Natasha's shoulders are strong and she keeps her thrusts short and sharp, with a twist as she pushes back inside. Natasha's strong enough, and Sawyer's boneless enough, that Natasha's thrusts are shunting Sawyer up the bed. It's making an obscene sucking sound. In an attempt to take some of the power back, Sawyer props her foot up on the bed and uses the leverage to pound herself back on Natasha just as forcefully.
While she drives her hips down on to Natasha's fist she brings her other hand to her clit and rubs roughly. It isn't quite the warm water immersion sensation of her first orgasm, but Natasha gives her one more hard thrust which pushes her over the edge again with a shriek.
"You done?"
Sawyer nods, and there's a tugging pain as Natasha pulls her fist out. It's at this point that she normally worries that she's ruptured something and she's going to die, but Mikaela has reassured her that it's almost impossible. She giggles at the thought of what Mikaela and Kimberly would get engraved on her headstone if she ever did die of fisting. Natasha's giggling too, for reasons Sawyer can only guess at.
Natasha lies flat on her back next to Sawyer, and takes her hand. Natasha's whole hand is still covered in a fine film of wetness. Sawyer moves her fingers around to check how far down Natasha's wrist it goes. It's further down than Sawyer would have guessed, and she feels smug at how deep she can take it.
"I feel like I'm high," gasps Sawyer.
"Me too," Natasha says, and then she grips the back of Sawyer's head and pulls it down to her pussy.
Natasha's so wet and swollen that Sawyer doesn't need to do much, just let Natasha fuck her face. She's delicious. Sawyer's eyeing up Natasha's long, brown nipples and digging her fingers into Natasha's thighs. Sawyer likes the way that Natasha cradles the back of Sawyer's head with her two hands interlocked, tensing her abs as she moves her hips in short strokes against Sawyer's face. Natasha comes quickly with just one yell, squeezing her thighs around Sawyer's face reflexively.
Sawyer gathers Natasha up and hauls her on to her chest. Sawyer usually likes being tucked under the arm of her lovers, she can pretend she's small and delicate that way. But she likes the feeling of Natasha gasping into her neck, of their sweaty boobs pressed tightly together. She shuffles down to grab Natasha's ass. It's sweaty too but it's firm and round under Sawyer's hand.
Sawyer starts, "You know I like to be direct. And despite my work and your poor housekeeping skills, I think we're a good fit. And -"
Natasha laughs, "Next time you're getting me off first so I don't have to listen to this shit when I'm coming down." Sawyer slaps her shoulder lightly and then closes her eyes instead. They can talk about it in the morning.
Sawyer waddles to the bathroom for a pee. Mikaela had drummed into her that she must always do this, or risk cystitis. She gets back into bed and rubs her cold ass on Natasha until she spoons Sawyer.
Sawyer isn't stupid. She knows that Natasha is hiding something. There are things she doesn't want to tell Sawyer yet. But she knows in her bones that Natasha is fundamentally good. She thinks it's unlikely that she has a secret spouse or owes money to the mob. It's enough for her for now, and she falls asleep with Natasha's bony knees pressed into her thighs.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
✤✤✤
Sawyer wakes up. For the first time, she doesn’t mind waking up in Boston. In the four months since her relationship ended and she made plans to leave Chicago, Sawyer had thought every day about the different beds she could have woken up in, and wondered if she had made the right decision.
There was New York. She’d almost signed on a six month lease in a shared house in Tribeca. She only had two connections in New York but she thought maybe it was worth taking her chances. She imagined herself in sundresses on sticky summer afternoons, strolling through Central Park and Greenwich Village.
Then there was Brookfield. Her old college had invited her to be a professor on their technical theatre and stage management course. It had a retirement fund and a healthcare package. Sawyer did the sums and she could have bought herself a home in the suburbs with a very generous deposit. But she couldn’t face going back to Brookfield without her college friends, and didn’t trust that her family wouldn’t take it as encouragement to contact her.
California had been her other option. She’d always dreamt of the sun on her skin and long nights on the beach with a camp fire. She wasn’t going to chance LA. In college she had completed a module on electronics so she was able to use and fix their lighting equipment. Maybe she’d leave the theatre and start doing electrics for little old ladies. She’d buy a house somewhere quaint like Solvang or Ferndale, and get her own van.
She couldn't really remember why she'd gone for Boston in the end. A Director she had worked with a lot had been offered a whole season of directing at the Boston Contemporary, and she'd invited Sawyer to come along. She knew almost nothing about Boston, only that it was smaller than Chicago and very old. If she's honest with herself, it's taken longer than she expected to settle in.
