In Heat - Jenlisa

Chapter 22 - Haze

It comes in flashes, like shots taken with a polaroid camera. Fading in and out.

Lisa swims through the moment, a slave to sensation as she rocks her hips. It's hard enough to remember that this isn't supposed to involve emotions with Jennie's tongue inside of her, let alone while still being in subspace. All Lisa can do is feel and want—always, always want.

She knows that she's in her room, in Jennie's bed. She obviously knows that there's a tongue pushing into her considering the tension in her stomach threatening to burst apart into something unbearable. And she knows it can only be Jennie gripping her this hard, holding her in place while Lisa sways like a ship in choppy waters. Her hips will be covered in bruises the shape of Jennie's hands by morning; she idly wonders if she should get them tattooed.

Worst of all, although Lisa has no idea how long she's been purring and whining and begging for Jennie, she knows it's been going on long enough for Jennie to notice.

There isn't an excuse on earth for this besides my insides are splitting apart over how badly I want you to be my mate—which in this case is a complete impossibility. No one would ever believe Jennie Kim was interested in anything beyond playing with her to kill time. She's just another temporary cure for boredom.

Lisa knows this, and yet she stays put, as ordered. She would rather die than get off Jennie's tongue, so it's just one more foot in the fire to buy in and take whatever Jennie's willing to give her. Riding Jennie's face is a bit like being burned at the stake, Lisa imagines. She can feel the shock of Jennie's tongue on every nerve ending and it's becoming harder and harder to breathe.

Jennie slips a finger inside her, and the sudden pressure has a frisson of heat shooting up Lisa's spine. She comes without warning, entire body shuddering, and unintentionally breaks off a piece of the headboard.

For a moment, Lisa comes back to herself, blinking down at the scrap of mangled wood in her hands.

Jennie blindly reaches up to take it from her, tossing it somewhere out of sight with a clatter. Her tongue doesn't stop for a second. Jennie swallows as much of her slick as she can, and the rest spills over her chin, soaking her neck and shirt. The mattress is definitely ruined.

"Je-Jennie," Lisa gasps, digging her chin into her chest. Her eyes are shut tight in an effort not to cry. "Jennie, I came."

She's not sure why she feels the need to say it; they were both present and accounted for during the event in question.

"So?" Jennie replies, voice rasping as she comes up for air. "I didn't tell you to stop. Keep going."

Lisa is helpless not to obey. Her thighs are beginning to ache, and she's relieved at the thought. She hopes it hurts so that with every step she takes tomorrow, she's reminded of who owns her.

And Jennie does own her, all of her, even if she doesn't know it.

***

The longer Jennie goes without breath, the less she thinks. It's instinct to devote her whole, entire attention to the taste of Lisa's pussy. No sugar could ever taste as sweet as Lisa; the very thought offends her.

Every drop of slick that Jennie consumes catapults her further and further from the logic that demands she slow down and enjoy the gift she's been given. After all, this is likely outside the realm of acceptable conduct for a couple in their early stage of courtship, and it may not happen again until they've met each others' parents and declared their intentions to mate.

Jennie wouldn't pick celibacy given the choice, but it goes without saying that she'll respect Lisa's wishes—though a greedy and admittedly large part of her hopes Lisa isn't that traditional. It would be a crime against humanity for her sweet slick to go unappreciated for any substantial length of time. Even a small stretch hurts to contemplate.