25. Lyssa

I knowit’s a bad idea.

Scratch that.

It’s a terrible idea. But the thing is, Scarlett seems to be a weakness for me. It’s a strange experience for someone like me to find out that another person can be a weakness, instead of something obvious like a bad knee or a blindside or a shitty fucking defensive stance that wouldn’t keep out a kitten.

And I’ve never had any of those problems, either, but I’ve seen them in trainees.

Never realized you could have this kind of weakness, though. Curvy brunettes with eyes you could drown in, who give as good as they get. In street fights and in bed.

My mouth is on hers before I know it, little more than a collision of tongues lips and grasping, desperate hands competing to see who can strip the other first.

It’s right there, in a delirious storm of sensation, it all clicks for me. I understand her in a way I never have before. The hunger that simmers just beneath her skin, the need to prove herself…

I have it too.

We’re alike, Scarlett and I, and it’s not just because of Grandmother. We were built, DNA-up, from the same stuff, and that’s why she calls so effortlessly to the need in my soul.

There’s violence in her, yes. A potent, red-hot core of barely restrained savagery and menace that I used to have, too, before I figured out how to contain it. But there’s a softer undercurrent woven into both of us, too, that I don’t think either of us would have the chance to find with anyone except the other.

For me, sex has always been about need and dominance.

But with Scarlett, I can let go a little. Explore. Test.

Enjoy.

Just like I’m enjoying her now as I shove her back on the bed, her legs hanging over the side. I hit my knees before she can even take a breath, splay her pretty pink pussy wide open, and dive in.She’s already dripping wet for me, her sweet taste filling my mouth, and I push my tongue in deep, no teasing. I want to taste the depths of her, find out every atom of her tight heat. I swirl my tongue around, find exactly how to tease her as she rocks up against me, her body meeting my face with insatiable hunger. Her fingers dig into my scalp as she grinds me down on her and I’m full up with the taste of her, mouth and nose buried in her as I eat her out.

But I want more.

I jump up, pounce on her, and grab those luscious tits, pinching at her nipples as she writhes around under me, trying to get some friction back on that demanding little clit. “Kitty needs attention, huh?” I smirk into her face as I say it, enjoy watching the fire catch in those striking eyes.

“Eat it or fuck it,” she demands, panting, “or I’ll do it myself.”

“I don’t think so.” I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head?—

But I forgot who I was dealing with for a split second, because she flips me over before I figure out what’s going on, climbs on top triumphantly. Now I’m the one pinned down, her strong thighs tight on my waist, and damn if she isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Her eyes glitter with victorious glee as she mirrors my own smirk back at me. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, Lyssa?” she singsongs.

“The absolute fucking best,” I promise. “How about you sit on my face and see?”

Her eyes go wide and dark at the suggestion. “Hell, yeah,” she breathes out. “I like that idea. Only I think I have an even better one.” She swings off me, but I’m intrigued enough to stay right where I am. It was the right choice, I discover a moment later, as she pivots and mounts me in a 69, positioning that delicious, glistening cunt directly over my face. I reach up to grab her ass as she descends, spreading her wide so she’s completely open and available to my tongue.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” I manage to get out, right before her wet flesh engulfs me. I moan into her folds, my tongue encouraging more of her juice, rubbing my face right into her.

She’s fucking ambrosia.

And then I feel those soft, warm tits press into my belly as she leans forward, licking at my slit, pulling my thighs apart so she can feast on me just like I’m feasting on her. Every movement of my tongue is echoed back to me, her skilled tongue sliding, teasing, swirling. I let my tongue dart higher, stab bluntly at her tight little asshole while I get a hand on her clit, too, and go to town on it.

She groans into my cunt, the sound vibrating through my core. I spread my legs wider, a silent invitation, and she doesn’t disappoint, nuzzling her nose right into my slit before taking my clit in her lips and sucking gently while her hips rock back and forth. I reach down blindly with my free hand to grab a handful of those incredible tits that I fucking dream about, pinching hard and rolling, the same way she did to me in the shower that very first time. It’s like there’s a direct connection to her cunt, because I’m rewarded with a fresh flood of her juices, and her groans deepen, get more frantic.

I roll my hips up to meet her face, grinding my clit against her nose, her mouth, her tongue. I’m so goddamn wet myself, dripping all over the bed as I suck at her cunt, every sensation caught up in her—touch, sound, smell, taste, and sight, oh God, the sight of her when I shove her up a little to get a good look, her pussy puffy and red and soaked.

She pulls her mouth away from me to hiss, “Don’t stop,” so I oblige, flicking my fingers fast over her clit and getting my tongue deep into her drenched channel. She cries out, rocking back onto my face again, and I make sure to tug hard and sharp at her nipple again—and she practically levitates off the bed.

Oh yeah, this is it. This is what I’ve been missing out on all those years with other women. This is what happens when you mix violence and sex and a little bit of pain together and serve it all up on a creaky, saggy motel mattress.

She responds like no one else I’ve ever been with. Her body was fucking made for mine.

She shoves two fingers into my pussy as if in agreement with my thoughts, fucking them in and out as her tongue writhes around my clit. And I’m drowning in her, happily drowning, swallowing her down as she drenches me in her release. I can hear her crying out, getting louder and louder, like the orgasm is still building, still peaking?—

And then she slumps forward again, devouring me just as I’ve devoured her, pushing me almost painfully into an orgasm so hard I think I might break the bed. It thuds through me in time with my heartbeat, fierce and hot, as if every cell in my body has been jolted awake. I can feel my pussy clenching, my back arching, my muscles locking, and I’m screaming into her wet folds, her warm thighs clamping down around my face as she comes again, frantically grinding into me.

She collapses off me and onto the rumpled sheets, both of us gasping for air, a tangle of arms and legs, sweat pouring off us. “Well?” I pant out.

“Well, what?”

I grin down at her, her head resting on my thigh. “Was I good girl or not?”

She smirks back until she can’t help giggling, and runs a hand up my perspiration-shining belly. “You are a very, very bad girl,” she tells me with a mock frown.

I laugh. “You too, Scar. You too. If we were back at Elysium, I’d pull out a few props to help punish you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She props her head up in her hand, looking interested. “You got a kinky sex dungeon out there or something?”

“I argued for one in the rebuild, but Hadria nixed it,” I sigh, and then laugh with her. I reach down for her hand, twine my fingers in hers. “Wish you could see it, though. Elysium.”

“You sound like you miss it.”

“God, I do. So much. Can’t wait till it’s done. Maybe when it is—” I break off, horrified at what was about to come out of my mouth.

Scarlett really is a weakness for me. There’s no other explanation for how stupid-dumb I get around her. I was about to tell her I’d fuck her brains out in my new room, when the reality is…

The reality is, she’ll never see Elysium. Or if she does, it’ll only be a place of terror and pain for her.

“What?” she prompts, and I can see she’s still caught up in the sweet post-org bliss where everything is sunshine and roses.

But I can’t let myself forget where this ends. “You thirsty?” I ask, ignoring her question.

She’s quiet for a minute, and I see her smile die down as she, too, remembers reality. “Yeah,” she says. “You stay here. I’ll get some water.”

A heavy curtain of silence falls over us as she rolls off the bed and goes into the bathroom, punctuated only by the creak and groan of the ancient motel plumbing as she turns on the tap in there.

She grabs her water bottle on the way back, hands it to me so I can slake my thirst.

As if water could do that. Not when I have her on tap.

But this has to stop. These little interludes might mean nothing to her, but I’m starting to find I want them.

Needthem.

And that is very fucking far from okay.