Get In Step-Mommy's Bed

Freya stepped into Christie’s bedroom and waited for her stepmom to notice, but Christie was gone—dreaming hard, mouth half-open, sheets tangled around her legs. Freya snapped her fingers, called her name, louder each time until Christie’s eyes flew open and irritation cut across her face. She groaned that Freya was grown, that she needed to stay in her own room, that grown women didn’t crawl into Mom’s bed just because work rattled their nerves. Freya wouldn’t let it go. The thought of another sleepless night by herself made her chest tighten. She begged for just one more night, promised she’d be still. Christie exhaled hard, muttered fine, then warned her: one sound and you’re out. Freya slipped under the covers, tried to hold still, but nerves had her rolling from side to side every thirty seconds. Christie snapped. If Freya had to come, she could at least get herself off and quit squirming. The permission hung in the dark like an order. Freya didn’t wait; she slid her hand straight down, fingers working fast and wet under the blanket. The sound—soft, steady, slick—tightened Christie’s stomach. Heat pooled fast between her own legs. Soon her palm was pressed against her cunt too, matching the rhythm, rubbing harder with each of Freya’s shaky breaths. Their hips started to rock in time. Christie reached over, yanked Freya’s wrist away, replaced it with her own mouth and tongue, then pushed the younger woman onto her back and climbed on top. The bed creaked, covers kicked to the floor, and whatever was left of the night belonged to them now.