Web Exclusive, Scene 1124 Francesca Le Sinn Sage

Francesca waits by the window, fingers twisting the hem of her school skirt. Her pulse jumps when the doorbell rings. Sinn walks in like she owns the hall, black boot heels clicking against the wood. The moment the door shuts, Sinn cups Francesca’s jaw and tastes her, slow, deep. Francesca whimpers, knees shaking. Clothes come off in quick, hungry pulls: blouse first, then bra. Sinn pauses to admire pale, untouched breasts before she licks a nipple into her mouth. Her palm slides lower, slips under cotton panties, finds the girl already slick. One sure finger circles the tight little entrance. Sinn presses forward. Francesca bites her bottom lip, spreads her legs wider. Sinn smiles against her neck, kisses the bruise she’s leaving there. “Breathe,” she says, and sinks two fingers in. Francesca gasps, rocks against the steady rhythm, learns fast what feels good. Clothes pile at their feet. Sinn drops to her knees, spreads her with both thumbs, licks her open, tongue flicking over the swollen bud. Wet sounds fill the quiet room. Francesca’s fingers tangle in Sinn’s hair, urging her deeper. The musician answers with lips sealed and suction slow and ruthless. Her thumb presses inside again. Francesca sobs with it, hips bucking. Sinn does not relent, not until the girl trembles hard and comes apart in her mouth, thighs clenched around her ears. When Francesca finally sags, flushed and breathless, Sinn rises, kisses her with the taste of her still on the tongue, and tugs her toward the couch—still five minutes on the clock before any car could pull up the drive.