More Than a Crush

Isabelle rounds on Annie in the middle of their cramped apartment, mascara tube clutched tight. The air between them crackles. "Why have you been such a ghost?" Annie snaps, heel clacking on linoleum. Isabelle throws the tube at the sink. It rolls, forgotten. "Because I want you," she spits. "I have for years. And every time you bring home someone else I feel like fucking screaming." Annie stills. Light from the narrow bathroom falls across her bare shoulder. "I tried to kiss you once," she says quietly. "You flinched." Isabelle crosses the three steps between them. "I was a coward then." The next beat hangs. Then Annie grabs her by the hips and slams their mouths together, hot and biting. Isabelle moans right into it, fingers raking Annie's dress up over her ass, bunching silk in greedy palms. No pause, no breathing space. Annie shoves her against the edge of the counter, breasts pressed flush, thighs sliding between each other with tight, urgent friction. Isabelle’s hand drops to Annie’s cunt, stroking her over damp lace, and Annie hisses, spreads wider, takes it. It feels like years cracking open and spilling out fast. Clothes slip off or get pulled aside—nothing graceful, nothing staged. Annie bites Isabelle’s nipple when the bra finally falls, suckles hard enough to bruise, then drops to her knees. Tongue drags flat through wet folds, greedy, licking like she means to taste the apology and the want in the same mouthful. Isabelle grips the towel rack, lets her knees buckle, pushes down against Annie’s mouth until she’s shaking. When Annie sucks her clit and fucks two fingers in deep, Isabelle comes with a sharp cry that echoes off the tiles. She drags Annie up, spins her, pulls Annie’s back against her chest, and reaches around. Fingers slide in, slick and filthy, finding that spot Annie likes until her own thighs are trembling and her breath stutters. The countertop rattles. Annie comes shaking, cunt clenching, one heel slipping on the floor. They both breathe, mouths swollen. Outside, clubs still open and lights still throb. Here, both of them naked, wrecked, everything out in the open. Nothing left to hide behind.