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The VIP section of the club is wrapped in all things velvet and shiny steel, and Rose had nodded and smiled accordingly as the guy next to her on the sofa extrapolated on the juxtaposition between the materials and conceptualized the design choices.
She’d let him hold onto the fantasy, hadn’t said, simply, that velvet damages fast and steel is cheap and the club they’re sitting in—and herself, included—actually couldn’t manage to give any less of a shit about what he thought. You should start a podcast, she’d said, and watched the way his body had opened up like a Dior Sauvage-scented, khaki-clad flower; desperate for validation, defensive to anything remotely earnest.
He’d bought her two drinks which she’d methodically watched to make certain nothing had been slipped into them, and he tasted like tobacco when he kissed her mid-conversation with no warning. If pressed right now, Rose thinks, she isn’t sure she could recall his name. Disappointing.
At some point, she’d called Shane. They’d talked before the game last night and she knows they’re both still in the city, and even if things aren’t romantic between them, stepping out anywhere together is always a certain way to catch every eye in the building. Plus, Shane would be nice. Would offer to carry her purse and shoes. Would ask how her night went on the drive back to the hotel. Would show her basic respect and expect nothing in return for it.
The conversation had been slightly confusing. Inside the club it’s loud, all thumping bass and people yelling over it to make conversation, and Rose had been more than a little bit drunk when she’d asked—begged, maybe?—Shane to come and give her a ride. But it’s nearing two o’clock in the morning now and she’s sobered back to tipsy territory on the barstool, kicking her crossed ankles and playing on her phone while she waits for someone to come and tell her Shane Hollander is in the building. The pictures will be priceless, but they’ll sell for a pretty penny, too.
Rose’s body is a confusing juxtaposition all its own, loose from the booze and from dancing, tense from the lackluster conversation and the blister from her heels. The dress she’s wearing is sparkly and soft, clinging to her assets and leaving the rest to imagination, and she’d thought it would feel better when people noticed. Thought, for some reason, that it wouldn’t make her feel just as cheap and objectified as it does every other time.
She’d felt so pretty earlier, getting ready on the floor of her hotel room, criss-crossed in front of the mirror. In the pictures on her phone she’d shared to her Instagram story. But the guys here certainly don’t call her that, and the ones online are even worse with the added barrier of a screen. She’d taken the story down only two hours later after seeing all the screenshots from faceless, nameless accounts, and then she’d let someone else buy her another drink.
Suddenly, with an overwhelming wave of nausea, Rose wants viscerally to be locked away in her hotel suite eating room service and soaking in a bath until her uselessly shaved, plucked, moisturized skin prunes. And then she wants to sleep for, like, ever.
“Rose?”
She spins on the barstool at the sound of her name, squinting under the strobing club lights. “Yeah?”
It is, decidedly, not Shane. The woman in front of her stands a few inches taller than Rose in her black, slim-strapped top and jeans, bare faced save for the lethal flick of black liner on her eyes. Her hair grazes her shoulders, coiled curls effortless and bouncing each time she tilts her head, and when the lights change again, Rose can’t tell if it’s a deep, rich brown or her own familiar auburn.
“Svetlana. I am a friend of Shane’s,” she introduces herself. “He is… indisposed at the moment. I am here to take you home.”
Rose frowns, momentarily distracted again. “Oh. Indisposed? But I thought I was his most interesting friend?”
Drunk Rose can be fun. Tipsy Rose is just sad. And a little bitter.
“I would not worry about that,” Svetlana muses, slipping past a man taking up two bar seats to lean against the wood with her elbows.
She’s got an accent, Rose notices belatedly. Something strong, something that makes her mouth move differently than Rose’s. Rose spends a lot of time watching her own mouth. Practicing lines in the mirror, lining them with lipstick, watching back clips from old movies and television shows she’s been in to pick apart the smallest mannerisms. This, though—this is the kind of mouth she wishes she had.
“You’re, like,” Rose tells her, “really pretty.”
Svetlana arches an angled brow, aforementioned mouth lifting at one corner as she runs her eyes over Rose. “You are a moviestar, no?”
Heat clings to Rose’s face, thicker than any of the guys could manage, sticking more than the alcohol had already stained them.
“You should stay. Have a drink with me. They’re good here, I can order for you,” she offers, hyper aware of her lips moving as she talks. “A bunch of stupid guys are always around waiting to put it on their tabs, you know. It’s no big deal.”
“I can imagine,” Svetlana says dryly. She glances behind the bar, then back to Rose again with a sigh. “I am supposed to be getting you home, but…”
“Just one? Please?” Rose asks.
With a smile, Svetlana mutters something to herself that Rose can’t make out over the music. She checks her phone, types out a quick message with short, neatly manicured nails, and then pockets it again as she sways into Rose’s space.
“I will not tell if you won’t,” she whispers conspiratorially, like an inside joke just for them.
That, Rose thinks, is a sentiment she’ll drink to.
+
Her ears are still ringing from the volume in the club earlier, the low hum of the car radio doing little to drown out that or the slick, panting breaths that’ve fogged up the back of Svetlana’s sleek, expensive rental car.
Her body is long and lithe and pressing Rose’s wonderfully into the leather of the backseats. She knows she’s being a little greedy, a little bit desperate, her moans too loud, the straps of her dress lowered enough that the lacy push-up covering her chest is completely visible between them.
Svetlana doesn’t seem to think any of those things are particularly displeasing.
Her mouth blazes a hot line across Rose’s jaw, down her throat when she splits from Rose’s lips, sucking languidly. Rose has a rule about that with hookups, no marks—but it feels too good to risk asking Svetlana to stop. She turns her head for more instead, eyes fluttering closed on the roof of the car over her shoulder.
“You have done this before?” she asks, and it takes Rose an extra few seconds to understand, to realize that the elegant fingers climbing their way up her inner thigh have a destination.
“I’ve had sex before,” Rose says dazedly.
“Da chto ty govorish',”“You don’t say,” Svetlana rolls her eyes. She smiles, raises a brow, clarifies, “With a woman.”
“Oh,” Rose swallows, shifting underneath her. “Well, I mean, it—this doesn’t really count, right?”
Svetlana’s eyes narrow. “How do you figure?”
“We—we’re drunk, and, like. It’s just—girls being girls, you know?”
Panic flickers in her chest, sours the mood a little. She’s not lying, really, or she doesn’t think she is. But there’s also something not quite right about it when it sits there in the space between them, a feeling in the pit of Rose’s stomach that jeers liar! anyway.
Actress, maybe. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.
“Ah,” Svetlana nods, pushing up on her hands, sitting up.
Rose chases the body heat, sitting up with her, hands unsure but firm on the outside of slim, muscular thighs. “Wait,” she says. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Svetlana shrugs. She glances around for her phone.
“It’s not nothing,” Rose insists, still tipsy enough to feel like crying a little bit. She wants back the feeling from inside, wants to be in on the joke. Wants it maybe not to be a joke anymore. “What were you just thinking?”
In her lap Svetlana sighs, arms crossed over her chest. “Really, nothing. None of my business.”
“I’m not stupid,” Rose frowns.
She exhales a dry laugh. “You are very pretty, though.”
“Thanks,” Rose says instinctively. She can feel herself flush again. “So are you.”
Svetlana shifts just slightly, leaning forward to press one palm against the car door behind Rose, using the other to twirl a lock of curled hair around her finger.
“You think so?” she asks.
“So pretty,” Rose exhales, swaying forward until they’re sharing breath again. She darts forward, catches Svetlana’s lips with hers again, clumsy and insistent until Svetlana’s mouth softens against her again. “Please, just—we can do whatever you want. Just please don’t stop.”
“Mm,” Svetlana hums, just a flick of her tongue there and gone. “No.”
It takes Rose several seconds to catch up, for her eyes to flutter open again. “No?”
“Not whatever I want,” she says, taking Rose’s chin between her fingers. “I want to know what you want, Rose Landry.”
At this point, she’s heard her name echoed in hundreds of different ways. But she’s never heard it like that.
“I don’t know, I just.” Rose shrugs, hopeless. “I really like your mouth.”
Svetlana’s head turns, lips grazing Rose’s jaw and down to her neck. “Da? What about it?”
“It’s soft,” Rose sighs. “You taste good.”
She gasps when a clean line of teeth tug at her earlobe, clinking against the stud. Svetlana’s tongue drags up the outer shell until she can speak directly into her ear.
“I would not have guessed you wanted it soft,zvezdochka.”starlet.”
“We don’t have to. I can keep up.”
“So eager to please,” Svetlana chuckles. She pulls back, touches their noses together. “You do not have to impress me, you know. Here we are just… girls, yes?”
Rose nods. “Yeah.”
“I can be soft,” she whispers. She keeps her eyes open, grazes their lips together twice, light, wet. The noise echoes in the car. “Do you want that?”
“I want you,” Rose tries not to groan, lashes fluttering. “Fuck. Please. I want you.”
Svetlana flashes her a grin.
“You did say please.”
Her gaze drops down, over the slope of Rose’s nose, her lips smeared with leftover gloss and undoubtedly swollen from all the kissing, further, to the necklace she’s wearing and down the front of her dress, crooked and falling off of one shoulder.
Flicking her eyes back up to Rose’s, she leans in and drags her mouth across all the same spots.
Rose’s head falls backward against the door, Svetlana’s face and hair soft enough to send sparks dancing all over the skin she touches on her way down. The elegant point of her chin takes the hem of Rose’s dress down with her between her cleavage, until the material drops to her ribs and all that’s leftover is thin, dark lace.
“Now this is pretty,” Svetlana teases, taking the dangling little gem attached to the center of the bra between her teeth. Her breath is warm and sweet and the lace is so thin, and Rose shivers each time she shifts to press kisses back and forth to the slope of her breasts above the material, sharp line of her jaw brushing the peak of her nipples.
“Thanks,” Rose gasps, arching accordingly when Svetlana reaches underneath her to unclasp her bra. The straps fall to her elbow and stay there, too eager to sit up fully to get it off before Svetlana dips again to take one of her nipples into her mouth. “Oh, fuck.”
Svetlana smiles against her, body warm between Rose’s legs. She presses a kiss to Rose’s sternum beside her necklace, licks a stripe up the valley in between her breasts, cups one of them in her hand and squeezes until Rose tosses her head back with a moan.
She flicks Rose’s nipple lightly with her neat, trimmed fingers, then tugs it with her teeth. “You ever think about getting them pierced?”
“No,” Rose breathes. “Doesn’t that… hurt?”
“Eh. Is not so bad.”
Rose’s entire body stutters. She pushes up on an elbow, glances rapidly between Svetlana’s face and her chest.
“You—yours are—?”
Svetlana shoots her a smirk. “I will show you later. If you are good.”
“What the fuck,” Rose mutters to herself at the heat coiling tight underneath her ribs, and Svetlana chuckles against her chest.
“You did not know you liked that?” she asks. “Being good?”
“No,” Rose admits.
In a fluid movement, Svetlana rests a palm on the leather at Rose’s hip and rises back up her body to kiss her again, her tongue heavy in Rose’s mouth. She pats Rose’s cheek with the hand that’d just been on her breast.
“That is because it was a man telling you to be, malysh.”baby.”
Her fingers trail up the outside of Rose’s thigh—shaved smooth for tonight just like the rest of her and for once not going to waste on someone who won’t notice—before they hook over the side of her matching lace thong.
“Okay?” she asks. Rose nods.
The slim fabric slips easily off her legs and ankles, her shoes discarded somewhere on the floorboards over Svetlana’s shoulder. When she leans over her again it spreads Rose’s legs further, and she hisses in a breath at how suddenly the realization hits: she’s wet—enough that she can feel it on her thighs.
It makes her face burn, makes the heat sweeter and sharper in her stomach. Svetlana’s hand takes its time appreciating the smooth planes of her toned leg before it hovers at the apex of her hip, a crossroads.
“Are you gonna touch me?” Rose asks.
A smile presses to the side of her neck. “Do you want me to?”
“You know I do,” she groans. “Please. It’s been so long.”
“So long since what?” Svetlana asks. “Since you have been fucked properly?”
Rose huffs. “Well. Yeah. And you… seem like you know what you’re doing.”
“Tvoya bednaya pizda byla tak zabroshena,”Your poor cunt has been so neglected,” she murmurs, lips curving into a faux pout. “I am going to treat her very nicely.”
Her? Rose thinks. And—oh. Svetlana’s fingers slip between her thighs.
Both of them moan when her knuckles drag upward over the hot skin of her inner leg, ticklish and clinging to the stain of her excitement. Svetlana raises a brow and Rose nearly knocks their heads together with her nod, and then Svetlana’s hand delves, finally, fully in between her thighs.
Rose shudders, her own fingers digging into Svetlana’s arm as two of Svetlana’s press up against her clit, rolling in slow, indulgent circles. She dips down slightly, enough to wet them, and then slides them back up, slicker this time.
“Ukh ty,””Wow,” she murmurs against Rose’s cheek, pressing a kiss there. “Do you get this wet for the boys that buy you drinks?”
No, Rose thinks immediately, quicker than a reflex. No. She doesn’t.
“Fuck, Svetlana,” she says instead.
“Call me Sveta.”
Rose’s words get cut off with a gasp when one of her fingers slips down and curves inside, eyes rolling backward as her hips unstick from the leather to chase the feeling. She grips Svetlana—Sveta’s—wrist, desperate to keep it there, muscles clenching around her.
“Sveta.”
She kisses Rose hard but sweet, true to her word, until one becomes two. The heat in Rose’s stomach tightens, ebbs, simmers, rolling with the wave of Sveta’s digits as she works them in and out, coy and so fucking cool even in this; like every movement is saying come here with that sparkling smirk and dark, pretty eyes.
Her mouth falls to Rose’s throat when her head drops backwards, speechless, skin burning, hardly even managing a breath when long, elegant fingers reach places no one else’s—including her own—have ever managed to before.
“I think you are having too much fun,” Sveta decides with a grin, slipping out of her with a squeeze to her thigh.
Rose shivers and blinks dazedly up at the roof of the car as she catches her breath, chest heaving between them. “I thought that was sort of the point?”
“Ah, eventually yes,” Sveta allows. “But I want to taste you first.”
Fuck, Rose thinks.
“Fuck,” she says.
Sveta laughs then, full and bright, as she sits up. “This is only word you know now? Fuck?”
“Shut up,” Rose mutters. She pushes up on her elbows again, chasing the heat of her body as it goes.
“Is good word. I like it.” Sveta grabs her chin, brings her into a slow kiss. “I like this. You are having a good time?”
“So good,” Rose mumbles against her mouth.
Sveta smiles. “Good.”
She rises up on her knees then, patting the outside of Rose’s thigh to get her to scoot back. Rose slips her bra the rest of the way off and shifts to the edge of the seat on her own knees, watches Sveta shimmy back and down until she’s laying flat against the seat.
“Come here. Like this.” She holds out a hand for Rose, just enough space left on either side of Sveta’s slim shoulders for Rose’s folded knees to sit. When Rose hesitates, she grins encouragingly. “Will be easier to be close this way.”
Rose has never sat on someone’s face before, but she thinks she maybe manages to look somewhat sexy swinging a leg over Svetlana’s shoulders. Or she hopes so, at least.
“Um. Is this okay?” she asks, gingerly lowering some of her weight. “Please don’t let me suffocate you.”
“Vot eto ya ponimayu sposob umeret',”“What a way to go,” Svetlana sighs wistfully.
And then she wraps her arms around Rose’s thighs and drags her forward onto her face.
Rose jerks, grappling for things to hold onto as Sveta’s sculpted nose and soft lips move against her, her own nails digging into the headrest and slapping against the fogged up window. She’s vaguely aware that she’s making noise, something high pitched and helpless, something not at all like the manicured moans she’s used to having to remember to add in for morale.
Sveta is fucking good with her mouth. Rose has never been eaten out like this before—passionately, like she’s enjoying it, one of Sveta’s own moans muffled against hot, slick skin. When Rose can manage to shut her mouth and tilt her chin back down again, the contrast of Sveta’s golden skin and dark hair between her legs is dizzying.
“Can I—? Your hair?”
The dark pink curve of her mouth is glistening when she lifts her chin only enough to say, “Only if you are not soft.”
Rose’s fingers plunge down into her curls, and Sveta groans when her nails scratch against her scalp and pull. She gives the tiniest of movements with her hips against Sveta’s face, and when Sveta squeezes her thighs encouragingly, she does it again.
Her hands wander up Rose’s body, past the dress pooled around her waist and up to her chest. When her smooth palms are back on her breasts, Rose feels another flush of heat roll through her—something so much more delicious than shame.
She’s well known. Especially in the bigger cities. People had seen her inside the bar tonight. There’s proof on her socials. The only thing keeping her from a scandal—blurry pictures of herself half-naked, moaning, with a woman’s hand grabbing her breast—is one single, foggy pane of glass. And even that’s been compromised a little, Rose thinks, eyeing the clear outline of her own hand amongst the condensation.
She’s panting, more confident with each roll of her hips, each pinch of Sveta’s fingers against her nipples, the fingers that she reaches up to slip into Rose’s open mouth; the very same ones that’d been inside of her a few minutes ago, Rose realizes with a moan.
Rose grips the fabric of her dress and holds it up on her stomach so that she has all the view of Sveta she can get, and Sveta opens her mouth wider as if to show off. Her tongue is wicked, pointed as the rest of her striking features, flicking against Rose’s clit relentlessly before dipping low back into her cunt.
With a whine that comes out too quick to hold back, Rose uses her other hand to grab her own breast that Sveta doesn’t have hold of, a wrinkle in her brow as she tentatively rocks back and forth, finding a rhythm.
She glances down, only half aware, when Sveta pulls off again with a slick pop.
“You could have anyone you want in that bar and instead you’re here, in the back of my car, falling apart on my tongue,” she says breathlessly, turning to smear a kiss to the inside of Rose’s thigh. “You are such a surprise, zvezdochka.starlet. I would have thought you needed more.”
Rose swallows, voice already stripped to a rasp. “What can I say? I’m pretty low maintenance.”
Between her legs Sveta watches her, brazenly and visibly opening her mouth to lick a line up Rose’s cunt with her tongue. She hums. “You really are, aren’t you?”
Her hands fall to Rose’s hips as she leans up again, head tilted now for a better angle. She looks like she had when they’d been making out earlier, and the visual is so good that Rose trembles on top of her for a moment, fluttering on her tongue, drifting closer to the edge.
She has to press one palm against the roof of the car when Sveta takes full advantage of it, her cheeks dipping inwards as she draws Rose’s clit into her mouth and sucks. It’s the only thing that hasn’t been soft so far but it’s fucking perfect, and when her tongue flicks eagerly against it, Rose’s other hand drops down to tangle her fingers with Sveta’s on the outside of her thigh.
It’s easy to get lost in. Easier than Rose thought it would be. This isn’t a drunk makeout in the back hallway or the tantalizing thrill of toeing the line in front of a camera. This is sex, really, really good sex, sex that feels different from the kinds she’s had before. There’s no performance, no pretending, no buzzing outer layer covering her skin, reminding her to be aware even amidst the throes of—albeit pretty mediocre—pleasure.
Rose could fall apart completely right now, and for once, she’s not completely terrified at the thought of someone seeing her undone.
“You are close,” Sveta breathes hot against her, licking her lips. And then, as if reading Rose’s mind— “Do you want my fingers again?”
“Yes,” Rose gasps. “Yes, yes, Sveta, please—”
Rose sits up slightly on shaking legs enough for Sveta to slip a hand underneath her mouth, those two fingers curving deftly back inside of her as she leans up to seal her mouth to Rose’s clit again. And even still there’s no sudden change in movement, no switch flipped back to roughfasttoomuchnotenough, just steady, pulsing pressure against her sensitive nerves, pushing up on the spot inside of her that makes her stomach clench and her breath catch.
The pleasure swells and spreads, Rose’s noises rising in pitch as she twitches against Sveta’s mouth and fingers. Her other hand is still caught in Rose’s, sweat-sticky skin pressed together like an anchor.
“There!” she gasps on a particularly good thrust, and miraculously, Sveta does precisely as asked. The pressure stays steady, the rhythm consistent, but the butterflies in Rose’s stomach grow more and more restless, excited, eager for something rare and precious.
It might break her, she thinks.
She grabs Sveta’s hair again with her free hand and holds her there as her thighs start to shake. Whatever’s coming out of her mouth is surely mortifying at this point, Rose is pretty sure she whimpers in between echoes of Sveta’s name, but it feels too good to stifle any of it when she’s so close.
“Fuck. Fuck, Sveta, I—!” she manages narrowly before there are no more words at all, the world narrowing down to a fine, hazy point, her skin thrumming and the pleasure in her core bursting white hot at the seams.
I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to fake it, Rose thinks at the precipice.
And then she’s coming, hips rolling against Sveta’s face, hands gripping at everything within reach, body shaking with sensation as it zips through every nerve, every limb. Rose’s brow wrinkles, her mouth open around nothing, ears ringing as the aftershocks just seem to keep going and going with each press of Svetlana’s tongue, each gentle prod of her fingers.
She’s a mess by the end of it, sweating, trembling when she untangles her fingers from Sveta’s to press her palms to her own warm face. Sveta makes the dial of pleasure a seamless backslide as she slows to a stop, withdrawing her mouth and her fingers gently enough not to be jarring or abrupt.
It’s a team effort getting Rose’s legs to work again, lifting one off of her as Sveta shifts to the edge of the chairs, letting Rose fill up the space between her and the seats. Her cheek lands near Sveta’s collarbone, a bare thigh pressed to the denim of her jeans.
“Holy shit,” Rose sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard with another person in my entire life.”
Sveta laughs, the digits of her clean hand slipping through Rose’s hair, twisting it around her finger. “Women are beautiful, skilled things.”
“No kidding,” Rose laughs. She takes a moment to catch her breath, her own hand playing with the hem of Sveta’s shirt at her waist. “Hey, can I—?”
“Can you what?”
She makes a vague noise. “You know. Return the favor? You didn’t…”
When it stays quiet for a second, Rose tilts her face up to glance at her and finds one of Sveta’s brows raised.
“That would not be crossing some sort of line for you?”
Rose blinks. “You literally just ate me out.”
“Really. I had no idea,” Sveta rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. “Yes. I know. But when I am doing the work, it’s… easier for you to pretend, no?”
“Pretend what?” Rose frowns.
“That it could be anyone between your legs,” Sveta fills in, “making you come.”
Limbs beginning to feel a little less like water, Rose pushes up on an elbow and looks down at her. “I didn’t leave with anyone,” she says. “I want you.”
Whatever Sveta’s mouth does looks somewhat like pride. Rose bites her lip.
“Hollander had his hands full with you, I bet.”
Rose grins, private and a little mischievous. “I love Shane, but he couldn’t handle this handful.”
Sveta’s hands slip down, over the arch of Rose’s spine and down to her ass. When she rolls sideways further on top of Sveta, it presses their chests together. “Mm, no. He couldn’t. Could he?”
They meet in the middle for a kiss, the most earnest one of the night so far now that most of Rose’s usual defenses are down. Sveta presses up and Rose takes her lip in between her teeth, moaning against each other as she chases her back down again.
“Please, Sveta,” she begs. “Let me. I wanna make you feel good.”
Eyes flicking over Rose’s face for a moment, Sveta eventually nods. “Okay.”
The thrill of victory is sweet, but Rose realizes quickly that she doesn’t actually know what to do now. She’s never actually gotten this far with another girl before. Doesn’t think she’s as good with her mouth yet as Sveta is, doesn’t have any well of knowledge to pull from for this.
Well. Other than the vast receptacle of her internet history. But she doubts porn is a great starting point for beginners.
“Will you show me what you like?” she asks.
“Is just like what you probably do to yourself,” Sveta shrugs.
“Yeah, but I don’t—” Rose huffs, blows out a breath. “Okay. Maybe I’ve never done this part before. But I do want to! Really bad.”
If possible, Sveta’s eyebrows climb even higher.
”Oy?”“Oh?” she says. “Malen'kaya devstvennitsa vedot sebya kak shlyukha.”“Little virgin acts like a slut.”
Rose shudders, her eyes wide. “Was that something kinda mean?”
“Maybe.” Sveta grins.
Dropping her face into the side of Sveta’s neck, Rose groans. “Why is that hot?”
Tossing her head back with a laugh, Sveta pulls her in by the back of the neck and kisses her again.
“I will teach you,” she promises, knuckles moving across Rose’s cheek. “You tell me if you want to stop, yes?”
Rose nods. “Yes. Yeah. Promise.”
“Give me your hand.”
Without hesitation Rose hands it over, and Sveta promptly takes two fingers into her mouth. She sucks on them lewdly, moving her head up and down them like Rose thinks she might give head to a guy, until spit gathers at the corners of her mouth, stains the tops of Rose’s knuckles wet.
“You’re unreal,” Rose whispers, in awe.
Sveta cracks an eye open to wink at her, and then slips Rose’s fingers out and down her chin. She drags a kiss across Rose’s palm, and then moves their hands down her body, past the open button of her jeans and inside her underwear.
Rose gets hot again at the feeling of trimmed hair and then nothing but heat and wetness, suddenly feeling much more validated in her own excitement. Svetlana hisses in a breath as she directs Rose’s fingers down to her entrance and presses until they slip inside, and then she sighs, a sexy, satisfied little thing.
Once they’ve started a shallow rhythm, Sveta pulls her own hand away and lets Rose keep going, feeling things out. Her fingers slide up her body again, reaching for Rose’s face to bring their mouths back together.
Her tongue is hot against Rose’s, both of them unable to sit still as Rose gets used to the feeling of putting her fingers inside of someone else, half hyper aware of trying not to hurt her, half fascinated by the way Sveta’s body just seems to pull her in even deeper with every curious thrust.
“You like soft,” she says, rolling her hips up against Rose’s hand. “I like a little bit rough.”
Tentatively, Rose sinks her fingers in deeper, tries it a little faster. Svetlana sighs appreciatively, her legs opening as much as the denim will allow. She turns her head, murmurs something Rose can’t quite catch, and Rose takes the opportunity to put her lips against Sveta’s neck the way she’s been thinking of doing all night.
Sveta’s hips snap up when Rose’s teeth graze her pulse, and it makes Rose’s fingers slide in to the hilt.
“Ohuyet'. Roza,”“Fucking hell, Rose,” she moans, holding onto her wrist. “Yes. Like that.”
“You’re so fucking hot. Holy shit,” Rose murmurs as she watches Sveta’s body roll up to meet her, the tantalizing flex of her muscles. Her eyes lift to Sveta’s chest again, to the thin fabric of her shirt and the two fine points underneath. She looks at Sveta’s face. “Can I see them now? Please?”
Sveta lets go of her wrist to peel up the material, and two thin pieces of silver glisten in the darkness of the backseat. Rose’s mouth waters.
“Those are so hot,” she whines.
Sveta gives a breathless laugh. “I am glad you think so.”
“Are they sensitive?”
She hums. “Very. Is why I do not usually wear anything under shirts.” When Rose keeps staring, she adds, “You can put your mouth on them, yes? As long as you can—how you say, multi-task?”
She’s damn well going to try.
Her face dips to Sveta’s chest and Sveta pushes it up for her, hand back on Rose’s wrist to encourage her to keep going. The first touch of metal to her tongue is intoxicating, and Rose groans as she takes one of Sveta’s pretty, pierced, dark nipples wholly into her mouth and sucks.
Sveta curses in Russian above her, her hand tangling in Rose’s hair to hold her close. Rose tries to focus on both at the same time—tries to keep her fingers moving at the right pace and angle, tries to read Sveta’s body for the right cues, tries to flick her tongue against her nipple the same way that’d felt so good for Rose earlier too.
It’s a chaotic method, but Rose is good at those. Good at throwing herself into the deep end and dealing with the consequences later, good at feeling good, when she’s around the right people. She thinks Sveta is one of them.
“Another,” Sveta urges, squeezing her wrist. Rose pops off of her breast and licks her lips, glancing up at her.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” she nods, “and do not hold back. I will tell you if anything should be different.”
Carefully, Rose slows her fingers briefly and unfolds a third, working it in alongside the rest. Typically Rose is comfortable at just two but Sveta shudders at the stretch of a third, eyes closed and mouth slack as her body bears tight around Rose’s knuckles. It’s fucking surreal. Fuck whatever her next role is, she thinks as she watches Sveta’s face—this is much more worth documenting.
Don’t hold back, Rose repeats to herself. After a few easy pumps of her fingers she speeds up again, just the way she’d had the other two earlier. Sveta moans, knees bent and hips chasing, restless for more. Rose buries her grin in Sveta’s chest, her teeth clinking against the piercing as she takes it onto her tongue.
“I really wanna see you come,” she admits.
“Then don’t stop,” Sveta agrees.
She gets her wish a couple of minutes later with Rose’s fingers deep and curved inside of her, the tips of Sveta’s nails touching the inside of her hand while she rubs herself with one and grips Rose’s hair with the other, tugging Rose impatiently back up to her mouth as she gasps and shudders.
Holy shit, Rose thinks distantly. And then, impossibly, more.
But Sveta’s kisses grow lazy and slow afterward, the hand in Rose’s hair softening from pulling to petting as they catch their breath. Rose trails a couple of them down the side of her neck under the guise of letting her get in more air and hopes that Sveta isn’t the type to mind an post-orgasm cuddle as Rose leaves her face in the crook of her neck.
“Where the fuck was Shane hiding you?”
It wasn’t really supposed to be loud or coherent enough for her to hear, but Sveta laughs brightly, humming to herself as her nails drag up and down Rose’s back. It makes her shiver.
“Na samom vidu, tam, gde on pryachet vse ostal'noye,”“In plain sight, where he hides everything else,” Sveta snorts. When Rose pouts, she leans up to take it between her teeth. “So. Not bad for first time?”
Rose traces a fingertip across her collarbone. “I think maybe I need more first. You know. To be sure of anything.”
“Oh? You are greedy,” Sveta teases. “Maybe we go back inside, I can be wing-woman.”
“Or you could come back to mine,” she blurts, too scared to look at Sveta’s face when she says it. “You said, um. You were gonna take me home anyway. Maybe…?”
“Maybe…?” Sveta prompts.
“Maybe, if you don’t have anywhere to be, you could stay? It’s a nice hotel. The bedrooms overlook the city, and the kitchen’s really big, and there’s a jacuzzi tub.” And I’ve missed waking up next to someone, Rose doesn’t say. Please touch me and hold me and stay, just for a little while.
Sveta tugs at her hair again until she stops, and then they’re face to face, and the teasing smile is gone.
“I do not want you for your fancy hotel, Rose Landry.”
Which feels nice, and also, like— “You want me?”
She smiles, then reaches down to situate the strap of Rose’s dress back up onto her shoulder as she sits up. “Get in the front seat.”
“Where are we going?” Rose asks, even though she’s already climbing over the console.
Sveta bites the back of her thigh cheekily as she goes and follows her into the driver’s seat with a much more elegant twist of her limbs. The car starts, and a low thump of music floods the car.
“We are going to McDonald’s,” Sveta announces, putting a hand on the wheel, “and then we are going to your hotel.”
“And then what?” she can’t help pressing, clicking her seatbelt into place.
With a glance that looks vaguely reminiscent of duh, Sveta says, “And then I will fuck you.”
Rose orders a basket of fries and a cheeseburger. Sveta sucks the salt off her fingers in the entryway before taking her to bed.
.
.
.
You never texted last night, Ilya messages Svetlana the next day.
He is comfy and warm on the sofa with his feet tucked underneath Shane’s thigh, and while it isn’t uncommon for Sveta to get distracted and not text, Shane has been particularly careful with this favor in particular. He has threatened withholding sex—cruel and unusual punishment—for confirmation. Ilya is taking it very seriously.
Was busy, Sveta sends back. He rolls his eyes.
But package got home safely yes? Very important things depend on this.
It takes another few minutes for her response. Ilya wiggles his toes underneath Shane’s thigh just to earn the unimpressed glare that tilts his way after a few seconds, Shane’s fingers never once stopping on his keyboard as he answers emails. Ilya grins and thinks about the sweet constellation of freckles on his cheeks and also about defiling him. He loves when Shane wears his sexy little glasses.
Package delivered, Sveta says. Safe and sound and satisfied.
Ilya blinks at his screen, and then barks a laugh.
Shane gives him a wary look. “What is it?”
“Nothing, lyubimyy,”my love,” he says. “Your friend has been taken care of.”
“Why are you saying it like that,” he deadpans.
“Like what?” Ilya asks innocently. He types an incriminating string of emojis into the chat, and Sveta sends several laughing faces back.
“Ilya,” he begs, which is very unfair. “What did she say?”
Ilya sighs. “I am not jealous of Rose Landry anymore.”
He puts his phone down on his chest and taps his fingers along the back of it, biting back a smile as he watches the cogs in Shane’s head turn.
“Ilya,” he says when he starts to get it, pleading this time. But it is already too late. It is not Ilya’s fault Svetlana is very beautiful and convincing. “Ilya.”
He grins. “Happy ending for everyone, no?”
Shane only glares, but he is much more agreeable after Ilya sucks his cock. A happy ending indeed.