Opening the drawer, she ran her fingers across the neatly folded, luxuriously soft selection of lace underwear that lay in front of her. So many different colours, so many different patterns, but all of them the same delicate, gossamer fabric that Emily loved to rip from her body.
Before Emily Fields, Paige had been a strictly boxers and briefs kind of girl, a sports bra aficionado, a fan of the 'throw it on without a second's thought' school of style. Since Emily Fields… since Emily Fields. Paige's world was in constant, delightful, chaotic disarray since Emily Fields, or rather because of Emily Fields. Her stomach flipped at the mere mention of her name, butterflies running riot across twitching abdomen muscles that spasmed in anticipation of touch. She felt as is she were floating at least two inches off the ground whenever she held the other girl's hand, as if the colours were brighter, the sounds more intense, the world dialed up that little bit extra because of Emily Fields. She was, she knew, completely head over heels for the exotic beauty.
Yet it was more than that. This wasn't the kind of pure, innocent, radiating love that Paige had at first reckoned on, the kind she'd read about in stories and watched on film. There was a darker side to Emily, a depth that she'd been scared of at first, unwilling to take hold of the outstretched arm that tempted her so. Emily liked to do things with a hint of danger, liked to take risks. Straight up sex didn't seem enough for her. Paige would have been happy to just keep things in the bedroom, keep them simple; just having Emily in her hands, against her body, inside her sex was all that she needed. But Emily, Emily wanted more, wanted to walk some sort of sexual tightrope and take Paige with her. And what could Paige do? Maybe she protested, a little, at first, tried to make Emily see just how uncomfortable she was. But if Emily wanted something, Paige would do it, and Emily knew that, she knew who was in control.
At first it had been little things, just small things to see how far she could push Paige. The change in underwear, for one. Emily loved to see her in little lacey numbers, expensive pieces that showed off Paige's flawless body, negligee that clung to her curves, delicate baby doll tops that fluttered gently over her taut, flat stomach, each piece exquisitely paper thin and begging for Emily's mouth to rip it from her skin. Emily's eyes would thicken with desire on sight, a predatory glimmer shining deep within them, one that made Paige willingly throw her own limits on the bonfire of Emily's lust.
After the underwear it had been the sex games. She'd never pinned Emily as such a dark horse, or herself as such a willing, eager, bound participant. Yet when Emily sat straddled above her, her sex just inches from Paige's lips, her eyes haughty and demanding, her entire demeanour dominant, Paige came undone, to the unhidden delight of her lover. She may have been the follower in this relationship, she may have found herself the submissive in most situations, but relinquishing control for such a prize as Emily Fields was becoming less and less of an issue. The girl drove her to the edge of insanity, dissolved her morals, blurred the line between right and wrong, black and white. She had been addicted since the first kiss and like any addict, she was falling deeper and deeper, heading into dangerous, uncharted waters where she couldn't see the bottom, couldn't edge towards safety. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, was a small voice, a quiet but insistent warning, a niggle that she couldn't shake. But with each passing day, week, month, with each kiss, each fuck, each embrace, each thrilling touch, she piled her growing emotions on top of it until it was muffled, barely audible, hardly there.
She pulled her focus back to the task at hand, picking out a new set she'd bought that weekend, a daring, racy number that was as far away from what she'd usually choose as possible. She stepped into it, clipping the tiered bra behind her back, pulling the barely-there sheer fabric over the tight curve of her ass, taking a long look in the mirror at the woman staring back at her. A stranger, perhaps, someone she didn't quite recognize, someone taking more and more steps down a dangerous path, blindly following the outstretched hand that beckoned her with intoxicating promises. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing, maybe she should pull back, wise up, erect those boundaries around her heart once more. But she knew even as the thought crossed her mind that it was far, far too late for that. She was in way over her head and the only one that could possibly save her from drowning, was the one that was pulling her beneath the surface in the first place.