Chapter 6

SIX

C ricket doesn't make any motions to move into Moriah's bedroom, and for that, Moriah is silently grateful— letting Cricket into her apartment took enough mental preparation, and even if it means she's getting an orgasm out of it, she isn't sure if she has the mental strength to open up her bedroom too.

Instead, Cricket presses Moriah back into the couch, kneeling on the dandelion-colored checkerboard carpet. She pushes Moriah's skirt up to her waist, maroon fabric fanning out over smooth, olive-toned thighs, and Moriah can't stop watching the way her fingers look tangled in Cricket's orange hair.

"Can I take these off you?" Cricket murmurs into the crease of Moriah's thigh and plucks at the waistband of the other woman's underwear. Moriah tucks a bit of hair behind Cricket's ear and then returns her hand to the roots, then tugs . Cricket doesn't resist, just lets out a long moan and allows herself to be pulled.

"Yes, you may," Moriah murmurs. Cricket bares her throat and Moriah aches to lean down and seal her teeth around the long, firm tendon there, the expanse of pale skin made honey gold in the dim nighttime lighting. Cricket lowers her mouth to Moriah's thigh and kisses right at the top of her knee, then drags her mouth slowly up the inside skin. Hot, wet kisses pressed even distances apart punctuate every breath, every movement of the woman's mouth across Moriah's skin. Silver stretch marks on slender limbs and shallow pockmarks of old cellulite on the inside of her thighs get an extra kiss, a tongue darting out to lave over the differently textured skin.

By the time Cricket hooks her fingers over the elastic and begins to tug them down, Moriah is nearly dripping with want.

"Towel," Moriah says breathlessly. "Go get one from the closet, right over there."

She gave the order herself, and yet Cricket pulling away makes Moriah feel distinctly alone, the emptiness in the space around her that was filled by Cricket growing suffocating and violent. She taps a rhythm on her thigh— one, two, three; one, two, three— and by the time she has done it three times, Cricket returns, and the itch begins to soften.

"Breathe," Cricket murmurs as Moriah lifts her hips. She presses the towel underneath, and then hesitates, her hands halfway to the waistline of Moriah's skirt. "Moriah," she says, and the woman in question quivers underneath her. "Are you sure about this?"

Moriah reaches down between her thighs and cups Cricket's round cheek in her palm. Her skin is warm.

For once, her brain is quiet.

She knows what she wants.

"I'm sure, but if you want to stop," she says softly and strokes her thumb over Cricket's cheekbone. Cricket's eyes go wide and she shakes her head so violently Moriah's finger almost jabs her in the eye.

"I really, really don't want to stop, but I don't want to— to—"

Moriah draws Cricket up by her jaw and kisses her firmly. Cricket's lips, plush and slightly chapped, drag against hers in a beautiful, slick glide, and the moment Moriah's mouth opens, Cricket falls into the kiss with tongue and teeth. She tastes like wine and garlic and something so deeply human, something Moriah hasn't tasted in far too long, and she can't stop licking, dragging, pressing closer until their bodies are flush against each other once more.

Cricket slots her thigh between Moriah's and presses forward against her clit with her knee, drawing a long, breathy sound from the woman, and then does it again. Moriah bites down on Cricket's plush lower lip and pulls away to heave in a gasping breath.

"I thought you were going to eat me out," Moriah whispers, and Cricket's eyes glimmer in the low light.

"I did say that, didn't I," she murmurs. "Three years is a long time, though. I gotta make it good for you…"

"I think it's almost impossible for you to disappoint at this point," Moriah says, and the words trail off into a gasp as Cricket lowers her head to kiss wetly at the curve of Moriah's breasts. Her bra clasps in the front, and Cricket's deft, handy fingers undo it before Moriah can even begin to reach for the plastic fixture. It falls open and Moriah's chest tumbles out— her breasts are relatively small, more of a swell of fat topped with brown, sensitive nipples, but Cricket doesn't seem to mind. She sets her mouth onto one of the delicate nubs at once, sucking lightly before dragging her teeth gently over the flushed skin surrounding it.

Moriah's hands tremble with overstimulation as she reaches down and plucks at the hem of Cricket's sweater again. The woman looks up at her through half-lidded eyes, pupils so wide the green is barely a ring, flecked just slightly with that same, shining gold, and then pulls away just long enough to tug her sweater off and step out of her overalls.

She doesn't tease, doesn't do it slowly, or especially sexily, but Moriah is hypnotized. She watches as more pale, freckled skin is revealed, inch by tantalizing inch, until Cricket tosses her clothes across the room.

" Meow !"

Woolf darts out from under the discarded fabric and speeds off into the bedroom, letting out one final disgruntled meow as she leaps onto the bed, and Moriah can't stop the smile that splits her face in two. The laugh that comes out of her is clunky, somewhere between a snort and a honk, but Cricket just grins back and giggles into Moriah's collarbone.

"Oops," Cricket mumbles as she kisses Moriah's neck again, just above the golden chain of her Magen David.

"She'll get over it," Moriah replies and sinks her fingers into Cricket's hair once more, pulling her up into a long, wet kiss. Then, she pulls Cricket back, which makes the woman grunt low in her throat, a flush growing on her cheeks. Moriah takes a moment to examine Cricket. Pale skin dotted with so, so many sunspot freckles, from her cheeks to her shoulders to the swell of her breasts that Moriah can see bulging out of the top of her sports bra. On her collarbones are two tattoos, both entirely black, done in a linocut style. Two birds fly in toward her sternum, wings spread and tails pointing at her shoulders. Moriah recognizes one as a chickadee, but she isn't sure about the other one, so she swipes the pad of her thumb over it.

"A starling," Cricket murmurs. "For my family."

"Beautiful," Moriah replies, and then returns her gaze to Cricket's. "Are you good?"

Cricket smiles, and it lights up the room like it's noon in the hottest summer. "I'll tap out if I need to."

Moriah grins and gently pushes Cricket's head down. The woman gets the idea quickly, and pushes Moriah's skirt back up where it had splayed over her thighs again. Moriah combs her hair back with her fingers, and Cricket winks up at her before lowering her mouth to Moriah's cunt.

The first touch of her tongue pulls a violent, choked out sound from Moriah's throat. She can only lean back against the couch, skirt hiked up around her waist and hair in complete disarray, as Cricket expertly and deliciously eats her out with a fervor almost approaching worship. Her tongue laves over Moriah's clit again and again, giving just the right amount of pressure and glide to be devastatingly good, sending shocks of pleasure through her nervous system.

When Cricket pushes Moriah's thighs farther apart and begins to prod with a finger at Moriah's entrance, the brown-haired woman can't help but yank on Cricket's hair.

Cricket pulls back, slick from nose to jaw, breathless.

"Everything okay?" she pants.

"Yeah, fuck," Moriah whispers and lets her head fall back onto the couch. "Got overwhelmed for a second."

"Do you want me to—"

"Don't you dare stop," Moriah replies before Cricket can even finish her sentence. "Just…I just want your mouth. You promised."

"Okay," Cricket says with a crooked, confident grin. Moriah tugs her up and kisses her once, violently, tasting herself on Cricket's lips, and then releases her.

"And then I'll fuck you, okay?" she murmurs. Cricket's cheeks get so red Moriah can see it even in the dim lighting of the dark living room.

"Yes, sir," she breathes. Moriah's cunt clenches at the sense of power and control that surges through her.

"Fuck," she exhales and tugs Cricket by the hair back down between her legs. Cricket doesn't waste any time, just returns to lapping at Moriah's slit, smoothing her tongue over the sensitive spot just above her labia, and Moriah can't stop staring.

Cricket has always exuded this sort of one-minded focus, a narrow, intense vision that locks onto one thing at a time and stays there. When she was helping Simon move to Caerlloyd, she had the entire itinerary for the weekend planned in excruciating detail. When she reached out to Moriah about spending the night— one night— she had every detail, including when her Uber would arrive and when and where her awards ceremony was.

It makes sense that she would take to this with the same fervor.

She makes Moriah come unexpectedly. She has the flat of her tongue pressed hard against Moriah's clit, moving her head rather than the muscle itself to get the best pressure, and Moriah is sent over the edge with blinding clarity and a roaring in her ears.

Cricket licks her through it, mouth warm and gentle, and Moriah sinks back down to earth on her yellow couch with the sun between her legs.

They don't move to the bed— at least not technically.

Instead, they pull out Cricket's couch bed, the sheets still rumpled and smelling like deodorant and travel, and Moriah retrieves her strap-on from the bedroom. She has a box under her bed with all of her toys in it, arranged from smallest to largest with those with non-penetrative purposes in their own bag, and she selects the third one, a dark red silicone with gold flecks that remind her of Cricket's eyes. It's maybe seven inches long, and has a nice girth to it, but isn't anything special. If anything, it's the most average of all of the toys Moriah owns, but she doesn't want to make any assumptions about what Cricket wants.

She turns to go back into the living room, and sees Cricket, fully naked now, with a soft-looking thatch of ginger hair disappearing between her legs, drape the towel over the bed. She tugs on a corner, straightening it out, and then seems to notice Moriah watching, and stills. A smile pulls at her soft, pink mouth, and she turns to face her, naked and unashamed.

Cricket has round hips and large, sturdy thighs. Her biceps are firm and defined, and her stomach sticks out just enough for Moriah to grab. Her breasts hang heavy, large and freckled, and Moriah finds herself staring at the sharp contrast of black ink against pale, pink skin.

"Like what you see?" Cricket says, standing unselfconsciously, eyeing the dildo in Moriah's hands.

"Of course I do," Moriah replies and returns to the living room, setting down the harness, dildo, and lube bottle. "I have since we met."

She realizes a moment too late that that is a confession, of sorts, but Cricket just grins and pulls her in for another long, slow kiss.

"You're beautiful," she says in turn, her hand on Moriah's waist. It doesn't dip in, not like Cricket's does— her torso is almost a straight line from armpit to hip— but Cricket still digs her fingers in like she loves the shape. "I've always thought so."

Moriah smiles against Cricket's mouth and then, in one, impulsive moment, pushes her back until she falls down onto the bed with a thud. Her tits fall to either side and Moriah kneels between Cricket's legs and palms one, rolling it in her hand. The skin is impossibly soft, velvet around the nipple itself, and Moriah is hypnotized.

"You like those?" Cricket coos and pets through Moriah's hair. Moriah slips her tongue out and laps at the nipple, then sucks it into her mouth and bites lightly. Cricket keens, low and desperate, and Moriah grins around the pebbling flesh.

"I like you," she breathes and then blows on the damp skin, watching goosebumps raise up. Cricket's hand snakes between them and presses at her clit, just a few firm rubs, and Moriah nips the soft skin one more time before replacing Cricket's hand with her own.

The woman is wet already, but Moriah still drizzles a bit of lube over her fingers before pressing at the ring of muscle with one fingertip.

"Moriah," Cricket says just as she presses in, and Moriah freezes. She looks up at Cricket, a long strand of dark hair falling over her shoulder to hang between them. Her name in Cricket's mouth is lyrical— wind chimes by the beach, a candle wick curling over on itself.

"What?" One, two, three. Her fingers twitch.

"Make it good," Cricket finishes, a wry smile on her mouth, and cups Moriah's cheek with her palm.

Moriah grins back, peace washing over her once more, and presses in to the knuckle.

Cricket comes twice before Moriah collapses on top of her, out of breath, her shaking thighs finally giving out. Moriah reaches between her own legs and presses at her clit again, firm and aching, and Cricket kisses her neck as she works herself to orgasm once more before finally, finally nuzzling into Cricket's chest and closing her eyes.

"Well?" Cricket mumbles after a few minutes.

"Hm?" Moriah looks up through her lashes at Cricket. Her mind is quiet.

"Did that make up for the three years?" she asks, a coy smile on her lips.

Moriah pretends to think, screwing up her lips and looking at the ceiling. "Hmm," she hums. "I think I might need a few more orgasms to make up for that dry spell."

Cricket grins, rolls Moriah over onto her back, and kisses her into the mattress.

They don't sleep for another two hours.