Chapter 87

Rosalie was having a crazy night.

Not in a bad way, necessarily. Just ... it was a lot.

For eighteen years, sex and romance had been nearly the last thing on her mind. She wasn’t wholly inexperienced, at least in the mechanical sense. She’d played with herself, both fingers and toys, which was more than many did—those with more puritanical values, who viewed sexuality in a sinful light. Rosalie’s family wasn’t prudish in that way, though, and her upbringing certainly hadn’t been, either. In fact, it had mortifyingly been Tanya herself, Rosalie’s primary weaponmaster, who had suggested the idea as ‘stress relief’.

So, not prudish, necessarily. But still inexperienced on a grander scale. She’d had more important things to focus on. Namely, stepping into the role of heiress to, arguably, the most influential guild in the world.

Going from that ... to this ... was a bit much.

‘This’. Fucking her girlfriend’s throat with her own cock. Having a cock, in the first place. Though in a roundabout way, shared with Zoey, who’d taken a thick load—Rosalie’s, but also her own—straight down her throat.

It was a lot.

In a good way. In an overwhelming way.

She was having a crazy night, okay?

One that just kept getting more intense.

Better intense?

Look. She didn’t know. It was a mess inside her head. Not bad. She could say that much, at least.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Zoey murmured into her ear.

Like usual, her girlfriend’s voice—girlfriend—whispered so close to her, hot breath caressing her, snaked down her spine, making her shiver. Zoey’s presence was intoxicating. It wasn’t even her looks—though she was, by far, the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen—but rather her. So ... caring. So unlike anyone else she’d met. Soft, sensitive, instantly understanding.

That was something Rosalie was unexperienced in. In her line of work, sensitivity was ground away, if it ever existed in the first place. It was a weakness best expelled. It had no place in the brutal labyrinths comprising the deepest reaches of the Fractures.

Which made Zoey’s affections, likely, something also worth expelling. But Rosalie had given up trying. Zoey was impossible to push away. She didn’t want to. And it shouldn’t matter what Rosalie wanted, but she ... was weak. Zoey made her weak. And she didn’t want that to stop.

“I owe her a favor,” Rosalie finally replied. She whispered the response. Zoey had cozied up to her, checking in on Rosalie before the main event of the night.

“But you’re fine with it,” Zoey insisted. Serious green eyes held her own. How were they so transfixing?

The words annoyed Rosalie. The way Zoey was treating her. Both of them, for that matter. Like she were delicate. Double and triple verifying each of their advances, ensuring Rosalie was ‘okay’ with everything. Even Delta, that endlessly annoying woman, had made it redundantly clear that Rosalie didn’t have to ‘pay out’ on the favor. Not explicitly, but with body language, careful glances and concerned looks.

When the two of them were being so obvious about this being Rosalie’s choice, how was she supposed to pretend? That she didn’t desperately want this?

How was she supposed to save face?

She guessed viewing it that way wasn’t fair. It wasn’t how this should work. She hardly had experience in relationships, but she was pretty sure they shouldn’t be founded on facades, like Rosalie so desperately wanted.

Still. So embarrassing.

“It’s my choice,” Rosalie said, finally. “I know that.” She refused to outright say she wanted to fuck her irritating orange-haired teammate. It was what Zoey would prefer—stating outright, explicit intent—but Rosalie would curl up and die if she had to. After so much rivalry? Rivalry that still existed. She and Delta were hardly lovers. She was just ... interested. In Delta’s body. Mostly because of Zoey’s interest. She wanted to indulge Zoey’s desires. That was what a girlfriend did.

Her own ... mild arousal ... was incidental.

Zoey held her eyes for a second longer, then smiled, satisfied. Rosalie blushed and looked away. She hated how easily Zoey read her.

Zoey kissed her on the cheek, then gave her one last encouraging smile. That done, she shuffled across the bed, crawling over Delta, who’d been lounging to the side, waiting for Zoey to ‘work Rosalie up to the event’. Not that Delta had framed it like that. Just, Rosalie knew what was happening. She wasn’t clueless.

Which left her sitting there, leaning against the headboards, watching her girlfriend lay herself out across another woman. The woman she’d be fucking shortly. With her girlfriend’s cock. Which was also her own.

What a night.

“She’s ready,” Zoey murmured to Delta, perched atop her. The orange-haired girl had a flush to her cheeks—an excited anticipation that was clear as day. “Are you?”

“Am I ready to get plowed by fourteen inches of girl cock?” Delta asked. “Hm. Let me think about it.”

Zoey laughed.

“But you have to kiss me first,” Delta said. “I’m hardly a romantic, but it feels wrong to fuck before we kiss.”

Zoey paused. They hadn’t, had they? They’d done all sorts of other things, but not kiss.

“Well, you never gave me that privilege,” Zoey said dryly. “If I’m remembering right, you fucked me with my own cock, no hesitations. No kissing.”