Prompt: Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someone's lips.
Gail came awake with a gasp, the last images of the dream quickly fluttering away as she struggled to control her breathing.
It wasn't the first sex-dream she'd had, not by a long shot.
It wasn't the first time she'd woken, throbbing, her blood pulsing hot and heavy through her veins, her hand trapped under the waistband of her sodden panties.
Gail liked sex, she was good at it. She enjoyed the heat of the act, the sweat and the feel of another body close against her own. She liked the sensation of being stretched, and filled. Liked the way a good orgasm shot out from her center, like bolts of electricity, shocking her nerves all the way to her fingertips, her toes.
And when it had been too long in-between bouts, she was no stranger to taking care of herself. To releasing a little pent-up energy in the shower, or in bed when she was sure the guys were out or already asleep. She had no problem reaching into the bedside drawer for the bottle of lube she kept there, let her fingers do the walking. Or maybe even the vibrator she kept in there for the nights when she needed something more to push her over the edge.
But lately there had been no sex, not since the terrible night that ended her relationship with Nick. (And what sex there was that night definitely could have been better, that's for sure.) And after a string of long days and longer nights on-duty, Gail had been too tired to even think about trading sleep for an orgasm of any kind.
So it's not entirely a surprise that her brain took care of things for her.
She pulled her hand out from her underwear and lay it over her still trembling abdomen. No, it was no surprise that her brain had decided to treat her to what felt like the best orgasm she'd had in a long time.
The surprise had been in the who her unconscious mind had conjured up to tango with.
Most of the dream has disappeared from her consciousness already, but what Gail can remember are soft brown eyes, dark rimmed glasses, and a pair of dusky-rose colored lips.
Those soft, sweet lips had traveled her body with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Had lingered over every spot that curled her toes, every little secret place that Gail had. The patch of skin behind her earlobe, the underside of her breast, her nipples, her belly-button, the soft pillow of flesh right above her center.
Those lips had mapped her body like they were conquering a new world.
Then finally, finally they'd settled into the hot triangle at the apex of Gail's legs. And ever so delicately, they'd taken her clit in-between them, letting a tongue tease ever-so gently at the tip. And there they'd stayed, whispering their desire against her soaked flesh, pulling wants and needs out of Gail that she'd never known she was harboring.
Until, with a gasp, she woke.
She woke with the image of those lips, those eyes, still burned into her memory. Holly's face burned into her memory.
Thinking about it, about the dream, about Holly, Gail could feel the heat begin to grow again, could feel the want and the wet pool deep inside her body.
But she rolled over instead, pushing the desire to start again away.
Holly was her friend, maybe her closest friend. And while it was one thing to dream, it was something else entirely to cross that line deliberately.
One thing was sure though.
Gail certainly had a lot to think about.
Starting with the lips.
