Deserving Of Love

They hadn't seen each other in months. Jezebel pulled Aiden in first—strong arms, a familiar hug, then two cold beers on the porch like always. The old sponsor was grinning ear to ear, genuinely glad Aiden had made it out. Clean now. Thriving. Even thinking about mentoring someone else. That part made Jezebel light up most of all. But the smile faded fast when the talk hit their love lives. Aiden told the truth straight: she wasn't letting anyone touch her. Old shame still sat heavy in her gut. She'd lied, cheated, wrecked so many hearts back in the day, she figured this isolation was punishment she had to take. Jezebel listened without cutting her off. Then she called bullshit. Said she'd watched Aiden crawl out of hell. Earned every single step. Told her she was allowed to want touch again. Words alone weren't cutting through that wall. So Jezebel took it further. She leaned in and kissed Aiden hard—teeth grazing, hand sliding under the thin shirt. Aiden went stiff at first, breath caught, eyes wide. Then the heat sank in and she kissed back like she'd been holding it down for years. Clothes hit the floor in a rush. Jezebel pushed Aiden onto the couch, mouth on her neck, nails digging into her hips, tongue lapping lower until Aiden moaned out loud. She licked her open, fingers fucking deep while she talked low and filthy about how good Aiden felt, how wet, how perfect she was. Aiden came hard, legs shaking. Jezebel didn't stop. She flipped them, let Aiden ride her fingers, then slid into her with a strap until the younger woman cried out twice more—sweaty, wrecked, and blissed-out against Jezebel's chest. When it was over, Jezebel held her there, breathing against her hair. She didn't say a damn word about healing or forgiving. Just let the afterglow say what needed saying.