More Than Just A Voice

Karlee Grey dragged herself through the door after another brutal shift on the 911 line. Her shoulders ached, her head pounded. She kicked off her shoes, poured two fingers of whiskey, then froze when the doorbell cut through the silence. On the other side stood a woman she didn't know, Avery Black, clutching a fat bunch of white roses. She told a story that made Karlee's throat tighten: a train derailment weeks ago, screams, blood, a voice on the other end of the line holding her together while the roof pinned her legs. Karlee remembered that call, every screamed minute of it. She invited Avery in. They sat on the couch, whiskey untouched, talking low. Avery asked about boyfriends, and Karlee laughed without any humor. Long nights, no room for anyone. Avery set her glass down, eyes dark. She leaned in, kissed Karlee once, slow and deep, then again harder. Karlee pulled her closer. Avery unbuttoned Karlee's shirt, kissed each inch of skin, tongue tracing the pulse in her throat. She dropped to her knees, tugged Karlee's belt free, and buried her face between her thighs. Karlee's hand clenched Avery's hair as Avery licked and sucked until Karlee came with a broken curse, legs trembling. She dragged Avery up, stripped her bare, pushed her down on the cushions. Fingers slid inside Avery, slick and steady, thumb circling her clit until Avery arched and moaned Karlee's name, nails digging red lines into Karlee's back. They fucked through the night. Karlee rode Avery's mouth, thighs clamped around her head. Avery bent Karlee over the arm of the couch, two fingers buried knuckle-deep, hips snapping as she ground her palm against Karlee's ass. They switched again, Karlee pinning Avery's wrists above her head, tongue working between her legs until Avery shook apart. Dawn found them tangled on sweat-damp sheets. Avery's mouth pressed to Karlee's collarbone, breathing slow. Neither said good-bye.