The Mask Crumbles.
Monica leans in, and brushes the tip of her nose over very warm skin. She closes her eyes, and breaths deep before letting her mouth settle in a lip parted kiss just below Tracy's navel. She is intoxicated with the softness, and scent of this steely woman before her.
Monica drew her tongue slowly from the top of Tracy's panty line to her belly button, before following its slight dip inside.
Tracy's eyes are half lidded, and heavy. She glances down herself, and is just beautifully riveted at how Monica looks as she licks and kisses her stomach.
Of all the men Tracy has had, some out of need, some out of amusement, nothing has ever felt like this. And it's only begun.
Monica's hands close in a tight, kneading fashion on Tracy's ass, pulling her forward and almost off balance, and then moving to her sides. She traces down the outside of firm thighs, loving how she makes Tracy shudder. Her mouth doesn't quit its decadent exploration, the give of skin on the top of her hip, to the harness of her lower ribs.
Tracy sinks her fingers into golden locks, and closes her eyes. She lets herself enjoy this. She thinks to herself that this is how canvas must feel when a brush and paint are applied with a devoted promise of creating art. She also resigns to herself that whatever she gets from Monica, she is bound and determined to return it 10 fold. Her robe slips absently off one shoulder, and this causes Monica to look up again.
She really takes in this image. Tracy, swaying, eyes closed, bare shoulder, nipples erect, skin glistening with anticipatory dew. She blazed this picture into her mind, as she brings one hand brutally slow around from behind, across the top of one thigh, to the inside of the opposite. She feels the muscle in Tracy's leg ripple, her breath catch, and her nails graze Monica's scalp in a sonata of touch.
Bringing her hand upward, then down, trickling her fingertips behind Tracy's knee, results in a sensual snicker, at its erotic, yet ticklish sensation. She heads upwards again. Going as far as she can, before Tracy has to open her legs wider, to allow the path to continue that last inch or so, Monica stops just at the most crucial spot.
Curving her hand back between trembling thighs, and then forward again not quite touching the apex, she can still feel Tracy is scalding, and damp. Her other hand is now slipping the side of her thong down her hip.
One more pass, and she draws the side of her hand, up tight to her. Tracy inhales hard; with a surprised, delicious sound. Monica's head swims. She is staggered at how soft, swollen, and wet Tracy is. The heat coming from her sex was intense. She recalls herself feeling this way, as she fantasized about moments just like this.
She leans in after looking up once more. Tracy's head was back, and her skin was ruddy with desire. She kisses just above her hairline, as she pulls one side of panties down, continuing to run her hand against Tracy. Forward barely brushing, and pulling back, nestled deeper, tighter parting her labia, with the top of index finger, stopping at the crook where her thumb meets, with more pressure against silk that is increasingly wet. She moves her hand away for just a moment, and that locks Tracy up ridged.
"Monica' if you stop now, I'll kill you where you sit. I swear on my life, there will be no forgiveness" Tracy states', trying to not sound like a plea, in-between broken groans, and staggered breath.
"No, no, not a chance Tracy. This is just rather limiting, the couch, like we are." She tries to reassure her, placing her hands back on bare hips." There is nothing about this I am taking lightly Tracy, nothing"
"Monica, I am not fooling around here…" Tracy continues, not realizing the desperate undertone to her cracking voice.
Monica has stripped this creature down further then possibly anyone. Monica's wonders if Tracy has a clue what a heady, nerve wracking, privilege she is achingly aware that it is. In spite of all the bickering, cruel remarks, and rounds they have ever gone, and will surely go through forever, Monica never has, and never will see Tracy as weak or this as a casual fling. If anything she will always see her from here on as more layered, more beautiful, more human.
She begins to stand, hands gliding up her back, laying kisses up Tracy's sweltering body as she goes. She hesitates at pert breasts, and draws Tracy's nipple into her mouth, sliding her hand, palm up between Tracy's legs once more before coming up face to face. Tracy feels utterly faint.
"Can we please take this out of the den?" Monica asks against Tracy's mouth, "there is so much I want to do to you, and I do not want to do it here"
Tracy has never let herself crash like this. Not with anyone. Maybe deep down, she couldn't allow that with anyone not close to being an equal in stature, articulation, and standing. Of all past lovers, she gave them each a piece here and there, and that was simply because there were other motivations. She had faked orgasms, whispered lies. She had sex for revenge and redemption, money and power. But this, this with Monica had no agenda's behind it. No side tracks, no strategy to be played out. This was the most honest encounter she may have ever had.
They kiss again, Tracy brings her hands up to Monica's face.
"Follow me" she says, and takes Monica's hand, and leads her through the French doors, across the courtyard, to the guest house.