A Helping Hand: Part 2

April O'Neil rests one warm hand along Lyra Law's cheek, guiding her through another rotation test. The room smells of lemon oil and clean linen. After a dozen slow turns Lyra blinks, the blur sharpening, and color slams back in place. April nods, satisfied, then leans away. "You stayed with every exercise," April says. "You healed yourself." The gratitude on Lyra's tongue tastes too heavy to give. She lets it die. A phone shrills in April's pocket, cuts off, then shrills again. Six rings. April swears, stands, takes the call outside. Lyra bites the inside of her cheek. Her eyes, clear now, drink in April's shoulders, the sway of her hips, the hair at her nape that sticks from the day's heat. She wants the minutes that phone is stealing. When April comes back the phone rings once more. She silences it with her thumb, steps close, voice low. "I told her I'm done," she says. "She never really knew me anyway." Their eyes catch, no play left. April reaches out; Lyra's lips part to meet them. The kiss pulls long. April's fingers rake into the hair at Lyra's scalp, and Lyra draws her down by the belt loops until their hips press. "You sure?" Lyra breathes. April answers by pushing her tongue deeper. Clothing loosens, skin brushes skin. Lyra drops to her knees first, unzipping April with eager hands. Her tongue slides hot and sure along April's slit; she laps at the slick that gathers there. April's knees buckle, steadying on Lyra's shoulders. The rhythm builds, quick flicks over the swollen clit, two fingers sinking inside to the last knuckle. April comes with a choked cry, thighs clamping. Lyra doesn't stop until April tugs her up, kisses her own taste from her mouth. April guides Lyra onto the treatment table, legs spread wide. She buries her face between them, sucking the folds, driving her tongue inside until Lyra is writhing. April adds a thumb circling Lyra's clit and soon Lyra's orgasm crashes, shaking through her spine. April rises, kisses her again, slower. On the table they trade places again and again, tasting, biting, sliding slick cunts against each other until the next round crests. Sweat cools on their skin. April's phone lies dark and forgotten across the room while Lyra presses final, gentle kisses to the corner of her mouth, repaying the healer with every trembling touch.