Road Queen #05

Anna Belle pushes the sheets off and gets out of bed. She crosses the hallway with her bare feet. Heather's door is cracked open. Anna Belle slips inside and finds Heather awake, phone glowing against her face. "Couldn't sleep," Anna Belle says. Her voice is low. "You keep running through my head." She moves closer to the bed. "Every damn time I close my eyes, I see you. The way you looked at me earlier, that little smile that stays too long." Heather sits up, the covers slipping down her chest. Anna Belle notices the thin fabric of her tank top, the way it clings. Heather's nipples press against the cotton, hard from the cold air or something else. Anna Belle doesn't wait for an invitation. She climbs onto the mattress, knees sinking into the softness beside Heather's hip. "I keep thinking about your mouth," she whispers. "How it would feel if I finally kissed you. If I let my hands go where they've been wanting to go." She reaches out, fingers brushing Heather's collarbone, then lower, tracing the swell of her breast through thin material. Heather's breath catches. Anna Belle's thumb circles the peak, slow and deliberate. "Tell me to stop," she says, but her hand keeps moving. She cups the weight, squeezes just enough to make Heather bite her lip. The room is dark except for the phone's light casting shadows across their faces. Anna Belle leans in until her mouth hovers an inch from Heather's ear. "I want to taste every inch of you. I want my tongue between your legs, licking until you're shaking. I want my fingers inside you, deep and slow, curling until you come apart." Her free hand slides down Heather's stomach, finds the waistband of her panties, slips underneath. Warm skin. Then wetness. Anna Belle's fingers move through slick folds, finding Heather's clit and rubbing in small, tight circles. Heather's thighs spread wider. "Fuck," Anna Belle breathes against her neck. "You're already soaked." She pushes two fingers inside, knuckles deep, and starts to pump. The sounds fill the quiet room—wet, rhythmic, urgent. Heather's hips lift to meet each thrust. Anna Belle's thumb stays on her clit, pressing harder, faster. She watches Heather's face twist with pleasure, watches her bite down on her own wrist to stay quiet. "Come for me," Anna Belle says. She curls her fingers, hits that spot that makes Heather's whole body jerk. "Right now. Let me feel it." Heather's walls clench, pulsing around her fingers. A broken moan escapes. Anna Belle keeps working her through it, drawing it out, until Heather goes limp against the pillows, breathing hard. Then she pulls her hand free, licks her fingers clean, eyes locked on Heather's the whole time.