Don't Mind Me

Whitney's already got her overnight bag slung over one shoulder when she heads out for the tournament. Eliza watches her go, heart kicking faster, because the second the door shuts she's got the whole place to herself. She doesn't waste time. Clothes hit the floor, she stretches out on the bed, and her fingers slide straight between her thighs. No buildup, no teasing, just wet heat and the slick sound of her rubbing her clit in quick circles. Mid-moan she hears the front door again. Whitney's back, flight scrubbed. She stops cold in the doorway, staring. Eliza's legs are spread, two fingers pumping inside herself, nipples tight in the open air. For a second neither of them moves. Then Whitney remembers their deal. This weekend was Eliza's. She shrugs off her jacket, drops onto the beanbag with the controller, and boots up the game. The room fills with Whitney's quiet commands into the headset and Eliza's wet, steady rhythm. Eliza doesn't back down. She slides off the bed, pads over barefoot, and kneels right beside the chair. Her breathing stays loud, deliberate. Whitney keeps her eyes on the screen, but her grip tightens on the controller when Eliza swings one smooth leg across her lap and keeps fingering herself inches from Whitney's thigh. The scent of her arousal drifts up, warm and sharp. Whitney's thumbs freeze on the buttons. She turns her head. Eliza's mouth is already open, waiting. They meet in a hard kiss, tongues sliding, teeth catching. Whitney's free hand finds Eliza's breast, thumb circling the stiff nipple, while Eliza arches into the touch and pushes two slick fingers deeper. Whitney drops the controller, palms both of Eliza's tits, sucks one nipple between her lips and groans at the taste. Eliza laughs low, breathless, and grinds down harder against her own hand, the sound of it filling the room like an invitation Whitney finally stops fighting.