The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows - Olivia Waite Page 0,92
long hair falling like a curtain around both of them, her hips working as Penelope toyed with her. Penelope flung the blankets back, the better to watch. She wanted to remember every bit of this—every sight and sound, each gasp and groan—because it was the first time, and whenever there was a first time, there would be a last time, too.
She shoved that thought aside; it could wait until the morning.
Agatha’s hips rocked faster, matching Penelope’s rhythm. Firelight shimmered on the lights and darks of her hair, swinging with every movement. Soon one finger wasn’t enough; Penelope added a second, and thrust harder, feeling the sweet channel pulse and stretch around her fingers while her thumb strummed the bundle of nerves throbbing above. Agatha was making the loveliest sounds in the back of her throat—high almost-whimpers, desperate and needy—and when Penelope moved over to flick a mischievous tongue against her other, neglected nipple, Agatha tightened up everywhere and came with a choked, wondering cry.
Penelope kept her hands moving, keeping Agatha flying, drinking in the sounds and the smells and the taste of sweat on skin.
And then Agatha clapped one hand over her own mouth, and sobbed.
Penelope froze for a moment in shock—then wrapped her arms around Agatha’s shaking shoulders and pulled her down into an embrace. “It’s alright, you’re alright,” she whispered, over and over, smoothing the wildness of Agatha’s hair, pulling the blankets tight again around them both. “Everything’s alright.”
Agatha made a strangled noise; after a moment, Penelope realized she was laughing. Still crying, but also laughing, and scrubbing a hand over her eyes to clear the tears from them. “Oh, Flood,” she said, “I’m sorry about that. It’s just that . . . It’s been so long, and here you are, and it was so, so beautiful.”
The awe and conviction in that one quiet word went straight to Penelope’s head. She grinned, as her heart warmed with pleasure and triumph.
Agatha sniffled one last time, and pushed herself up. Her forearms were on either side of Penelope, their legs tangling together and sliding gently, unable to hold still. Agatha’s gaze drifted down, and Penelope felt her nipples tighten beneath the heat of that gaze. One tear still sparkled in the corner of Agatha’s eye—but then she smiled, and that curve of lips held so much naked carnal intent that Penelope went hot and breathless and trembling, all at once.
“Now then . . .” Agatha said, and bent her head.
And Penelope was lost.
The kissing had been marvelous. But it was nothing compared to what Agatha Griffin could do when she set her sights on a person’s whole body. Her hands stroked and gripped and teased, her touch going from featherlight to almost bruising. Her mouth followed, hot and wet with the occasional light graze of teeth that made Penelope shiver and melt. By the time Agatha slid lower, settling her shoulders beneath Penelope’s quivering thighs, Penelope was a gasping, writhing wreck of arousal and need.
She’d never felt so alive in her life.
Agatha grinned up at her, one palm pressing against Penelope’s inner thigh to keep her spread wide. “God, I’ve missed this,” she groaned. “You have no idea.”
“Some,” Penelope gasped. “It’s been a while for me, too, Griffin.”
“Well, then.” Agatha slipped two fingers into her mouth, wetting them. “Let’s not keep you waiting.”
And then she was licking Penelope’s cunny, openmouthed, and thrusting those fingers inside her as deep as they would go.
It was rough and forceful and Penelope damn near screamed with the pleasure of it. She bucked up helplessly, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other slamming against her mouth to muffle the sounds that fought to escape from her throat. Agatha groaned ravenously against Penelope’s flesh and the low sound set her off, every last quivering bit of her exploding in showers of sparks so bright she could swear she heard them sizzle.
Then she snapped back to herself, and it was only the rasp of her own panting breath.
Agatha slid back up for a kiss, long and slow and satisfied. Penelope groaned satisfaction into Agatha’s mouth and pulled up the blankets again, her eyelids heavy and her brain starting to spin with drowsy delight.
Agatha nuzzled into Penelope’s throat, and flicked her tongue against the pulse point where her neck met her shoulder. “I shouldn’t stay,” she murmured.