Naya's still bound.
Tears smeared her mascara.
Skin flushed.
She's begging without saying a words hips twitching, chest rising, aching.
Then…
"Why, Janelle?"
Mirabel's voice cuts the air like a blade.
"Why her? Why like this?"
Janelle, calm as ever, tips her champagne glass and takes a long sip.
"Because she let me," she says. Then she walks toward Mirabel, slow, taunting.
"And because you stopped."
Mirabel flinches.
"That's not fair."
Janelle traps her against the wall, one hand slipping around her waist.
Voice low, venomous-sweet.
"You think I don't notice when you pull away in bed?
The excuses, the fake moans, the silence after?"
She trails her fingers down Mirabel's thigh.
"But Naya? She begs for me."
Mirabel's hand rises slap coming
But Janelle catches her wrist mid-air.
"You want to hit me?"
Janelle leans in, eyes locked.
"Or do you want to fuck me?"
And Mirabel guilty, burning, angry doesn't pull away.
Seconds later…
Janelle pushes Mirabel against the bed Naya still sprawled helpless.
She kisses her hard, tongue greedy.
One hand cups Mirabel's throat, the other unbuttoning her blouse without breaking the kiss.
Naya whimpers.
Mirabel glances at her biting her lip.
"She's watching…"
"Let her," Janelle growls.
Then she presses Mirabel down on top of Naya.
"Since you're both so curious watch each other beg for me."
And then she makes them.
With her hands.
With her mouth.
With that wicked voice that makes shame and pleasure feel like the same thing.
Naya's thighs are shaking.
Mirabel is trembling under every stroke.
They moan each other's names but always come apart at Janelle's command.
Until they both lie there, ruined.
Aftermath…
Janelle lights a cigarette. Sits at the edge of the bed, legs crossed.
"You want to leave?"
She glances at Mirabel, then at Naya.
"Go ahead."
Neither of them moves.
They just stare at her like she's something between their nightmare and their god.
"Didn't think so," she smirks.
---
To be continued