honey [girlxgirl]

oh, honey (1)

O N E

         Daria Grant was sex personified. All long legs, thick thighs, and sultry smirks, and she knew it more than she let on.

That, Angelica knew, was a fucking fact.

She had this way of making you miss her when she was gone and she loved almost as passionately as she fucked, an old love something still fully ignited at each spark, it lingering loosely behind and leaving you confused of when it began.

          Soft hands rough and mouth gentle, eyes never leaving yours and temptation swirled around her.

She'd place sweet caramel kisses down the expanse of your thighs, climb into your lap and kiss the living day lights out of you. Grind down and shove expert hands into your hair to tug it back before kissing down your neck.

Make you cum six times in one night.

And when she was finished, she'd go two weeks without speaking to you again.

Daria Grant was laying in between Angelica's lean legs, perfect, plush mouth trailing warm air on sinewy limbs, she kissed soft skin. Biting into the spot she always knew worked, a chorus of breathy moans slipped through Angelica's mouth.

          It soaked into the air, Daria kissing her way back up all in between olive-toned thighs. She lapped at the same spot she'd bit soothing the sting before blowing air through parted kiss-bitten lips.

And flicked her almond eyes upwards, licking over parted lips, hand coming to yank Angelica's chin back down and force pliancy. Ang wasn't submissive in nature, she had a softness about her though, something only women like Daria could bring out.

        She pressed thin fingers past supple lips, forcing Angelica's eyes to stare straight into Daria's narrowed ones. Daria Grant had a mouth on her and she knew her way around a strap.

Lids heavy with arousal and nearly breathless, Angelica watched her ex girlfriend wet her own lips before lowering her mouth down. A burst of warmth, a wetness, a gust of wind sucked in and Ang was crying out in higher octaves.

And deep, hazelnut eyes demanded attention, sucking over thin lace, her tongue just barely grazing the sweet skin. Then she was lapping over, clamping her hands over tightening thighs, sucking at sensitivity and holding them apart.

"Fuck—" Angelica's curse was high-pitched, hidden in a moan and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She shoved her hips into the air, almost screaming and grinned into nothingness.

Eyes closed, she pictured Daria holding her hips down, one hand reaching up to pinch beaded nipples. She'd kiss exposed sex, shoving her face in and tug a climax out of a shaking core.

Angelica was sweating, chest flushed red and she gnawed down on her bottom lip.

Two fingers, long and lean peeled aside the fabric, exposing intimate skin, cool air and an arching back. And then two fingers lightly grazed the little nub there; a taut abdomen quivered under a cold hand.

Daria flicked her tongue out to taste.

"Bitch, we can hear you!" Francine's shrill voice ripped through the walls as if in competition with Angelica's cries. Her head was still thrown back, previous pleasure seeping out ever so slowly, snatched away just as she was on the brink.

Pursing her lips, Angelica could have cried, flicking off the pretty-pink vibrator in her hand. She let out a small sound of disapproval, biting onto her bottom lip, and her imagination steamrolled.

          Her eyes snapped open, whimper exiting through pursed lips, sweaty hair clinging to a flushed face. Blowing a harsh breath out, she sunk down into her mattress, tossing the device to the side.

         Slight annoyance tugged at her skin, Fran and Eric went at it like rabbits nearly every night in this shoebox apartment.

"Fuck you, Francine."  She muttered under her breath, legs still shaking from the escalation and even quicker deescalation. She tugged her thong back over to cover herself, tossing the vibrator to the side and pinched her eyes closed.

Daria still hadn't texted her back and she was minutes from a tantrum. "Just — just fuck you."

OH, HONEY

        "Ang, you've gotta tell her you're not interested in being a booty call." The dip in their bronze antiquated couch was occupied by lean legs. The woman in question curling up beside Angelica, long, lean legs bare and crossing under her.

"Why would I lie?" And that was true because Angelica was so interested and so, so available and if Daria fucking, flaky Grant would just text her back, she could stop freaking out.

          Francine Miller was cloaked in a plain white tee way too big for her tiny frame with sex-tousled hair and a mug nestled in her dainty hands. Peering over her coffee, she'd tried to make eye contact with her roommate, lips pursed in thought.

She was the definition of what they'd call a bombshell. Shiny blonde hair and big baby-blue eyes, a thin model-esque body to match delicate features. And she was Angelica's best friend since she'd moved to Austin after graduation, chasing a dream that was probably too big to catch.

They'd met at a speed date night at a singles bar, pitiful smiles outlined in bold red lipstick, both way too hot for anyone who tried to connect.

And they bonded over that, Franny was an actress with a Sears-modeling portfolio and big ideas, too big for Texas. And as proven by history — a tendency to let the men she dated take precedence over her dreams.

A romantic at heart, she'd chased a guy here and he turned out about as solid as jello, eventually it all fell apart.

And she was watching her best friend stare down at her phone, frown lines creasing the middle of her pretty forehead. "You're gonna get wrinkles." Francine pointed out, reaching over to smooth out the skin with the pad of her thumb.

When her affectionate nature was accepted with a smile, she leant closer, burrowing beside her best friend and shamelessly peered down at Nokia screen. And she was grimacing now, forgetting all her sage advice and skin no-nos. "Oh, honey..."

         Truly, texting your on-again off-again ex-girlfriend three times in a row unless it was literally an emergency — and not just a regular emergency, like a Y2K-level emergency— was kind of pathetic.

         And Angelica knew this. Hell, she lived by that rule religiously but her vibrator just wasn't enough that day and Daria Grant lived on Broad Street which was right next to Iggy's which was exactly where Angelica worked and she could swing by saying she was in the neighborhood and maybe just maybe she'd end up fisting the sheets and soaking through-

"Ang, it's time to let go." Francine's voice rang true in the air and although, it was completely undeniable, Angelica didn't want to admit that Daria was probably sucking moans out some lead singer's throat.

It was silent and Angelica tossed her phone to the side, it landing with a subtle thump on the couch and she curled into her best friend, frown gracing her pretty face. She tugged her legs to her chest, leaning her rosy cheek on them and pouted.

Horny, slightly sad, and lacking the energy to salvage her night, she sunk further into the couch, Daria playing on the screen, the universe was playing some sick joke and Angelica was daydreaming of hazel eyes, soaked in honey.

january 4th, 2020.