***
“Your breathing is rapid. Do we need to stop?”
“Georgia…”
Keliah’s breath hitches as Georgia bites the waistline of her underwear with her teeth and drags her poor excuse of panties down to her ankles. Her eyes roll up to meet Keliah’s. They were closed. Squinted. Her knuckles turn white as she clenches the marble counter for support. The bowl of cocoa had been knocked over, there were crushed tea bags sprinkled everywhere and Georgia was pretty sure some form of glass, (her guess was the milk) had fell and cracked when she abruptly pushed Keliah onto the countertop. The thoughtful pause in Georgia’s oral torture made Keliah whine something that almost sounded like Georgia’s name, harsh in a low, raspy voice. Georgia grinned and continued. Keliah finally opened her eyes to look down at Georgia who flashed a sloe-eyed look up at her. Georgia replaced her mouth with her left hand before standing up to lock eyes with Keliah. Keliah bites her lip and presses her thighs together to stop her legs from quivering. She cries in pure ecstasy and Georgia can’t turn away.
“Good morning.”
Keliah smirked into Georgia’s forearm.
“Morning.”
“Hungry?”
Keliah could barely open her eyes, so she slightly brushed her forehead up against Georgia’s arm to show she was nodding. Georgia smiled before pulling herself from Keliah’s grip and carefully walking to the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and traced the kitchen floor for shards of glass. The milk had partially dried while some was still wet, soaked with the cocoa. Georgia tied her hair into a bun before kneeling down with her dustpan and sweeping. The kitchen was a mess but somehow it only caused Georgia’s smile to expand. Her eyes traced the kitchen back and forth remembering what she did to Keliah to cause each and every shatter of glass. Keliah soon interrupted her salacious thoughts when she entered into the kitchen. Georgia’s sweatpants hung loosely off of her hips covering her bare feet and a purple Husky sweatshirt that ran past her fingertips.
“Careful!”
Georgia yelled. Keliah’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, I’m up. Thanks.”
“Sorry,”
Georgia spoke, her tone a little less alarming.
“there’s glass on the floor.”
“Oh.”
Keliah walked to the living room and sat with her legs folded. She closed her eyes and her mind immediately thought of last night. Keliah smirked to herself before turning around to look at Georgia. She could see faint scratches on her neck and she was positive there were some on her back as well. Keliah blushed and reminded herself to ask Georgia for nail clippers later. For now she would take in the sight of her lover. The way her bun sat messily on the top of her head with most of the hair falling out. How her jaws were set even harder than normal because she knew Keliah was watching and Keliah loved every second of it. Georgia finally rose to her feet and dumped the pieces of glass in the trash can.
“Is it safe to enter, my Lord?”
Georgia brushed a strand of hair out of her face and smirked.
“Yes.”
Georgia dusted her hands of any remains before turning to the kitchen sink and washing her hands. Keliah sat on one of the bar stools and spun herself around.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“I’m thinking French Toast. And some hot cocoa…if there’s, you know, some left.”
Georgia flashed a white grin down at Keliah before closing the small gap between them. Keliah's breath hitched once again at the close proximity.
“French toast? Seriously.”
“Are you not hungry?"
Keliah stuttered, forcing herself to look Georgia in the eyes.
Georgia looked up at Keliah, batting her eyelashes as she intertwined her hands with Keliah’s.
“I am. Just not for food.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Meredith took an early flight back out to Alameda County a few days shy of winter break ending. Her red wrangler sat in the almost vacant parking lot of the campus apartment. She swung her keys around her left index finger as she walked up to the third floor to grab her belongings. The apartment looked untouched, almost exactly the way she left it before she flew to Jersey for the holidays. There was no sign of Keliah- -or Georgia for that matter, so Meredith figured they were still rustling through the sheets in Canada. She stuffed some overly sized shirts, shorts, and sweats in her backpack, some food for the drive and her auxiliary cord before heading down I-580 towards San Clemente. The roughly seven-hour drive consisted of the sounds of electronic chillwave music playing softly in and out of the windows and the occasional flap of her doughnut tire that
