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Carson was usually the one to bound into Greta’s room, eager and spouting a half-formed excuse that, truly, she could usually improve upon. And Greta loved it. She loved watching Carson work to control her enthusiasm when she found that Greta wasn’t alone, loved watching her reel in her jittery nerves and attempt to casually suggest an outing to the library, or the market. Greta loved watching Carson.
She’d caught herself staring at her from across the porch, or found herself searching for her face in the crowded locker room. Carson was like a beacon, and Greta could feel her eyes drawn to her whenever they were together. She was so hyper-aware of Carson’s presence that she had started to miss pieces of conversations, Jo accusing her of not listening, and of course she wasn’t. Her thoughts followed Carson’s progress around a room like a compass pointing north.
And so she knew without having to look that Carson was the one who had entered the kitchen behind her, stepping up to the sink to wash an empty water glass.
“Hi,” Carson said, and Greta smiled at her, putting away the last of her own clean dishes.
“Hi, yourself,” Greta leaned one hip against the counter, watching Carson. Watching her slowly start to blush the longer Greta looked at her. Watching her hands fumble with the dishrag.
Greta held out her hand for the clean glass, and dried it slowly with the dish towel she still held.
“I could use your help,” Greta said quietly, “In the storage room.”
“Yeah,” Carson said breathily, “Definitely. I’m happy to help.”
“I’m sure you are,” Greta pushed off of the counter and let her hips sway as she walked to the storage room. The house was quiet, most of the girls out enjoying their day off, but Greta still glanced around surreptitiously as she stepped into the closet and pulled Carson in behind her.
Greta grabbed the chair they had unearthed from the rubble of the room and jammed it beneath the doorknob. It was a calculated risk; more suspicious to be locked in a room together, certainly, but at least it would buy them some time should someone attempt entry.
She pressed Carson against the shelves beside the door and kissed her, lacing their fingers together at Carson’s side. Carson hummed against her.
“You’re eager,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to Greta’s.
Greta shrugged one shoulder and pressed a kiss to each of Carson’s dimples.
“I missed you.”
Carson’s face brightened, and Greta felt a fleeting panic. You’re following the rules, but you’re not being safe. But she couldn’t help it, it was true. She missed Carson all of the time, felt a happy swooping in her belly every time she saw her walk through the door. The urge to touch her when they were together was nearly overwhelming.
“Me too,” Carson replied, placing her palm to Greta’s cheek. Greta leaned into it and let her eyes close.
“I also wanted to do this,” Greta whispered, snapping herself out of her reverie. Keep yourself safe. She pressed her lips to Carson’s neck, tangling her fingers in her hair, and heard Carson’s breath catch in her throat. She smiled against her skin, bit down on the soft place where Carson’s neck met her shoulder, then soothed the bite with her tongue. Carson’s hands gripped Greta’s hips hard, pulling her tight against her.
Greta wished she could tell Carson how good she felt. How her hands on her hips burned through her dress, warming her up. How she smelled intoxicatingly of soap, sweat, and the leather of her baseball mitt. How much she thought about how this would feel every second of every day. But it was risky enough that Greta’s hands were now unbuttoning Carson’s dress, sliding underneath her bra, and Greta was too scared to make any more noise. The sound of Carson’s heavy breathing seemed to fill the tiny room.
Greta’s thumb brushed Carson’s nipple softly. She rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, watching the way Carson’s brow furrowed, her lips pressed together to keep from making a sound. She wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, how much she loved to watch her face while she touched her. Carson’s face betrayed her every emotion, and Greta envied her that openness and vulnerability. She also liked knowing that she was the one who was causing Carson to inhale sharply as she slipped her hand under the skirt of her dress, pushing her underwear aside so she could curl her finger against Carson’s swollen clit.
She loved knowing she had done this to her, and would do more, and maybe she wouldn’t ever stop. She circled Carson’s clit, drew shapes over it, ghosted the pad of one finger across it. Every movement elicited a different reaction that Greta savored like honey on her tongue. Carson opened her eyes and caught Greta staring. Greta hadn’t been thinking of anything but Carson’s face, her hips, her sex under her fingers. She didn’t know what was written on her face, but whatever it was made Carson blush and stare and lean forward to kiss her eagerly.
Greta’s stomach swooped, a mixture of happiness and trepidation. Be safe , she reminded herself. But then Carson’s palm cupped her breast through the silk of her dress and Greta’s mind fastened onto the feeling of her warm hand and the look on Carson’s face, like she couldn’t quite believe she was allowed to reach out and touch any part of Greta that she pleased. Greta wanted to tell her, touch all of me, I’m yours, please, please, don’t let me go.
But instead she dropped her hand lower and slid two fingers into Carson, reveling in the way her mouth dropped open in a silent moan and her eyes slid closed, her head falling back against the shelves. Greta curled her fingers and pressed her palm to Carson’s clit, moving faster while all the while wishing she could take her time.
“ God ,” Carson breathed, and bit her lip. Greta’s pulse quickened, watching her, drinking up the sight of her losing control by degrees.
When she came, Carson let her head roll back against one shelf, her mouth open, her breaths coming in short gasps. She gripped Greta’s dress so hard that Greta felt a seam rip, but she kept her fingers moving until Carson was no longer clenching around her, until her grip loosened and her breathing returned to normal.
Greta withdrew her hand and sucked her fingers into her mouth, watching Carson’s dazed reaction. After a moment’s pause, Greta was pressed against the armoire on the other side of the room and Carson was sucking on the spot on her neck that drove her near to oblivion.
“Don’t leave a mark,” she gasped, pulling Carson away with a gentle hand.
Carson growled in frustration. “I want to leave a mark on you.”
Greta’s stomach flipped. Carson’s eyes raked up and down Greta’s body. She dropped to her knees in front of her, and Greta thought this might be her best view yet. Carson, kneeling in front of her, bunching up the skirt of her dress so she could slide her underwear down her legs.
Carson, leaning forward, her face determined. And then Greta’s mind went blank, because Carson was sucking on a spot on her inner thigh, biting the sensitive skin there, burning a bruise into her that Greta hoped she’d feel every time she moved.
Carson’s arm pressed Greta’s dress into her belly, holding it out of the way, and Greta grabbed her hand where it rested there, and threaded the fingers of her other hand through Carson’s hair. She knew what they would look like when they were done, but Greta pressed against the back of Carson’s head until she finally, finally, brought her mouth to her. Greta looked down to watch the way Carson’s head moved as she fucked her with her tongue, the way her eyes flickered up to Greta’s face to gauge her performance. She rolled her tongue against Greta’s clit, and Greta bit down hard on her lip, her hips bucking, muscles straining, legs shaking.
She didn’t want it to end, she didn’t want to let go, and straighten their clothes, and fix their hair, and go back into the house like they didn’t set each other on fire with a single touch. But then Carson sucked lightly on Greta’s clit, and Greta lost the hold she had on herself, and came hard against Carson’s mouth.
After a minute, Carson stood and they took in the sight of each other. Greta reached out to smooth Carson’s hair, feeling a tenderness so strong, she pulled her hands back and began to straighten her dress.
“I’ll go first,” Greta whispered, crossing to the door. “Wait a few minutes before you leave.”
“Wait,” Carson whispered, and stepped to her. Greta’s heart hammered as Carson stretched upwards to kiss her, her dress still unbuttoned and her hair still wild. “I’ll miss you.”
Greta took in a shaky breath and brushed her knuckles against Carson’s cheek before she nudged the chair out of the way and slipped out the door without a sound.