For what feels like the millionth time, Kara's eyes search the packed ballroom, straining to find Lena and her black dress amongst the sea of dignitaries and big wigs in tailored tuxedos and ball gowns fit for royalty. She's fidgety, impatient, and just as she begins to move through the crowd to continue her search, her target emerges from the ladies restroom on the far side of the hall, looking flushed.
Looking…smug?
Lena spots her, and they move through the crowd until they reach one another. It takes a beat before Kara catches a familiar scent, heady, musky.
Her mouth goes dry.
Lena, who has been watching for her reaction, leans close into Kara's space, a hand ghosting Kara's bicep, the downy hairs on her cheek tickling deliciously against Kara's rapidly reddening ones. As the deep cut of her evening gown pulls Kara's attention, Lena husks into her ear, "I've been thinking about you all night."
And with that, Lena is gone, already being greeted warmly by the Governor-elect and his wife several feet away, her polished laughter sparkling brightly. Kara, dumbstruck, feels heat pool low in her belly, and it's a moment before she can collect herself enough to move.
What is going on?
She should have known something was different tonight. When they were getting ready for the gala, Lena was cagey in a way she never is—not anymore, at least. Everything was…off. Her answers felt forced as if she'd been holding something back.
With Lena again making her rounds through the room, Kara returns to the food table, loading an impossibly tiny plate with hors d'oeuvres and popping a mini quiche or two into her mouth as a snack. Nothing like food to distract her from the smell of Lena clinging to her nostrils.
Her phone buzzes once in the pocket of her suit jacket, and in an impressive display of agility, she manages to extract it and unlock it without dropping her plate. Feeling smug, she opens the waiting text and promptly chokes on her quiche.
It's a photo. Manicured fingernails, blood red, are splayed out across a breast, the expensive black fabric pulled down just enough to show a hint of a dusky pink nipple and black lace, the red and the black a startling contrast to the expanse of alabaster skin on display.
Despite her near-death experience, despite the volume of the crowded ballroom tonight, a million conversations assaulting her senses at once, Kara hears her above all else. Lena laughs. And Kara, eyes watering, still quietly coughing, opens the text again. If this is how she dies, then at least she will be looking at heaven while she does. The heat that bloomed minutes ago becomes a blaze, fire tickling her veins.
When she finds Lena again, she's busy conversing with a group of US Congressmen. Pride blooms fierce and warm in her chest when she sees Lena like this, getting the praise and recognition she so rightly deserves.
Lena must have sensed her. She lifts her eyes and, after a moment of searching, finds Kara in the crowd before pulling out her phone.
It's a moment's work, that's all, before Kara's phone dings once. Twice. Lena is looking at her, her cheeks pink, her lips parted—she's watching Kara in anticipation.
Hurriedly, Kara opens her messages, her hands beginning to shake.
Lena: I'm afraid I've ruined these…
There's another image, again showing Lena's hand, two lithe fingers extended, dangling a very familiar lace g-string, the one Lena prefers to wear to avoid panty lines beneath her exquisite dresses—the one she was wearing tonight. The pads of her extended fingertips glisten in the low light, and Kara goes weak at the sight, licking her lips unconsciously, her body ready to taste, to devour. Blood thrums in her ears, her pulse quickening, and there's an echoing throb in her clit.
God, she must look wrecked—her face on fire, her breath ragged. When she lifts her eyes, Lena is watching her, enjoying the game, seeing how far she can push, how much she can tease. With a deadly smile, Lena puts her cherry red lips together to form a kiss, her eyes dark, challenging. Then she turns right back into the conversation with the congressional delegation as if she hadn't just sent Kara the single-most erotic text she'd ever seen.
Lena's display of total control pushes Kara over the edge, and the sticky-hot moisture gathering between her legs has her shifting uncomfortably where she stands. Body afire, Kara retreats to the terrace outside, her mind spinning, her hands clenching and unclenching, her body needing to hold, to touch, to grab, to possess.
She needs Lena above her, watching, waiting, while she burns a path up her thighs with her lips. She needs Lena, back arched, hands scratching long lines in Kara's scalp while she drinks ambrosia straight from her goddess.
When her phone buzzes again, signaling a new text, a whimper escapes her lips.
This one is different. The location isn't the same as the first two, which she figures were probably taken in the ladies' room here at the gala. No, this one was taken at their apartment earlier tonight. It's Lena, bare before the full-length mirror in their bedroom, bent at the waist, her ass fully visible in reflection. The long legs, the fuck me heels, it's enough to make Kara's knees buckle. Something shiny catches her eye, and zooming in, she spies it. Nestled there in the center is a silver plug, the blue and red Supergirl emblem emblazoned across its face.
Oh fu-
The screen goes black as the phone shatters in her hand, her control gone in an instant.
A voice sounds from behind her, deep and sultry.
"Why is foreplay with you always so expensive?"
Kara moves fast. Too fast. It's a risk she shouldn't be taking in such a public venue, but at the moment she has one thought and one thought only. Before Lena can even register the movement, Kara is positioned behind her, her muscular body blocking Lena from the prying eyes of any guests inside.
In an instant, Kara's hands are gripping Lena's waist possessively, holding Lena's back flush against her front, allowing herself the indulgence of a slow, torturous grind into Lena's ass - something, anything to relieve the building pressure, to sate the need for contact. With a certainty bred of familiarity, Kara moves her hands downward, applying pressure to Lena's clit through the material of her dress, and she's rewarded when Lena pushes back, grinding into Kara of her own volition, searching for pressure in the right places, causing the plug to shift ever so slightly.
They both moan at the contact.
"God, I can smell you," Kara husks. "I can practically taste you, Lena."
She swallows before running her tongue along the shell of Lena's ear, nipping at the lobe.
"The thought of you—so full right now." There's a quiver in her voice, and she slowly begins to grind into Lena once more. "Let me take-"
But before she can finish her thought, Lena turns in her arms, her eyes obsidian, a predatory smile taking hold.
With a shake of the head, she whispers, "Another hour to go, my love."
A whine escapes Kara's lips, but Lena cuts her off with a stern look.
"Patience will be generously rewarded, darling."
She strokes Kara's face, her perfect fingers lingering near Kara's parted lips until Kara obeys, sucking one after the other into her mouth, moaning around their size, moaning at the taste of Lena's arousal still lingering on them.
Lena says nothing. She doesn't have to. The hooded eyes, the way she eagerly watches her fingers slide into Kara's waiting mouth, Kara knows she's pleased.
She knows she's done well.
With a final smoldering look, Lena strolls back into the crowded ballroom, the sound of her heels ricocheting like cannon fire in the quiet of the terrace, each click-click-click eliciting an echoing throb from Kara's dripping pussy.
Lena leaves her standing alone on the terrace, wanting and waiting, eager for her reward.