I squeaked. It was the most appropriate response I could come up with. Emma took it with a grin and straightened up so that she was standing at the bed’s edge while I lay there, mostly helpless. Then Emma undid the button and started teasing down the jeans’ zipper. Once that was done she folded back the fabric, exposing a wide vee of skin that jeans are supposed to cover. I didn’t protest, though. I kind of lost track of that complaint when Emma half-knelt, half-bent so that she could trail kisses over the newly revealed skin.
They kind of tickled.
They kind of burned from the jolts of pleasure that began coiling into a spring — a compression of want and need — somewhere at my very core.
Then Emma knelt down, worrying my pants down as she did. She pulled off my shoes; helped my pants off of my ankles. All she left me with were my socks. Technically, her socks. I kind of expected her to point that out, too. I was kind of anticipating whatever would happen after she did. After all, I hadn’t borrowed a bra or panties from her wardrobe and I’d dispelled Sebas’ glamour — after the pants were off, the socks were all I had left.
And apparently a pair of socks were a feeble enough defense that Emma didn’t care if I held onto them. Because instead of teasing me and pointing out that they were hers and undressing me the rest of the way, Emma start kissing me again.
She started just above those socks that I had started fixating on. Her lips pressed on the inside of my leg. Emma trailed kisses up the side of my calf; her hands encircled it, held it in place — caressed the side opposite her kisses.
They sent more jolts of sensation racing up to join the others in ratcheting my needy desire. Tickling, teasing, tormenting. Then, just below the knee, she hit a particularly sensitive spot. I twitched. Emma stopped. Then she did it again, and I jerked in her grip.
“That tickles,” I gasped in protest.
“Oh?” Emma asked. She leaned into the spot again, but this time instead of kissing she grazed her teeth along my skin. She turned her head slightly, letting them find purchase. Then, she bit.
I cried out. Emma let go and kissed the spot. I barely felt the kiss through the sharpness of her lingering bite, even though that brief flare vanished in seconds when my healing kicked in. “Better?” Emma asked.
“Oh, god yes,” I moaned. “More of that.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than I felt a surge of conflict over them. On the one hand: Oh god yes. More of that! But on the other: wasn’t I supposed to not be giving orders right now? Wasn’t Emma being the aggressive one this time? But then again: Oh, god yes!
My tumultuous conflict of ambivalent desires was ended by Emma turning her attention to my other leg. Only she was still working her way up, and had skipped the knee, which brought her kisses down on the inside of my thigh. Two kisses, to be precise. And then her teeth scraped down my skin and she bit again.
I cried out again. I felt so warm — almost feverish — and I wanted her so badly.
And she just kept teasing me. She continued working her way up the inside of my legs, but she alternated between them — and alternated kisses with randomly interjected nibbles and occasional bites. I think that if it weren’t for my supernatural healing factor, I would have been left with marks peppered all along the inside of my thighs to remind me that she’d been there for the rest of the evening.
And: Holy fuck, that thought was hot. Too bad I was one of the immortal undead. Maybe next time we could have a marker or something and she could circle or slash through each bite to leave me something to show off to Hans. He would be so jealous. Maybe. Or maybe he’d just nibble on me somewhere else.
And maybe I was trying to distract myself from what was happening to me in the here and now.
Whatever I was thinking, I lost it when Emma reached the junction of my legs. She nuzzled gently, then more fiercely. Her teeth — thank god — did not come back into play, but her tongue traced my labia, teased them open. I was forced to clench my fists in the bed covers to keep from jerking when she kissed me next. I bit down, my fangs piercing my lower lip, to keep from crying out when the tip of her tongue zigzagged between them.
Of course, she didn’t hold back. I had no problem hearing her appreciative “mmmmm” of pleasure over hearing my whimpers. Or the throaty half-growl that preceded her suddenly burying her face between my legs and her tongue within my cunt.
Despite myself I cried out again. I twisted at the waist, writhing from the sudden and unexpected invasion of my sex. Emma wasn’t limiting herself to just the tip of her tongue, now: she licked the length of my slit, then brought her tongue back down on my inner folds, using it to explore and claim her conquered territory.
I may have torn Megan’s bedspread when Emma’s explorations found my clit. I don’t know. I wasn’t really all that coherent anymore.
Emma came up for air. “So,” she breathed huskily, “How would you like it, Abigail?” I don’t even know how I responded. I knew from when vampire me went down on her that she liked pressure on her clit. I knew that I said something in answer to her — but fuck me if I knew what, or could recall it after it was said. I was wound so tight with want that I was only barely cognizant of looking down the length of my body and seeing Emma’s possessive eyes and hungry smile looking back at me from between my legs.
And then she ducked down again, and all I saw was her golden hair, and then I couldn’t even see that because she caught my clit between her lips and she sucked on it and her tongue flicked across it, faster and harder and faster and my back arched and I was staring at the wall behind me and I was screaming something and I didn’t know what it was because all I was thinking was fuck yes fuck me oh god yes yes yes yes yes!
When I came it was like a blossoming of relief that rushed out from my coiled, knotted, painfully wound desire. Except then it happened again. And again. And I was begging Emma not to stop except I didn’t know what I was saying because words were just another way to moan or whimper, and moans and whimpers were the only ways I had to plead for more.
The first orgasm was big. The ones after that were smaller, with less build up to each of them: like tiny aftershocks that came when Emma went back to kissing and nuzzling and winding me up, only to find her lips somehow at my clit again, making me cry out in ecstatic bliss.
When she was done, I collapsed on Megan’s bed. I had no idea how long Emma had spent tormenting me over and over again, but I suspected she’d been at it at least as long as I had been when I’d done the same to her. My back felt sore from spending so much time arched, even while I’d tried to writhe while also trying desperately not to pull away from her. The rest of me felt like it was just jelly in an Abby-shaped mold. I was slick with sweat and my heartbeat felt erratic and fast. My breaths came in shallow gasps.
The soreness faded almost instantly: yay, vampire healing. Were it not for that, I probably would have collapsed in exhaustion long before Emma had been done with me. The jelly-ness stayed.
Emma helped me pull my legs the rest of the way onto the bed, and then she joined me. She stretched out, naked and warm, along my side. Her arms wrapped around me and one of her legs folded over mine possessively. She nuzzled the side of my neck, then reached up with one hand and turned my head to face her.
She fluttered her eyelashes at me and made a tiny moue of innocence — but there was nothing innocent about the way she tilted her head to study my expression, or the way her lips curved, or the way she said: “I did tell you I wanted to fuck you, sweetie.”
Emma’s smile broadened at however my face responded to her reminder. I was still trying to put my ability to think back together from how everything had washed away in the cleansing release of orgasm, so I had no idea how that was. She leaned in and kissed me, though. I could taste myself on her lips and tongue. It should have been squick but it wasn’t. I just wanted to kiss her back.
I rolled toward Emma and got my arms around her. I kissed her eagerly, fervently — without reservation. I stopped when I needed to gasp for air in order to keep breathing. Emma needed the same, only for her it was an actual need. I kissed her again, and again, and then I started to cry. Because how on earth had she not dumped me for Megan? How had she possibly dared to risk staying with me after what she’d been through because of me? How in any world could she possibly think I deserved her? They weren’t great big sobbing tears, because I’d always been good at not giving in to those. But they were tears, and Emma noticed.
“Abby?” Emma asked. Her self-satisfaction quickly turned to alarm. “Sweetie?” Then, when I proved unable to reply other than clinging to her, a panicked: “Megan? Help!”
Megan? Oh. Right. I’d forgotten Megan had been watching. She was at our side in a heartbeat.
“It’s okay,” Megan quickly said. At first I wasn’t sure which of us she was talking to. Then I realized that it probably worked either way, and she was very possibly talking to both of us. “It’s okay,” she repeated soothingly.
I looked up: I could see Megan and Emma both. Emma looked at Megan, and couldn’t see me. But I could see Emma’s face: her eyes were wide; her confident aggression was gone and her expression begged Megan to tell her what she’d done wrong.
Except she hadn’t done anything wrong, unless you counted staying with me, which was probably dangerous and foolhardy and just a horrible decision. But I couldn’t tell her that because I wanted her to not break up with me. I wanted to tell her about how Hans had almost broken up with me, except it had turned out he’d just been about to tell me he couldn’t keep being my only donor, except I’d already expected him to dump me for days at that point and it had only gotten worse when I’d found out about all the stuff with him spreading his curse to someone else and… and…
And what I’d put Emma through had been so much worse. I’d told myself that there was a chance she would stay with me, because she was polyamorous and Megan had a crush on me — but I’d just told myself that to keep myself from thinking about the other possibilities. To keep myself from falling apart over that while I was still trying not to fall apart over Hans. But deep, deep down I didn’t think I’d expected her to actually keep me, too.
And I really hoped that Megan was listening in on my thoughts, because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to explain all of that. Because when I tried, all I whispered was: “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
Emma looked back at me and her face was stricken. I was listening, Megan thought to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t put it into words. But I shared it.
“Oh, Abby,” Emma breathed. I could feel her leyline tremble as her aura resonated with mine, and I remembered that the fear of abandonment was one of her most deep-seated traumas. And here I was: in tears because I’d been thinking she would do that to me. What kind of monster was I, to be accusing someone of doing, being, the one thing they were most afraid of? Even if just in my deepest, darkest thoughts?
“No,” Emma said. Her voice took on the firmness of conviction. “You aren’t bad. And I’m not mad that you thought I might act like that. Because you know I wouldn’t do that to anyone! Especially not…! But you were afraid, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned while dealing with my depression over Salvatore it’s that fear and depression and anxiety — they lie. They tell you that things are possible that you know aren’t. They tell you that the worst possible thing you can imagine is real and imminent, even if it’s utter bullshit, and they tell you that so loudly that you can’t ignore them. I get it.”
Emma cupped my head to keep me from turning away from her. She made me look at her so that I could see the earnestness of her words. “And Abigail… if you were afraid that I would do something horrible, that doesn’t mean you think I’m a bad person and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person for thinking it because that fear has nothing to do with reality and you know that, even if you can’t do anything about feeling it. And I know that, too.”
My lip started to tremble again. I didn’t know what to say or think. I didn’t know how she’d come to mean so much to me, so fast, and I couldn’t imagine how I could mean enough to her to be worth the risk of staying with me.
Except, despite my inability to make words, Emma started to smile.
Megan must have still been sharing.
“Abby,” Emma said softly. She ran her thumb over my cheekbone, brushing away a tear that had started trailing down toward my ear. “I know we’ve only known each other for a little while, but… I mean, I know you. And you know me. I don’t care that it’s only been a week. We’ve shared parts of each other’s souls, Abby. So I… I can say with unassailable authority that I know you and I love you. And even if you don’t recognize what it is, I know that you love me. You’ve done the impossible to protect me, Abby. That takes love. And I won’t ever abandon you. Because I want to see how that grows, and where it takes us. Okay?”
I nodded feebly. “Okay,” I said. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I added a quiet: “I love you, too.” It felt good to say. Weird, but good. What do I even know about what love is? a part of me protested.
Not much, the more rational part of me answered. But if Emma and Megan agree, then I can trust them.
Besides: it felt right to say.
Emma gave my cheek a kiss, then settled down so that she was laying alongside me again. Megan snuggled up on the other side. Sandwiched between the two of them and depleted from unexpected emotional exhaustion, I let my eyes drift shut so that I could just enjoy the warmth and weight and presence of them.
It was better than any number of blankets and quilts I could possibly burrow under. I was being smothered in warmth and love by people I loved back. So of course, it should probably have been no surprise that despite my best intentions to just soak up the sensation and comfort, at some point I fell asleep.