemed to have an ungodly ability to read her, because after a few moments, she pulled away with a faint smile, as if she was filing information away for later.
One of Mira’s hands tightened on her leg, and the other moved, featherlight, to the apex of her thighs. Mira pressed a thumb to her clit firmly, not moving, just putting unyielding pressure. Rumi’s lips parted around a half-stifled whine, caught between pulling away from the pressure and bucking up into it, and Mira’s thumb left her, fingers dipping lower.
Rumi knew the moment Mira discovered the borderline-criminal evidence of how much tonight had been affecting her. That smile ticked up higher on one side of Mira’s mouth as her fingers stroked lightly through the wetness, gathering some of the slick. Rumi’s hands fisted in the bedsheets, sheer need pulsing through her core.
“You’re so wet. You’re already making a mess,” Mira murmured a little meanly, and pushed a finger into her. She thrust shallowly, experimentally, and with an attentiveness to Rumi’s reactions that made her feel like something worth being discovered and taken apart.
Rumi wanted to have a witty response to shoot back at Mira, she really did. But Mira already felt ridiculously good inside of her, every steady thrust and the building thrum of pleasure tangling up all the words on her tongue. And so Rumi just grumbled, “Shut up.”
Mira hummed, the sound edged with amusement and a smidge of pride. “All this just from a little teasing?” She leaned over, breath fanning over Rumi’s nose and mouth.
Rumi only had a second to drink in Mira’s expression, from the beautiful curve of her jawline to the stunning shade of her eyes, before Mira captured her lips in a rough kiss that turned into teeth, sharp and stinging. “Act all tough but fall apart so easy, hm?” Mira breathed into her mouth as she pulled back just slightly.
Rumi’s lashes fluttered. That undertone of condescension was doing sinful things to her, and she angled her hips up, making Mira’s fingers hit even deeper. A groan slipped free before she could stop it, and Mira’s smirk widened. She added another finger on the next thrust, as if rewarding her.
Mira took her apart with a steady confidence, fingers pumping in and out of her, gradually moving faster and with more force. It didn’t take long for Mira to figure her out, with the next thrust of those perfectly, slightly-calloused fingertips brushing up against the spot that made her head spin.
Rumi didn’t contain her reaction in time. Her whole body jolted, and she moaned outright, feeling her legs start to shake.
The look in Mira’s eyes turned wicked.
Mira angled her fingers just right, rubbing against that spot with a cruel, slow precision. Rumi’s jaw opened, but she stayed as quiet as she could manage, not wanting to give in.
But then Mira resumed thrusting, this time aimed for where she was most sensitive. Every movement ached, bolts of pleasure racing up and down her body, driving her higher and higher.
Rumi’s eyes slammed shut and her head tipped back against the sheets, her spine arching as a helpless noise rattled in her throat. Fuck, she was close. Just another touch or two there and she’d—
And Mira stopped.
“Beg.”
Rumi’s eyes flew open, landing on Mira, who was pinning her with a stare. Her fingers stayed there, inside her, so infuriatingly still, not moving an inch, even when Rumi tried to move her hips for her. If anything, Mira moved with Rumi to keep her fingers exactly where they were.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” Mira warned. “If you’re good and beg for me, I’ll let you have it, right now. If not…” she trailed off, a devious gleam shining in those dark eyes, leaving Rumi to fill in the blank.
Vaguely, because her thoughts were rather scrambled at the moment, Rumi recognized that the game was rigged. Because Mira won either way, regardless if Rumi gave in now or held out. It’s not fair, she wanted to whine. Because Mira was getting what she wanted regardless, and Rumi—Rumi—
“Fine. Have it your way.”
Mira was thrusting again, the pace brutal, coaxing a sound from her chest. Pleasure built again, mounting, so close close close and—
Mira halted again. Rumi whined that time, the noise petulant. When she glanced up at Mira, she was watching her, a brow quirked in a silent question. Giving her another chance, Rumi realized, to give in.
“I—” Rumi stopped, licked her lips. “Not a chance.” Perhaps that was a little cocky, given the circumstances, but she couldn’t help but feel somewhat proud of herself for keeping it together this long. For making Mira really work for it.
There was a flash of something in Mira’s eyes before her fingers were moving again, slower now, keeping Rumi trapped between not enough and enough to keep her stupidly needy. Rumi wanted more, but she couldn’t ask. Her breath stumbled in her chest.
“Oh, darling,” Mira whispered, the words just skirting the line of something tender. “I think you might regret that.”
Mira worked her up to the edge and stopped again. This time, accompanied by another slap to the outside of her thigh, hard enough to leave a beautifully red mark.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Rumi heard a shuffling coming from behind her.
“Stop hogging her, Mira,” Zoey said, tone bordering on a whine. Rumi felt the bed dip beside her as Zoey moved closer, before hands touched her, gliding over her stomach and sides. “Ever heard of sharing?”
“No.”
Zoey groaned. “Come on. If she’s not gonna give in yet, at least let me ride her abs in the meantime.”
There was a pause. Then a muttered: “Fine.”
Rumi didn’t see Zoey’s victorious smile, but she knew it was there, somehow. She heard the quick shedding of clothes, accompanied by a faint curse as, presumably, the clothes clung stubbornly.
A moment later, Rumi heard the clothes land on the floor with a muted thump. She watched as Zoey, whose cheeks were dusted an adorable shade of pink, excitedly climbed on top of her, straddling her middle. She faced Rumi with a cheeky grin that dropped only slightly when her cunt, which was already so wet, enough that Rumi could feel it against her, settled down on Rumi’s abs.
For a moment, Rumi could only stare. Because Zoey was so beautiful, her nipples hard and a lovely shade of light brown. Freckles dotted her shoulders and legs, and the soft curves of her waist and stomach were perfect. Rumi wanted to hold them, run her mouth over them, bite them and leave pretty little marks all over her. And, although the angle made it difficult to see it clearly, a tattoo of what appeared to be a fern on her stomach and partially wrapping around her torso. That, she wanted to trace, memorize.
Apparently, the feeling was mutual, because Zoey was also staring down at her like the breath had been knocked from her lungs.
“You’re so pretty from up here,” Zoey breathed, and began to move. She rocked her hips back and forth testingly, as if mapping her out, learning the faint ridges of her muscles. Zoey didn’t seem to have the same reservations as Rumi when it came to making noise, a groan immediately sliding from her throat as she felt the friction against her cunt.
Mira grumbled, “Don’t flatter her, Zoey. She’s entitled enough as is.”
“‘M not. Jus’ telling it like it is,” Zoey insisted, grinding down harder, smearing wetness along Rumi’s stomach. She could feel Zoey’s warmth from here, the soft, wet press of her, and her mind quickly wandered to what it would be like to touch her there. Taste her. Rumi felt her mouth go dry at the thought of it.
Behind Zoey, Mira resumed her leisurely thrusts, dragging in and out at a pace too steady to be accidental. Rumi squirmed slightly. Zoey on top of her blocked her view of Mira, and not being able to see what Mira was doing only heightened every sensation.
Between that, and hearing Zoey moaning above her with every slide of her hips, Rumi was becoming embarrassingly close.
“Wow,” Mira said, and for a moment, Rumi thought she was talking to her. But then she continued, “You’re really going to come from grinding on her abs?” She sounded amused at the prospect.
“No,” Zoey said around a puffed-out breath, not even bothering to slow down her movements. “I’m going to come in her mouth. This is just a warm up.”
Rumi gasped. Zoey’s eyes darted down, undoubtedly seeing her flushed and hazy. Zoey smiled, keeping eye contact as she ground down harder, moaning at the feeling, still watching as the sound hit Rumi viscerally. Rumi felt her throat work, her jaw part. Her hand clinging onto the bedsheets twitched, wanting so badly to reach for her, touch her.
“Oh Mira, she’s shaking,” Zoey said like she was sharing a secret — delighted, a little awed.
Mira’s laugh came out low and gruff. “Already? You’re so easy, princess.”
Rumi whimpered.
Zoey’s eyes went dark at the small sound, and her hips stuttered for a moment before returning to their rhythm. Mira’s thrusts sped up again, just for a moment, bringing her right up to the edge before backing off once more.
Mira did it again, and again, and again.
Rumi’s body felt so high-strung, not ever allowed to come fully back down. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last like this.
And every time, Rumi felt the words build in her throat, the ones that would get her what she wanted. But she caught and swallowed every please, every beg. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, not yet. That, they would have to earn.
Mira’s thumb circled around her clit without warning, and Rumi shook even harder, a whine falling free unbidden. Mira circled faster, working her over and over, until she was right on the edge yet again, and then — took it away.
That time, Rumi couldn’t help the embarrassingly high-pitched whine. She blinked, fast and light, her whole body quivering, and looked up at Zoey.
And god, she must’ve already looked halfway gone, because the moment their eyes met, Zoey’s breath stumbled. Her hips jerked once, twice, and then her thighs clamped down around Rumi’s middle. She tossed her head back and moaned, shuddering, and Rumi drank in the sight with wide eyes filled with awe.
As soon as Zoey came down, riding out the last few tremors and relaxing her thighs’ ironclad grip around Rumi, Mira spoke.
“You’re a liar,” Mira said, matter-of-fact, a thread of smugness to it. “You did come on her abs.”
“Yeah, well…” Zoey trailed off, breathless but flippant, her eyes opening again as she turned around to look at Mira. “Who says I can’t do both?”
Both. Rumi wanted to pull her down on top of her face right then and there.
“Get off, I want to see her face,” Mira ordered, and Zoey, perhaps still boneless from her orgasm, obeyed without a fight. She fell more so than climbed off, slumping to the side of Rumi, giving her back the full view of Mira.
Mira’s gaze raked over her, and something distinctly pleased entered her expression. Pleased, Rumi realized, because of her. Because of how she looked. How Mira had made her look.
“Not giving in yet?” Mira asked over another thrust, all innocence.
Rumi just shook her head.
“Hmm.” Mira leaned over, hovering above Rumi’s stomach. She slipped in a third finger on the next thrust, and Rumi practically buckled forward with a strangled sound.
Mira’s tongue darted out over Rumi’s abs, to where smears of Zoey’s slick had been left behind. She licked once, as if wanting just a taste, before groaning low in approval and repeating the motion. Her tongue smoothed over Rumi’s abs, lapping at the slick and drawing it into her mouth, like she couldn’t get enough of it.
“God, Mira,” Zoey muttered, rolling over and sitting up to watch. “If you wanted it that badly you could’ve just asked.”
Mira pulled away just long enough to snap, “I don’t recall asking for your input,” before she lowered her mouth again, now sucking a bruise into the raised muscle there.
Zoey made an affronted sound. Then, having seemingly recovered with a remarkable speed, she reached over and stroked a thumb over Rumi’s nipples, pinching and twisting gently. Rumi whined, the pleasant, heady fog from earlier eating away at her ability for coherent thought. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was more intense than she was used to, and she found herself squirming again, needing more.
Mira licked another stripe up Rumi’s abdomen, and then paused, hovering.
And bit down.
And that’s when Rumi learned that Mira had been holding back up until then, because when she bit, she bit hard. Her jaw clamped down, her teeth digging in deep and rough.
Rumi wailed as pain, hot and abrupt, lanced through her. Her body seized in place, like it wasn’t sure whether to pull away or move closer, and she cried out again, loud and guttural.
She felt her skin break beneath Mira’s teeth and keened.
And just like that, sheer panic flashed across Mira’s face. Mira drew back abruptly, rushing to pull her fingers out of Rumi, and Zoey removed her hands from her chest like she’d touched a hot stove and no, no, where were they going—
A desperate, choked sound left Rumi. “No wait stay green greengreengreen ple–” Rumi cut herself off just in time before she’d accidentally begged.
Still, part of her almost wished she hadn’t bothered to contain it, that she had just given in and let herself plead like she wanted to. Need, heavy and intense, clouded her senses and more than anything right now, she just wanted them close. Touching her and inside of her and making her feel good.
Rumi watched as a brief flash of awe danced in Mira’s gaze, before it disappeared behind that mask again. Mira returned her hands, not to where they’d been, but settled on either thigh, offering a warm, grounding touch. As if to say, it’s okay. I’m not leaving.
“Were you about to say ‘please?’” Mira asked, a knowing smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
Rumi shook her head, but she knew it was ridiculously easy to see through her at this point. She was still trembling, still flushed. She probably looked about a second away from coming if they touched her right then and there.
Mira leaned in, close enough that her lips almost brushed up against Rumi’s ear. “Liar.”
A pleasant shiver ran down her spine.
Mira drew back, nonchalant, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “It’s okay. I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” Mira said. She went to stand, to leave her, and Rumi almost cracked, biting back the please no stay on the tip of her tongue at the last second.
Mira noticed, though, and Rumi braced for whatever teasing remark would come next. But Mira just softened, something almost sweet glimmering in her eyes for a split second.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back, princess,” Mira said, and the name wasn’t as sharp that time.
Mira turned and left the room, her footsteps quick against the floor.
Almost immediately, Rumi felt Zoey’s breath ghosting over her collarbone. She turned her head, and Zoey was watching her with an unreadable expression. Something a little sweet, maybe, a little… mischievous?
“Just us now,” Zoey murmured, and she shuffled her position so that she was laying down next to Rumi, propped up on one elbow and tracing Rumi’s neck with her free hand. “Mira can get so greedy, hm?”
Rumi hummed, the sound somewhere between agreement and questioning. She wasn’t quite sure where Zoey was going with this.
Zoey’s hand trailed down Rumi’s torso, tracing so gently over bruises that had already started to form. She lingered over a blooming purple-red spot. “She’s so mean to you, isn’t she?” Zoey’s lips turned downward with faux sympathy as she blinked down at Rumi. “But I could be nice.”
Her hand continued its wandering path, gliding over her stomach, now. “Wouldn’t you rather it was me, telling you what a good girl you are? I could touch you all nice just like this…” Zoey’s hand dipped lower, so close to where Rumi ached, but not close enough to provide any relief. Zoey studied her, entranced, as she moved her fingers in a teasing circle, as if showing her exactly how she’d touch her elsewhere.
Zoey leaned in closer, pressing a deceivingly-innocent kiss to her temple, and whispered, “I could give you what you want right now. Mira doesn’t even have to know.”
Rumi’s head tipped forward of its own accord, falling onto Zoey’s chest. When Zoey spoke next, Rumi heard her voice rumbling through her chest.
“What do you say, pretty girl? Want to ask me for it?”
And, even though that felt like it had to be a trap of some sort, Rumi considered it. She really, truly did. She thought about begging for it and letting Zoey have her way with her. She thought about how it would feel when Zoey put those fingers where Rumi needed them, how they’d feel fucking her open, slow and deep. Rumi opened her mouth, not sure what she was about to say, when she heard footsteps.
Mira walked back through the door, and Rumi’s eyes found her instantly. Her mouth dried when she saw Mira, now topless and wearing a leather harness over her hips. Mira was stunning underneath her clothes, all fluidity and etched muscle that Rumi wanted to trace with her tongue. A strap hung from the harness, a condom rolled down over it — a thoughtful gesture Rumi hadn’t been expecting.
“That was fast,” Zoey said, and she didn’t sound happy about it.
“Maybe I knew you were up to no good,” Mira muttered, approaching the bed. She beckoned Rumi with a curl of her fingers. “Come here, angel.”
Without thinking, Rumi went to obey, using her elbows as leverage to sit up on faintly-wobbly limbs. But Zoey’s hand on her navel tightened, as if trying to keep her in place.
“I wasn’t done yet,” Zoey complained, turning her head to level Mira with a glare.
“Neither was I,” Mira growled back, returning that stare. For a moment, they both simply looked at each other, speaking a language Rumi didn’t yet know. Eventually, Zoey lifted her hand from Rumi with a grumble, glancing away.
And then Mira reached for Rumi and tugged her up, first into a seated position, then off the bed, and then — onto her knees on the floor next to the bed, looking up at Mira, slightly dazed.
Mira lifted her hands to the back of Rumi’s head, not yet pushing her, just holding her. Mira looked down at her, mouth opening, and Rumi got the sense that she was about to ask a question.
But Rumi wasn’t paying attention. Her gaze rolled down, latching onto the strap.
“Are you— oh, fuck—”
Rumi tilted forward and took the strap into her mouth, sucking around the tip, the weight of it on her tongue drawing her deeper into that foggy state of mind.
“So I’m guessing you’re doing just fine,” Mira practically hissed, the hands on the back of her head trembling with restraint. “Couldn’t be patient and wait for it? Brat.”
Rumi hummed in confirmation, bobbing her head up and down along the shaft, letting her gaze drift upwards. She caught Mira’s eyes and saw something fiery there, like Mira knew what she wanted and was just barely managing to hold herself back from taking it.
Rumi maintained that eye contact and, slow and deliberate, drew the strap deeper into her mouth, until it rested on the back of her tongue. Then she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked, watching Mira the whole time, her gaze piercing. She knew Mira could see the last spark of defiance on her face, noticed the proud, intentional way she put on a show with her mouth.
She wasn’t just getting the strap wet. She was showing Mira what she could do.
And Mira knew it.
Rumi was only able to bob her head up and down a couple more times, feeling the rubber brushing up against her tongue, until Mira finally snapped.
“Enough of that. You’re done,” Mira growled. She grabbed Rumi’s chin, not bothering to be gentle about it, and thrust her hips forward.
The tip of the strap hit the back of her throat, and Rumi gagged, her hands scrabbling for purchase and finding the backs of Mira’s thighs, which she gripped tightly. She felt her eyes roll back in her head a little, a dirty, primal sort of pleasure — the kind at feeling full, at being used — shooting through her blood.
“Oh, you like that.” Mira’s tone was part degrading, part delighted. “You like having me down your throat? Filthy girl.”
Mira pulled her hips back for a moment before shoving them forward again. Rumi choked around the strap deep in her mouth, her moan coming out muffled.
“I think I like you best like this,” Mira said, her otherwise-collected demeanor belied by the gravelly edge to her voice. “Your mouth full, taking it so pretty. Can’t sass back like this, now can you?” One of her hands moved to cup Rumi’s chin. A thumb stroked over Rumi’s cheekbone, and it would’ve been almost tender if not for the grip of steel on the back of her head keeping her in place.
Mira withdrew enough to give Rumi a second to gasp in a couple of ragged breaths before pushing back in once more, her thrusts even but rough. It wasn’t long before saliva spilled from her mouth, the drool dripping down her chin, and Mira swiped it off with an approving groan.
Eventually, Mira pulled back entirely, and Rumi inhaled jaggedly, coughing a little, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she wanted more. She had half a mind to try to convince Mira to come back and keep fucking her mouth, but before she could do anything about it, she was being lifted back onto the bed and manhandled onto her hands and knees.
Zoey was already waiting for her, her hands finding Rumi’s jawline and stroking reassuringly. “Color?” Zoey asked her softly.
“So green,” Rumi breathed, her voice raspy.
Zoey kissed her sweetly, and Rumi felt the bed shifting behind her as Mira moved. A hand came up to rest on her waist, manhandling her into position for a minute until they were satisfied.
Then Mira’s other hand skimmed down her spine, landing on the middle of her back, where she pressed down with force, breaking their kiss and making Rumi lower onto her elbows. She felt the press of the strap, already somewhat wet from her saliva, against her cunt and whined.
“Breathe, princess,” Mira told her, just a hint of amusement there. Still, the words settled into Rumi, nestling somewhere against her bones in a way that felt grounded and protected. Like Mira had wrapped herself around every breath, gifted her a sense of safety with just her proximity, her voice.
And Mira pushed into her, her hips pressing forward steadily until they were flush against Rumi. Rumi gasped at the sensation of fullness, arching her back, feeling Zoey rub her thumb along her cheekbone gently.
Once fully seated, Mira gave Rumi a minute to adjust, that hand on her back firm and unmoving, pinning her in place. Rumi was already quivering, her breaths coming out staggered and shallow, and she couldn’t help but feel a little pathetic for that.
As soon as Rumi tried to press back into Mira, she took that as a cue to start moving. Mira set a brutal pace, drawing back until only the tip was inside of Rumi, before slamming her hips forward again. Rumi couldn’t bite back the noises building in her chest like she’d been able to before, and every thrust coaxed a moan or whine out of her. She barely even had the capacity left to feel embarrassed about it, the pleasure licking along her skin dangerously.
“Good,” Mira praised, low and throaty. As if she was almost as affected as Rumi.
“You hear that, gorgeous?” Zoey murmured, her saccharine voice contrasting sharply with the harshness of Mira’s thrusts. “You’re doing so well for us.”
Rumi shuddered, tipping forward helplessly into Zoey’s hold. Zoey cradled her chin with one hand and dipped in close, her mouth brushing lightly against Rumi’s ear. She nibbled Rumi’s earlobe gently before ducking down, licking the sweat off of her pulse point there, humming contentedly.
And then Zoey crooned, “Good girl, Rumi.”
And Rumi’s reaction was visceral. The praise hit her somewhere she wasn’t entirely used to — it landed deep, in a way that almost scared her, in a way that made her want to give them everything she had and then some. Rumi could feel herself beginning to fully crumble beneath the two women bracketing her. She moaned, shaky, and felt her hands claw at the sheets.
Zoey seemed to like that reaction, her smile tangible against Rumi’s skin. “So I was right.” Zoey sounded insufferably smug about it, but she wasn’t exactly wrong, so it wasn’t like Rumi could argue with her. Zoey kept going. “You do just want to be good, huh? It’s okay, beautiful. You can give in. We’ll take care of you.”
And it’s so sweet, so sweet that Rumi didn’t know what to do with it. Her mind spun, clouded and hazy, trapped between the borderline-unbearable softness of Zoey, and the grip of steel pinning her into the mattress and fucking into her harshly.
“You’re so good at that, at taking it for us,” Zoey told her, kissing the side of her neck with the smallest groan. “God, I can’t wait to taste you.”
Rumi let out another wail when Mira’s strap rubbed up against that sensitive spot inside of her, making her vision flash white.
Mira slowed. Rumi almost screamed in protest, immediately wiggling, trying to get her to return to that rhythm.
But Mira didn’t listen. Instead, she moved her hips, deliberately, the action unhurried, until—
The strap found that spot again, the pressure unyielding and intentional. Rumi cried out, her eyes stinging.
“Is that where it is, brat?” Mira asked, thrusting against it with agonizing slowness. Rumi didn’t nod, just shook, falling apart piece-by-piece.
Tears pricked at the corners of Rumi’s eyes, and Zoey seemed to notice. She giggled softly. “Oh, you think you can make her cry, Mir? She looks like she’s close.”
“I know I can,” Mira countered, the next thrust powerful and dragging. Rumi cried out again, feeling the last remaining thread of her dignity fraying as ecstasy shot through her.
It only took a couple more well-placed thrusts, combined with Mira digging her nails into her waist, scratching lines of perfect pain into her, before Rumi couldn’t take it anymore.
She sobbed.
“There it is,” Mira cooed, not pausing in her rhythm for even a second. Sweat practically dripped from both of them, the scent of sex and something a little sweeter, like perfume wearing off, filling the air.
Rumi’s mouth hung open as she sobbed again, her body heaving with the force of it, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes and down to the sheets below.
“Sound so pretty when you cry,” Mira said, the palm on her back pushing her down further. “Isn’t there something you want to say, princess? Don’t you want to come for us?”
Rumi knew what she was asking. Her pride was already in tatters. What else did she have left to lose? She was on the edge of caving, her body like a live wire, hurting so good. And it would be so easy. All she had to do was give in.
“Come on, beautiful,” Zoey whispered into her ear. “You do want to be good for us, don’t you?”
And Rumi broke.
“Please please please Mira oh my god please Zoey Mira please fuck—” the words fell out of her in a senseless babble, and she waited for Mira to give her what she wanted.
Only, Mira didn’t give in right away like Rumi had expected. She didn’t melt at the begging, didn’t bend instantly to Rumi’s whim.
Instead, Rumi could hear the smirk of victory, of satisfaction, as Mira purred, “There. Now, was that so hard?” It’s a little condescending in the best way, but then Mira slowed the pace down again. The strap slid inside her punishingly as Mira delayed Rumi’s pleasure just because she could, every controlled stroke driving Rumi higher and higher while not being enough for what she needed.
“No no no faster please I need it,” Rumi sobbed, blinking more tears from eyes. Zoey caught a tear with a featherlight graze of her thumb, the salt soaking into the pad of her finger. “I said please I—”
“And it’s still happening on my time, brat,” Mira said, the next thrust even slower, like a scolding.
Rumi whimpered as Mira ground into her. Mira’s hand began to move, drifting over her hipbone teasingly. She took her time circling her hand around to Rumi’s front, leaving goosebumps in her wake before finally, finally reaching down and stroking over her clit.
“That’s better,” Mira praised when Rumi didn’t rush her. She sped up again, hips snapping forward in a powerful stroke, and Rumi couldn’t hold it back anymore.
She came hard, choking on a sob and clenching down around the strap, spasms wracking through her body with every throe of pleasure. Mira fucked her through it, prolonging the orgasm with every press of her fingers and drive of her hips.
Eventually, Rumi came down from the most intense of it, shuddering and twitching, her breath coming out short and gasping.
But Mira wasn’t stopping.
“You can take a little more, can’t you?” Mira purred, placing a kiss to the base of her spine. Rumi jerked when the stimulation didn’t stop, the pleasure quickly spilling over into excess.
Before Mira could go any further, Zoey’s voice pierced the air. “Flip her over, Mir.” There wasn’t an ounce of patience Zoey’s tone, just pure command. Rumi felt her jaw go a little slack hearing it.
And, for once, there’s not any sort of spat over it, either. Mira pulled out without protest, and Rumi whined at the loss immediately. But before she could actually do anything about it, multiple hands were reaching for her, and she was flipped onto her back.
She blinked, staring up at Mira’s face, which was more flushed than she’d been expecting. Mira drank in Rumi’s expression, from the eyes she knew were glassy, to the sweat she could feel beading on her skin, to the wet lashes and faint track of tears down her cheeks.
Mira wasted no time propping up Rumi’s legs, spreading them wide before pushing the strap back in, quickly building up into an unforgiving rhythm. Zoey, meanwhile, settled a hand on her collarbone.
“Hey, beautiful,” Zoey whispered, reaching for a strand of Rumi’s hair that had come loose, tucking it behind her ear. “Would it be okay if I sat on top of you?”
Rumi understood immediately, and she nodded frantically, suddenly desperate for it. Zoey smiled at her warmly before swinging one leg over her head and getting into position. This time, Zoey faced Mira.
“Tap my leg if it’s too much,” Zoey murmured to Rumi before lowering down. Rumi opened her mouth with an eager whine that would have embarrassed her if she wasn’t so far gone.
Rumi’s tongue flattened over Zoey’s folds, where she was still so wet from earlier, slick clinging to the tops of her thighs. And fuck, she tasted good, tangy and heady. Rumi swiped her tongue back and forth, and Zoey groaned in approval. She ground down, rubbing herself against Rumi. More slick spilled from her as Zoey rocked back and forth, riding her face.
Rumi soon gave up trying to move her tongue and let Zoey set the pace. She choked out half-muffled moans into Zoey’s cunt as Mira continued to slam her hips forward into Rumi’s.
Distantly, Rumi heard the sound of lips meeting, tongues moving against one another wetly, and whined pathetically at the image that popped into her mind of them kissing on top of her.
As Zoey and Mira kept kissing, Mira’s rhythm changed, her thrusts becoming erratic and uneven. Mira rutted into her harshly, and it dawned on Rumi that Mira was using her to get off, likely with the friction from the base of the strap.
Before Rumi could fully process just how hot she found that, Zoey clenched down on top of her with a moan audibly kissed away by Mira. Zoey spasmed once, twice, before relaxing with a heavy pant.
Mira’s pace stuttered, and Rumi heard the low, grunting curse that fell from her mouth as she pressed them even closer together, their hips flush and damp from sweat.
And just that, the knowledge that Mira had come from strapping her down alone, from using her, was enough. Rumi, still oversensitive, tumbled into another orgasm, this one weaker than the first. It shuddered through her in ripples that faded gradually.
“You really liked that, didn’t you?” Zoey whispered, her voice a little scratchier than usual, and for a moment, Rumi thought she was talking to her. But then Zoey said, “Came from just fucking her?” The words weren’t upset or even mean; on the contrary, she sounded amused, even a little fond.
“You’re one to talk,” Mira groused. Her bruising grip on Rumi’s waist had finally relaxed, and now a thumb sketched absent circles onto her skin, as if she had an instinct to soothe.
Mira pulled out gently, offering a placating rub of her hand to Rumi’s thigh when she made a sound at the movement, still partially trapped beneath Zoey, who had only shifted enough to give her room to breathe.
The instant that Mira backed off from her spot between Rumi’s thighs, Zoey moved. For a moment, Rumi thought she’d slump over onto the sheets, exhausted, but instead, Zoey took Mira’s spot, looking up at Rumi with twinkling eyes.
Rumi didn’t get a warning before Zoey planted her mouth over her clit and flicked her tongue lightly. Rumi cried out, the sensitivity almost overwhelming, and her hips bucked helplessly. Zoey only dipped her mouth lower, lapping up Rumi’s slick and humming as if pleased. The faint vibrations had Rumi shaking all over again, hips canting as Zoey’s tongue flicked at her once more just right—
Rumi came again, and Zoey held her through it, hands under her legs and firmly grasping the outside of her hips.
And still, Zoey didn’t let up. She continued to lick over Rumi in broad strokes of her tongue, her eyes now half-shut, as if lost in pleasure.
The stimulation now mingling with pain, Rumi weakly tried to shove her off, but Mira reached for her with a disapproving tsk. Powerful arms wrapped around her middle like a vise, locking her into place.
“You’ll let her,” Mira said, a measured command. “For as long as she wants. You can take it.”
And god, it hurt so fucking good, the compounding sensations tearing another sob from Rumi. This time, Zoey took her time, working Rumi back up again with kitten-licks around her entrance and only featherlight passes over her clit.
Eventually, Rumi was writhing and panting beneath her, her peak approaching hard and fast. Zoey chose that moment to close her lips around Rumi’s clit and suck gently.
And that’s when Mira leaned down and bit her again, this time on the top of her breast, and the pain and pleasure collided in her core.
Rumi came again with nothing more than a whimper, the climax a quiet storm in her body. She drifted further and further away with every passing moment and fading spark of pleasure, her mind fogged up by pure bliss. She didn’t register anything except a haze of contentment, a calm euphoria that almost glowed, wrapping her in a cloud of perfect quiet.
When Rumi eventually came back down to earth, she was almost convinced Zoey and Mira had been replaced by two entirely different people. Because they were both so soft now, so unlike the dominance they’d used to take her apart thoroughly.
Zoey’s hand cradling the back of her neck while she gingerly wiped off her chin with a small towel, and Mira was kneeling by her side, unbelievably gentle as she dabbed at the bite that had broken skin with a piece of gauze.
Zoey noticed her partial return of awareness first and lifted the towel away from her face. “You feeling okay? Earth to Rumi,” she teased.
Rumi’s head lolled to the side slightly as she blinked up at Zoey. Zoey smiled at her, soft and unrestrained, the skin around her eyes crinkling a smidge.
Rumi just groaned, and Zoey chuckled. Mira dabbed the gauze at the bite again, and Rumi hissed at the sting of it.
“I know, angel. I’m sorry, but I have to clean it,” Mira said, sounding genuinely apologetic. Rumi quieted down and studied Mira, noticing the creased line between her brows and the careful way she touched Rumi with the gauze, mindful of how it would feel.
When she finished, Mira unfolded her legs and stood, and together, her and Zoey coaxed Rumi into a seated position. Zoey passed her a cup of water, and Rumi drank in small, placating sips underneath watchful eyes.
Rumi didn’t quite understand why they were both paying so much attention to every sip she took and every adjustment she made. Everything was still a bit hazy, though, so she chalked any confusion up to that.
“Wait, this too,” Mira said, and rushed to retrieve something from the bathroom. She came back and handed Rumi a couple of pills — Advil, from the looks of it — with a, “It’ll help for when you wake up in the morning.”
Advil didn’t do much for Rumi — never had — but she took the pills without argument, swallowing them down with her next gulp of water.
Mira took the cup from her and placed it on the nightstand, before retreating to flit around the room for a minute, fiddling with things Rumi couldn’t see. She felt Zoey squeeze her shoulder gently, and blinked.
“For real, are you okay?” Zoey asked.
Rumi nodded.
“Was all of that—” Zoey made a vague gesture with her hands that made the corner of Rumi’s mouth tick up— “alright?”
Rumi chuckled a little in spite of herself. Alright? They’d practically made her see god herself, and Zoey had to nerve to ask it like that?
“More than alright,” she croaked, and a grin split across Zoey’s face.
“Good,” Zoey said, and placed a kiss to the top of her head before turning to hand Mira the towel. Mira left the room for a moment, and Rumi watched her go, her stomach twisting. She wasn’t sure why.
Mira didn’t stay gone for very long, though. When she returned, she and Zoey eased her down onto a pillow and arranged a blanket over her like it was their personal calling.
“Do you need anything else?” Mira questioned, her gaze fixed on Rumi. She had a peculiar look in her eyes, the kind that almost made Rumi think she wanted to be given something to do, a way to take care of her.
“N-no,” Rumi rasped out, burrowing into the sheets. Comfortable — too comfortable. Wait, what was she doing? Now was about the time she usually got up and left.
That’s what she would do, Rumi decided. There was no reason to change up her typical routine now. Not even, and especially not, faintly sweet-smelling bedsheets, and a fuzzy blanket, and two pairs of hands touching her like she was worth something.
“I jus’ need a second,” Rumi mumbled into the pillow. “Then I’ll be on my way.” The words slurred together slightly, her eyelids losing the battle with gravity.
She heard a faint rumble of protest, but she wasn’t sure who, exactly, it came from.
“You are not going anywhere in this state,” Zoey said firmly.
“Even if you tried, I don’t think you could,” Mira chimed in, a faint but unmistakable tenderness to her tone, underneath the humor.
Rumi wanted to argue with them, but her limbs felt like they were weighted down with lead, and her head was still fuzzy and blissed-out in a way that made it difficult to think straight.
And then Zoey climbed beneath the blanket and nestled into her side, and Mira caged her in on the other. They held her sandwiched between them, Mira’s arms snug around her waist and Zoey’s leg slung haphazardly over hers. Their weight over and against her only tugged her closer towards sleep.
It was just so warm. So comfortable.
And suddenly, for the life of her, she couldn’t recall why staying was such a bad idea in the first place.