Free When All Else Fails by J. M. Dabney Page B

couch. Dragged down onto her lover’s lap, Eva straddled slender thighs.
    Andrea wrapped her fingers around the base of the seven-inch strap-on. A steely arm snaked around her and tugged her forward. “Ride it.”
    Her gaze locked on Andrea’s, she canted her hips. The fullness took her by surprise. It’d been a long time since she’d had anyone and anything inside her. She eased down with a shuddered breath. Without closing her eyes, she brought her mouth down on Andrea’s, kissing her slow and easy and lowering herself until her clit met cool leather. She raised her hands, wrapped her fingers over the back of the couch using her thighs to lift and thrust, rolling and grinding. Her breath shuddered out when she took the dildo completely.
    Andrea moaned, even whimpered, as Eva rubbed their bodies together. “Fuck, baby, that rubs the clit just right” Andrea hissed through clenched teeth. Her lover grasped her nape, holding tight, and slipped her fingers between them. “Ride it fast and hard. The harder you grind, the more it rubs my clit.”
    Eva memorized the passion on the flushed face—lips parted, panting—and did what she’d been asked. Riding the woman hard and fast, she bounced, circled her hips in wide, slow arcs, making Andrea shudder. She reveled in the fullness, the lightning-fast strokes of fingertips over her clit, and the sudden heat of Andrea’s mouth wrapped around her nipple.
    She threw her head back, her long hair teasing the indent at the small of her back. Her thighs trembled. Andrea whispered naughty things between sharp bites to her nipples. The end barreled toward her, the evidence in the contraction of her muscles and her once fluid movements turning jerky. Wrapping her arms around her woman, she held her tight to her breasts and slammed down, impaling herself one last time.
    A sharp cry, a heavy release of fluid between her thighs, and her pussy gripped the toy tight. Grinding upward, Andrea shuddered, shouting her name and holding her so tight, she could barely catch her breath. Andrea’s hand dipped beneath the base of the strap-on, rubbing her own clit until her pleasure eased. Andrea buried her face between Eva’s breasts. Together, they collapsed back on the couch, Eva’s pussy pulsing steadily, both their bodies drenched in sweat and lungs fighting for air, their hearts beating erratically.
    Words rushed forward, but froze on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t say it. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She swallowed the lump in her throat and relaxed fully against Andrea, savoring the stroke of slender fingers and the gentle brush of soft lips.

 
     
     
Chapter Twelve
     
     
    Shit . Andrea dragged herself from bed, dropped a kiss to Eva’s lower back, and chuckled to herself as she slid on the pajama bottoms she’d grabbed off the dresser. One weekend with Eva had turned her loft into a disaster area—clothes thrown everywhere, hanging from lampshades, and even a bra on the ceiling fan. How it’d gotten there, she had no clue. By Saturday night, they had stopped getting dressed. She could definitely get used to a naked Eva lounging around her place.
    First, she had to make her girl happy and wake her up with coffee, so she headed downstairs. Her woman’s pleasant personality didn’t exist in the morning without a pot of caffeine in her. It took a few minutes to get the pot brewed.
    A knock sounded at the door, and she sighed. Fuck . She grabbed the T-shirt draped over one of the kitchen chairs, pulled it over her head, and opened the door without checking the peephole—and instantly regretted it. Natalia stood on the porch, one slim hip cocked to the side and a come-and-get-it grin on her lips. The fashionable black trench coat encased her skinny frame, and Andrea had an idea as to what was—or more like wasn’t —under the coat.
    “Natalia, what are you doing here?” She decided to take the conversation to the hallway so they didn’t wake Eva, but her