Tags: Power Imbalance, Strap on, Degradation, Praise, Pet Names, Clitoral Simulation, Hair Pulling, No Feelings, Reader is a toy to Maya, No Kissing, Just Sex, All Consensual
You have been running around all day making sure every single task Maya placed in front of you was complete.
You picked up her dry cleaning, scheduled all of her appointments including nails, waxing, hair, and called her personal shopper to make sure she got all of this seasonâs hottest pieces.
You even dumped her last fuck buddy, and that took almost an hour out of your day when you had to make sure she didnât have a heart attack over the phone.
Honestly, you canât really blame the girl. Maya was incredible. I mean sure she can be an absolute tyrant and a total bitch, but she was so hot it almost didnât matter.
Itâs now 2pm and you finally have a break to go eat lunch when your phone buzzes in your hand. You look down to see Mayaâs name and three messages come through in succession.
Oh, you are so fucked. You quickly swipe open your phone and the messages quickly reveal just how pissed she really is.
This is un-fucking-believable.
Get in here, now.
HURRY UP.
You donât think youâve ever run faster in your entire life than in that moment when you sprint to her office. She doesnât miss a beat when you arrive.
âMatt is such a fucking moron. I swear itâs like heâs trying to make my fucking job harder.â
You feel the breath you were holding finally release just a bit because you realize this has nothing to do with you. But, if it has nothing to do with you, why did she call you in here?
âI mean I deadass do all this fucking work trying to make sure Griffin is happy and doesnât toss Mattâs ass out. Iâm making sure this fuck ass labubu movie doesnât tank miserably, which honestly at this point it should. All of that and the only thing Matt fucking cares about is whether heâs gonna get oscar buzz for a movie about a plastic fucking demon doll!â She rants and her voice gets rougher the longer she goes on.
Maya sweeps her arm roughly across her desk tossing everything to the floor. Heat begins to dip low between your thighs. God, sheâs so hot when sheâs mad. No! Focus! Why did she call you in here again?
She turns to you. Her gaze is hungry. Starved.
Youâve seen her stressed. Youâve seen her pissed. Youâve never seen her look at you like this, and it sends a chill down your spine.
âHere. Now.â She calls you over and your feet move almost of their own accord. You find yourself standing looking up at her eyes. Theyâre usually a delicious mix of green and blue, but now, all you see is darkness. All you see is heat.
âMaya, what do you need?â You look at her with uncertainty. You know all you want is for her to devour you whole, but she canât possibly want that⊠can she?
âIâm going to be completely fucking honest here. I need calm down. The quickest way for me to do that right now is to fuck someone, and my options right now are you and the front desk girl downstairs. Now, I donât really want to go down there and get her. Plus, sheâs too needy anyway. So, if you say yes, thatâs all it is. We fuck. The end.â
The way she says it sounds so nonchalant. It sounds like sheâs debating between items on a menu. âSo, whatâs your choice?â
âM-my choice? Maya, are you serious?â
âYou know what? I donât have time for this. You go get the front desk girl for me then. If she gets all clingy, youâre dealing with her.â The irritation in her tone bites, but her words hit you quickly.
âNo, no, wait! I want to!â Your words spill out of you before you can even process what youâre saying.
She slowly snakes her way around your body and her warm breath hits your ear as she gets close behind you, not touching you just yet. âAre you sure? You donât look sure.â
âIâm sure.â Now you sound like youâre the most confident youâve ever been about anything in your entire life.
She looks you up and down as she circles back to face you. That hint of irritation lingers, though itâs slowly fading when she begins to speak.
âAlright then, rules first.â She pushes her glasses up to the top of her head, moving her long tresses out of her face. She purses her lips and you can see the hollows of her cheeks. She looks even more delicious than she usually does.
âThis isnât a relationship and itâs not going to be. I donât do that mushy lovey dovey bullshit. I have needs, and you can satisfy them. Itâs strictly an agreement between two people who can both get what they want.â
The confusion is written all over your face and of course she sees, but how could she know what you want? Youâve been so careful to make sure you donât show too much emotion and let her know you want her. Youâve been professional andâ
Her words slice right through your train of thought.
âDonât think I didnât notice you drooling over me every time I walked into the room, sweetheart. Iâm more perceptive than you think. Thatâs why I make this studio so much fucking money. I know how to read people. I know what they want, sometimes even before they do. And you? You want me.â
Youâre too stunned to speak so all you can do is nod your head meeting her gaze with parted lips. You feel her grip your chin before she swipes her thumb across your lower lip.
âHm, softâŠâ Maya says almost like she meant to think it and not say it out loud.
âSo, are you in or are you out?â she asks as if this decision doesnât change everything.
She steps closer until sheâs pressed right against your front before she leans her face in close. Her breath hits your lips. âAnd donât forget what I said. This is strictly business.â
âYes, Iâm in. I want to.â
âNow listen, sweetheart. If you ever want to stop, all you have to do is say so. Okay? What do you say if you want me to stop?â
âI-I donât know⊠uhm..â You hesitate. This is all going so unbelievably fast itâs almost hard to think straight.
âListen, Iâm not your mommy and Iâm not gonna hold your fucking hand through all of this. If youâre nervous and youâre not sure then just say so now.â Her irritation is still boiling just below the surface.
Your mind goes blank and all you can think of is Matt Remick saying âthe silver screenâ fifteen times this morning.
âSilver.â
âYou say silver and everything stops. Understand?â
âI understand.â
âGood. Now, put your hands on the desk, and donât look up.â
Your hands find the cold hard desk to brace you for whatever sheâll do next. You hear snaps and clips, and your curiosity gets the best of you. You look up and what you see practically causes your knees to buckle under you.
That harness she was wearing over her top? Itâs functional. Itâs now clipped to a harness sheâs slipped over her now bare thighs.
The smirk on her face says it all. Maya walks around the desk and stands behind you. She presses herself flush against you, and the hard length of her cock rubs against your ass causing your breath to catch.
Before you can say another word, she grips the waistband of your pants and yanks them down. Hard.
âFuck meâŠâ She sighs before gripping your ass, eliciting a gasp from you. You can almost feel her eyes trailing down your body like a physical caress.
âOh fuck, baby. Your ass is perfect. You should really stop hiding it under those baggy ass dress pants.â
She slides her thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and drags them down just enough to see all of you. Maya presses the sharp tip of her perfectly manicured nail into your back forcing you further down over her desk.
âYouâre already so wet for me and I havenât even touched you yet, pathetic.â You can already see her degrading smirk in your mind. Itâs the one youâve seen time and time again, only now itâs different. It makes the heat between your thighs almost unbearable.
The desperation builds in your chest. Youâre filled with the need to be taken by her⊠to be used by her.
âMaya, please.â Your cheeks grow hot just hearing how needy you sound.
âShhhâŠâ She mockingly coos as she slides the tip of her strap along your wet folds causing you to gasp softly and making your knees buckle under you. You quickly bring your hand to your mouth to quiet yourself before she reaches around, grabs your hand, and slams it down on the desk beneath hers.
âDid I say you could move?â She grits out.
âMaya, someone is going to hear me!â You try to whisper, but the feel of her sliding her tip once again through your slick makes it hard to keep your voice down.
âIâve had so many meltdowns in here that the studio paid to soundproof my office. Now, no covering your mouth. I want to hear you keep making those pretty sounds for me, doll.â Her voice grows husky.
Thatâs when you feel her slide the tip of her length into you. It glides in with an almost embarrassing ease from how wet you are for her. With no warning she thrusts in deeper, pulling a moan from deep in your chest.
âYes, fuck. Keep moaning for me, angel, just like that.â She practically moans herself.
She grabs your hips and slowly starts thrusting in and out of you. Her nails dig into your skin as she fucks into you harder and harder with each punishing thrust. Pain mixing with pleasure.
You canât help the needy whine that comes from you as she bucks her hips against your ass. Itâs everything youâve been wanting. You turn your head to look at her, but she grabs your hair and forces your head back.
âAh! Maya.â Your moan mixing with the sting of her grip.
âEyes up, sweetheart.â She continues holding your head back before letting go and grabbing both of your hips.
âMaya! Oh⊠fuck â,â you moan as she starts to thrust harder and faster. You clench around her as she pushes into you.
âFuck, you take me so well, doll,â she sighs breathlessly.
She fills you completely. Her grip on your hips is like a vice. She thrusts into you like you personally fucked up her day.
If you knew this is what she needed to relieve her stress, you wouldâve pissed her off purposely more often. She lets all of her frustration out into you, and you let her. She needs you right now just as much as you need her.
She reaches around and starts to circle your clit while she thrusts into you. The sensations cause your legs to tremble. Itâs too much, but also everything you need. Itâs pushing you closer and closer to the brink.
âM-Maya⊠fuck! Iâm so close!â You whine desperate for her to give you what you need.
Her nails dig into your hip as she steadies herself with one hand and thrusts into you mercilessly while swirling tight circles on your clit.
âCome for me. Come on.â she growls. Itâs not a plea. Itâs a command. Her fingers speed up as she thrusts into you feverishly, like her only goal is to break you.
And she does.
Your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of pleasure through your body as you tremble beneath her. She coaxes you through every aftershock savoring the way she thoroughly ruined you, until she slowly pulls out of you.
Your slick drips down between your thighs, ruining the underwear she only pulled halfway down your thighs.
âGood fucking girl, doll.â She breathes out into your ear.
You feel so empty but so full all at once. You know for you this canât be a one time thing. When you turn to look at her, you know itâs not for her either.
The way she looks at you now? Itâs a look youâd give anything to see over and over.
âShit. Youâre definitely better than the front desk girl.â She smirks as she eyes you like she looks at her million dollar contracts. You can see it in how her eyes rake over you. Youâre something she wants more of.
5 Tiny Writing Tips That Arenât Talked About Enough (but work for me)
These are some lowkey underrated tips Iâve seen floating around writing communities â the kind that donât get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.
1. Put âhe/she/theyâ at the start of the sentence less often.
Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of
âShe walked to the window,â
try
âThe window creaked open under her touch.â
Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.
2. Donât describe everything â describe what matters.
Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2â3 objects that say something.
âA half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the tableâ
sets a way stronger tone than
âThere was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.â
3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.
Instead of:
"I'm fine," she said.
Try:
"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.
It helps shows emotion, and movement.
4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.
No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird â future you will thank you for at least something to edit.
5. When stuck, ask: âWhatâs the most fun thing that could happen next?â
Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesnât have to stay â but chasing excitement can blast through writerâs block and give you ideas you actually want to write.
Whatâs a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! đ
when work is stressful beyond a reasonable level and life is stressful and traumatic and your heart starts having issues and life is just generally shit. this is toooooo much for one person
I am the anon that requested the AgathaxReader age gap fic where Agatha is friends with R's mother. I saw you replied that you are actually writing it. I just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to do that. I am really excited to read what you create of this idea and I am so glad you liked it! Take care âșïž
Here you go, sweetie.
Learning: Valentineâs Day (Part 1)
Pairing: Agatha x Reader
Tags: Age Gap. Wanting. Agnst. Grinding. First time. Learning. Smut coming soon. MDNI.
The fire was low, but it cast enough light to make everything feel softer than it should.
Pink and red tissue paper still littered the coffee table from earlier â your momâs half-joking âanti-Valentineâsâ gift exchange. A heart-shaped box of chocolates sat open between you, most of them already eaten. A half-melted candle that smelled faintly of roses and something sweeter burned near the mantle, casting flickering shadows that felt almost indulgent.
Agatha sat across from you, legs stretched out under a throw blanket, one arm resting along the back of the couch, the other holding the last of the wine. The glow from the fire caught the edge of her collarbone where her shirt had slipped slightly off her shoulder, warm skin against soft light.
It felt too intimate for February. Too intimate for a joke holiday your mom had laughed off before heading home early with a headache.
âYouâve gotten taller,â she said after a sip, her tone casual but edged with something that wasnât.
You huffed a laugh. âThat happens, yâknow. When people grow up.â
âIâm aware.â She smiled â crooked, knowing. âBut still. Last I saw you, you were wearing Doc Martens three sizes too big and scribbling in gel pen about how excited you were to live in a dorm room.â Her gaze lingered a fraction too long. âAnd now⊠youâre dating.â
Your stomach twisted, heat rising that had nothing to do with the fire. âSo Mom told you.â
âShe tells me everything,â Agatha said lightly, tipping her glass toward you in mock salute. âSheâs thrilled. Said youâre glowing.â
You looked down at the heart-shaped chocolate box, tracing the edge of it with your finger. âI donât know about that. Itâs new. Iâm still figuring it out.â
Agatha didnât press. She never did. She just let the silence stretch, comfortable and dangerous all at once.
Outside, someoneâs Valentineâs playlist drifted faintly through the walls â slow, syrupy love songs. The absurdity of it made you want to laugh. Instead, you swallowed.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the candlelight. Maybe it was the way Valentineâs Day made everything feel like a confession waiting to happen.
Or maybe it was just her.
âIâve never⊠done anything with a girl before,â you said softly, eyes fixed on the fire. âNot really. Not like that.â
Agatha didnât move. But you felt her attention shift â like the entire room leaned toward you.
âSheâs more experienced,â you rushed on. âAnd I just donât want to be bad at it. Or disappointing. I keep thinking sheâll realize I donât know what Iâm doing andââ
âHey.â Her voice cut in, gentle but firm. âSlow down.â
You blinked, realizing you were spiraling.
Agatha set her glass down and leaned forward. The firelight caught in her eyes, sharpening them, making her look younger â or maybe just more dangerous.
âItâs not about performance,â she said quietly. âItâs about connection. Curiosity. Listening.â
âEasy for you to say,â you muttered, embarrassed, tracing the rim of your wine glass. âYouâve probably made women fall apart just by breathing near them.â
Agatha laughed â really laughed â her head tipping back slightly. The sound was warm and unguarded, and something low in your stomach tightened painfully at the sight of her throat exposed like that.
âOh, sweetheart,â she said, brushing her hair back behind her ear. âConfidence is mostly smoke and mirrors. I spent years thinking I had to be impressive. That I had to know everything. Anticipate everything.â Her mouth curved. âThatâs not nearly as effective as it sounds.â
You studied her, the candlelight catching the sharp line of her jaw. âSo you werenât always⊠good?â
Her eyebrow lifted. âDefine good.â
You flushed. âYou know what I mean.â
She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees now. Closer. The space between you shrank without either of you acknowledging it.
âIt took me a long time,â she said more quietly, âto stop treating sex like a test I had to pass. Especially with women. Thereâs this⊠pressure. To prove something. To be the one in control. To be worth wanting.â
The word wanting hung between you.
Outside, someone laughed in the distance. A car door slammed. The world kept moving, but in here, everything felt suspended.
You hesitated, heart beating harder than it should. âHow did you learn?â
Agatha tilted her head, studying you â not amused now. Not teasing. Assessing. âExperience,â she said slowly. âMistakes. Paying attention to the way someone breathes when you touch them. The way their shoulders relax. The way their hands grip you when something feels right.â Her voice dipped slightly. âPatience.â
Your pulse jumped at the detail.
âAnd if someone,â you began, your voice thinner than you intended, âwanted to understand⊠not just the theory of it, but how to make someone feel safe and wanted andââ You swallowed, forcing yourself to finish. âGood.â
Her gaze didnât waver.
Not even a flicker.
The candle between you guttered, wax spilling slowly down the side.
âAnd this someone,â she asked softly, âis asking for general advice?â
You held her eyes. âMaybe.â
The air shifted.
Not dramatically. Not violently.
Just enough.
Agatha leaned back slightly, but her gaze stayed locked on yours, steady and searching â like she was trying to decide whether she was about to step off a ledge.
âIâd say,â she murmured at last, her voice lower now, almost thoughtful, âstart by learning what your own touch feels like when you mean it. No rush. No performance. Just pressure. Intention.â Her eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. âMost people rush the part where theyâre supposed to feel.â
Your throat felt dry. âAnd if they donât know what that feels like?â you asked.
Agathaâs jaw tightened â almost imperceptibly. âThen they find someone they trust,â she said. âSomeone who wonât let them rush.â
The silence that followed wasnât comfortable anymore.
It was charged.
The kind of silence that belongs to Valentineâs Day confessions and mistakes youâll remember forever. And somewhere, quietly and without warning, you realized this conversation had stopped being hypothetical.
Your breath hitched. It was subtle. Barely there. But she heard it.
Her eyes flicked down to your mouth, then to the shallow rise and fall of your chest. She didnât say anything right away.
Instead, she leaned back slowly into the couch, lifting her wine glass with deliberate calm. Her gaze never left you as she took a slow, measured sip â the movement unhurried, almost thoughtful.
You swallowed.
The silence stretched, thick and deliberate now.
She watched you over the rim of her glass, eyes darkened not by wine, but by realization. By something settling into place. âYouâre holding your breath,â she said softly, after a moment.
âAm not,â you answered too quickly.
Her mouth curved faintly. âYou are.â Another slow sip. âYour shoulders tense when you lie.â
Heat flooded your face.
The fire popped quietly in the hearth. The Valentineâs candle flickered, sending shifting shadows across her collarbone â the same collarbone you were trying very hard not to stare at.
Agatha set her glass down carefully on the table. âIs this really about her?â she asked.
The question landed heavier than it should have.
You opened your mouth â and closed it again.
Her gaze softened, but it didnât retreat. âBecause if it is,â she continued gently, âyou donât need to impress anyone. Not like that. The right person wonât need you to perform. â
Your pulse thundered in your ears. âAnd if itâs not?â you asked.
Agatha held your eyes.
The world outside felt impossibly far away. âThen we should probably stop pretending,â she said quietly.
Your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure she could hear it. âPretending what?â you asked, though your voice came out thinner than you meant it to.
Agatha didnât answer right away. She leaned forward instead, elbows resting on her knees again â closer now. Close enough that the warmth from the fire and the warmth from her felt indistinguishable. âYou tell me,â she murmured.
Your throat felt dry. The room felt smaller. âThis isnât just about⊠advice,â she continued. âYou didnât look at me like that when you were eighteen. Or twenty.â A pause. âYou didnât breathe like that.â
Heat climbed up your neck. âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you tried.
Her mouth twitched. Not amused. Not quite.
The candle flickered again, the scent of rose and sugar hanging thick in the air. Somewhere down the street, someone cheered â probably another Valentineâs toast, another predictable confession wrapped in pink ribbon and expectation.
But this didnât feel sweet.
It felt inevitable.
âYouâve been staring at my mouth for the last two hours,â Agatha said softly.
Your eyes snapped up to hers.
She held you there. âAnd every time I say something that lands,â she went on, her voice lowering just slightly, âyour breath catches.â
Your chest tightened again â damn her for noticing.
She watched it happen. Slowly, deliberately, she reached for her glass again â not to drink this time, but to set it farther away on the table. Clearing the space. Removing the last casual prop between you.
âI need you to be honest with me,â she said.
Your heart thudded hard.
âIs this about wanting to learn,â she asked, her voice barely above a whisper now, âor is this about wanting me?â
The question landed heavily between you.
Valentineâs Day.
Confessions.
No more pretending.
You could lie.
You could laugh it off.
You could blame the wine, the firelight, the holiday.
Instead, you said, very quietlyâ
âItâs about you.â
Something shifted in her expression. Not triumph. Not shock.
Recognition.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before lifting again. âThatâs not a small thing to say,â she murmured.
âI know.â
âYou understand what that means.â
Your breath faltered again.
She saw it.
Agatha leaned closer â not touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of her skin, the faint brush of her knee against yours where the space had narrowed without either of you moving.
âAnd if I told you,â she said, voice steady but threaded with something deeper, âthat Iâve noticed you too?â
Your stomach flipped.
âNoticed what?â you asked.
âThe way you look at me when you think I donât see it,â she replied. âThe way youâve looked at me for a long time. Since you came back your freshman year for Christmas break.â
Your pulse stuttered.
âI neverââ
âYou didnât have to say it,â she said softly.
Silence.
Thick.
Charged.
Dangerous.
âI donât blur lines lightly.â
Your heart dropped slightly â but you didnât move away.
âAnd yet,â you said quietly, âyou didnât stop me.â
Her jaw tightened.
âNo,â she admitted.
The word felt heavier than any touch could have.
The fire popped again.
âYou need to understand something,â she said. âIf we take a single step past this conversation, thereâs no pretending it didnât happen. No Valentineâs wine excuse. No harmless flirting.â
You swallowed. âIâm not pretending,â you said.
Her gaze searched your face for doubt. For hesitation. For anything she could use to pull back. She didnât find it.
And that was the most dangerous part. Slowly â deliberately â her hand lifted from her knee and hovered in the space between you.
Not touching. Just there. âIf I touch you,â she said quietly, âyou donât get to say it was curiosity.â
Your breath came shallow. âI wonât,â you whispered.
The air between you felt electric now. Her hand hovered between you. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of it. Then she pulled it back. Not away from you.
Just⊠back.
Agatha stood slowly, and for a split second your stomach dropped â thinking she was going to end it. Laugh it off. Blame the wine. Tell you to go asleep.
Instead, she paced a few quiet steps away, dragging a hand through her hair.
She glanced toward the front door. Toward the hallway. Toward the quiet, empty house. The fire cracked softly. The Valentineâs candle guttered low, wax pooling at its base.
âYou realize,â she said, not looking at you yet, âthis is my home. My safe space.â
The words werenât harsh. They werenât accusing. They were grounding.
You swallowed. âI know.â
She let out a slow breath and walked toward the front door â not hurried â just steady. She checked the deadbolt with her fingertips, not because she thought someone would burst in, but because she needed to feel something solid.
The lock was firm. The world was outside. This moment was inside. She stood there for another beat, shoulders rising and falling once.
Then she turned.
When she looked at you this time, the softness was gone. Not replaced with cruelty. Replaced with decision.
âYour mom wonât be back tonight,â she said quietly.
âNope.â
âAnd if we cross this line,â she continued, stepping toward you again, âit wonât be because itâs Valentineâs Day. It wonât be because youâre curious. It wonât be because I lost my head.â
She stopped in front of you.
Close enough that you could feel her breath. âIt will be because I chose it.â
Your heart slammed in your chest. âIâm choosing it too,â you said.
That did something to her. Her jaw tightened. Her hand lifted again â this time not hovering â but brushing lightly against your wrist.
A spark.
She held your gaze for a long moment. Something in her eyes flickered â not caution, not hesitation.
Resolve.
She didnât pull away.
Instead, Agatha crossed the small space between you on the couch â slow, sure steps, like she was approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. She sat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her thigh through her jeans.
She noticed.
Her hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek before cupping the side of your face. Then her thumb stroked once along your jaw â a question, an answer, a decision.
And then she kissed you.
Slow at first, deep and deliberate, the kind of kiss meant to anchor rather than devour. Her lips parted against yours, warm and sure, and the soft sound that escaped you made her inhale sharply, her breath catching in her chest.
Her hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she drew you closer â but there was hesitation buried in the movement, a carefulness that didnât match the reputation youâd built for her in your head.
Her fingertips trembled. Just barely.
Enough for you to feel it. Enough for her to realize you felt it.
She huffed out the faintest, shaky breath â not frustration, not reluctance.
Nerves.
Real nerves.
You werenât the only one undone by this.
Her lips parted against yours again, the kiss deepening not because she took control, but because she let herself sink into it. You felt the moment she stopped thinking â the subtle shift, the soft sound in her throat, the way her hand tightened ever so slightly in your hair like she needed something solid to hold onto.
You made a small, involuntary noise â a soft gasp, almost a whimper â and her breath stuttered against your mouth.
She tasted like wine and warmth and something sweeter underneath.
Like the moment before a secret breaks the air.
Her other hand skimmed your shoulder, slow, unsteady, as if she was discovering the edges of you with every inch. She wasnât rushing. She wasnât performing. She wasnât guiding you like someone whoâd done this a hundred times.
She was learning you.
And you were learning her.
The room narrowed to heat and breath and the give of her lips against yours. The fire crackled somewhere behind you. The Valentineâs candle guttered low, the scent of rose and sugar drifting faintly through the air.
But you couldnât focus on any of it.
Just her. Just the soft brush of her nose against yours as she adjusted the angle of the kiss. Just the way her chest pressed to yours when she leaned in a little more. Just the way her exhale hitched every time your lips met again, deeper, hungrier, like she couldnât believe she was allowed to have this.
She pulled back half an inch â not far â her breath mingling with yours. Her eyes searched your face.
Not for permission.
For confirmation.
For reality. âYou okay?â she murmured, her voice softer than youâd ever heard it.
You nodded, but she didnât move until you whispered, âYes.â
Only then did she brush her thumb across your cheek, slow and reverent, as if grounding herself in the fact that you were here, wanting her. Only then did her mouth find yours again â slower now, deeper, a kiss that wasnât about seduction at all.
A kiss that said:
This is new for me too.
Iâm not sure how to do this slowly.
But I want you enough to try.
Her breath trembled the next time your lips met. And something in youâsomething instinctive, something deeper than thoughtâpulled you forward.
At first you only shifted closer, knees brushing hers, the couch dipping beneath the shared weight. But the kiss deepened again, soft but growing warmer, and the tentative touch of her fingers in your hair became a firmer curl, guiding you in.
You felt her other hand slip to your waist, steadying you.
The pull was subtle.
Gentle.
Almost unconscious.
You moved.
You didnât even think about it, didnât decideâyour body just followed the gravity of hers. The warmth. The wanting. The safety. You swung one leg over to straddle her thigh, settling carefully onto her lap.
Agatha inhaled sharply against your mouth. Her hands frozeânot pushing you away, not pulling you closerâjust stunned, holding still like the moment had turned molten around her.
You felt the rise and fall of her chest beneath you. So fast now. So unguarded.
âOkay?â you whispered, lips still brushing hers.
It took her a heartbeat to answer.
Two.
Then her hands slidâslowly, reverentlyâto your hips, fingers curling there like she wasnât sure she was allowed to hold you, but she couldnât stop herself either. âYeah,â she breathed. Her voice was lower than before. A little unsteady. A little awed.
You settled fully onto her, the warmth of her beneath you sending a rush up your spine. The contact pulled a soft, surprised sound from your throat.
Agathaâs eyes fluttered shut for a momentâjust a momentâas if grounding herself against the intensity of feeling you there. Her thumbs stroked slow arcs along your hips, hesitant but unbearably tender.
You cupped her face in your hands, brushing your forehead against hers. âI can move,â you whispered.
Her grip flexed instinctively, holding you closer. âNo,â she whispered quicklyâbreath catching, voice deepening. âDonât. Stay.â
Her eyes opened again, and whatever was held behind themâwant, nerves, relief, recognitionâwas enough to make your chest ache.
So you stayed.
Straddling her lap.
Her hands holding your hips.
Her breath mingling with yours.
Her lips brushing yours again, slower this time, sweeter, as if savoring the closeness sheâd never expected to have.
The kiss deepened, just a little.
Her hands slid a little further around your waist.
You shifted a little closer.
Agathaâs breath hitched â a soft, startled sound she swallowed against your mouth, like she hadnât expected you to fit against her so naturally. Her fingers flexed at your hips, not pulling you in, not guiding â just holding, steady and warm.
Your thighs tightened around hers, and you felt her exhale shakily into the kiss, her lips parting as if instinct led her forward before reason could catch up.
She broke the kiss for only a heartbeat, her nose brushing yours as she breathed you in â warm, unsteady, reverent. âGod,â she murmured, almost to herself, âyou feelâŠ.â
âTell me?â you whispered, your hands resting lightly on her shoulders, thumbs brushing the soft line of her collarbone.
Her eyes flicked down to where your bodies touched, your hips nestled against hers, legs framing her. She swallowed. âSoft,â she said quietly. âWarmer. I canât think straight.â
You felt something flutter in your chest â nerves and want tangled together.
She looked up again, meeting your gaze with an honesty that almost made you tremble. âAre you okay?â she asked softly.
You nodded, breath catching. âMore than okay.â
Her hands slid up your back this time, slow and tentative, fingers tracing the shape of your spine as if she were learning you by touch alone. When her palms settled between your shoulder blades, she pulled you gently back into the kiss â not urgent, not hungry, just deeper. More sure.
Your fingers tightened in her hair, and she let out a quiet sound that vibrated against your mouth â part surprise, part want, part undoing.
One of her hands drifted down again, fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt. Not lifting it yet. Just exploring, testing, breathing through the ache of wanting more.
âYou can tell me if something feels too fast,â she murmured, the words soft against your lips.
âI will,â you whispered. âBut this⊠feels right.â
Agatha exhaled shakily, relief and desire mixing in the same breath. Her hands settled on your waist again, guiding you â not down, not forward â just closer, as if anchoring you was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
You shifted in her lap again, instinctive and seeking, thighs tightening around hers. The smallest press of your body drew a sharp inhale from Agatha â not uncertainty, but awareness. Desire, controlled but unmistakably present.
âCareful,â she murmured, her voice low, her breath brushing your lips. âYou donât know what youâre doing to me right now.â
Her hands slid up your back under your shirt â slow, deliberate, steady. Not trembling. Not hesitant.
Guiding.
Her palms warmed your skin, fingers tracing the shape of your spine like she was cataloging your reactions, testing the way your breath stuttered at the light drag of her nails.
âThis,â she said softly, brushing her mouth along your jaw, âis what I meant earlier. Feeling instead of performing.â Her hands smoothed along your ribs, gentle but sure. âLet your body answer, not your head.â
Your breath hitched â loud in the quiet room.
She heard it.
She felt it.
Her thumbs stroked slow arcs along your waist, giving you the space to move how you wanted to. The space to come closer. To learn through closeness rather than technique.
You leaned in without thinking, your chest pressing to hers, your hands sliding up her shoulders, curling into the fabric of her shirt. Your lips found hers again â and she met the kiss with calm, devastating control, deepening it only when your breath begged for it.
She kissed you like someone who had done this before â hundreds of times â
but never with you.
One of her hands drifted down from your ribs to your waist, settling there, guiding your hips in a slow, steady press against her thigh.
You made a sound â something small, startled, needy â and Agatha swallowed it with a soft, approving hum.
âThatâs it,â she whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. âGood girl.â
Heat shot through you, your breath catching so sharply that she smiled against your cheek.
âFeel,â she murmured, her lips ghosting your skin, âIâll take care of the rest.â
Her hands tightened gently on your waist, guiding a slow grind, letting your body learn what felt good, what felt right, what felt yours.
Your breath hitched again â louder this time â and she smiled against your mouth, not smug, not teasing, but pleased. Encouraged. Like sheâd been waiting for the moment your body started speaking on its own.
Your fingers tightened in her hair, dragging her mouth back to yours. The kiss deepened â warm, consuming, a little messy. Your body fit against her perfectly, like gravity had been pulling you toward this for years.
Agatha kissed you through every tremor of your breath, every press of your hips, every soft, almost-embarrassed sound that escaped you.
And thenâ
Something shifted.
You adjusted your hips just slightly â trying instinctively to follow the rhythm she set â and suddenly the pressure changed. Intensified. Hit a place you hadnât known was waiting.
A sharp sound fell from your throat.
You froze.
Then moved again â just a little â testing it.
It was⊠different.
More.
Deeper.
Immediate.
Your whole body shivered.
Agatha felt the change instantly. Her inhale dragged slow and deliberate through her nose, her hands flexing on your waist as if resisting the urge to take over completely.
âThere,â she murmured softly, lips brushing your cheek. âYou feel that?â
You nodded â or tried to. It came out as more of a breathless little shake, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as the new sensation pulsed through you again.
âIââ Your voice caught, surprised and overwhelmed. âI didnât know it could feel like this.â
Agathaâs hands slid up your spine, soothing, steady, grounding. âOf course you didnât,â she whispered. âYouâre learning.â
You moved again â carefully this time â and the feeling returned, sharp and sweet, heat blooming right through your center. You gasped, your fingers clutching at her shoulders, your thighs tightening around her as your hips rolled once more.
âThere you go,â she breathed, her thumb stroking the curve of your waist. âAnother one. Let your body follow it.â
You did.
Tentative at first, then more sure as the rhythm found you â a slow grind forward, a subtle shift of angle, your breath stuttering every time the pressure landed just right.
Agatha kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the hinge where your pulse was racing. Your thighs trembled around hers, your breath coming in soft, broken pulls as you chased the new sensation, each movement sending you closer, deeper.
You lifted your head again, eyes half-lidded, lips parted â wanting her kiss, wanting her voice, wanting the guidance she held so easily in her hands.
She looked at you. And the look on her face â steady, intent, hungry but controlled â made warmth surge through you so fast you nearly lost the rhythm.
âAgathaâŠâ you whispered.
âYes,â she murmured, guiding your hips just slightly again. âRight there. Keep going.â
You rolled your hips forward one more time â
and the feeling lit up again, bright and electric and new in a way that made your breath break open.
You gasped against her mouth, the sound dissolving into a small, shaking moan.
âGood,â she whispered. âNow youâre starting to understand.â
Your breath fractured at the words. Your hips kept moving â slow, exploratory, hungry â each roll sending that new bright pressure spiraling through your center.
But Agatha wanted you closer.
Her hands slid from your waist to your lower back, pulling you forward until your chest pressed fully against hers. The contact made you gasp â heat blooming across your skin where your bodies met.
âThatâs it,â she murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. âCome closer. Let yourself lean into it.â
You did â your arms winding around her shoulders, pulling yourself fully into her lap, anchoring yourself in the steady warmth of her body. The shift in weight changed the pressure again â deeper, sharper â and you moaned into her mouth, unable to stop it.
She swallowed the sound with a soft, approving noise of her own.
Her hands moved under your shirt again â higher this time, warm palms gliding along the curve of your spine, exploring slowly, deliberately, learning what made your breath catch and what made your hips stutter.
When her fingertips brushed the sides of your ribs, you gasped â a sharp, involuntary sound you tried to muffle against her neck.
Agatha heard it anyway. Her exhale dragged hot across your cheek. âThere it is,â she murmured. âAnother new one.â
Your thighs trembled around hers, your whole body flushing with a mix of surprise and want.
She guided your hips again â just a subtle shift, her thumbs pressing into your waist in a way that angled you closer, deeper, more deliberately against her thigh. The sensation hit you hard, stealing your breath. âGood girl,â she whispered, the praise low, warm, devastating.
Your eyes fluttered shut.
Her mouth found your jaw, then your throat, then the edge of your collarbone â slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your body tighten in places you didnât know could react so strongly.
Your hips rolled again â more certain, more needy.
You couldnât help it.
âAgathaââ you breathed, voice trembling.
She hummed softly against your skin. âIt's all right. Thatâs your body answering me.â Her hands slid higher under your shirt, one tracing up your spine, the other splaying across your ribs like she was supporting, grounding, holding you through it.
Then her thumb brushed lower, skimming the sensitive place at the bottom of your sternum, and the sensation shot through you so sharply that you jerked in her lap.
You gasped â a soft, trembling sound that echoed in her ear.
âThere,â she murmured. âThat one surprised you.â Her hands slid down to your waist again, guiding your hips in another slow press against her thigh.
The pressure made your breath catch, your fingers curl in her hair.
âPay attention to this,â she whispered.
Her lips grazed your ear.
âHow your stomach pulls tight. How your thighs shake. Thatâs your body telling you what feels good.â
You whimpered as the pressure built again, your hips moving with more confidence now, instinct taking over where thought used to be.
Her hands tightened on your waist â not stopping you.
Supporting you. Encouraging you. âGood,â she breathed. âJust like that. Let yourself feel it. Donât rush.â
Her mouth found yours again â deep, steady, guiding â as your body moved against hers, learning sensation after sensation, each one brighter and hotter than the last.
She kissed you through every gasp, every tremor, every new discovery.
And then, with your breath trembling against her lips, with your hands clutching her shoulders and your hips rocking in a rhythm you didnât know you could followâ
âTell me. Does this feel good?â she whispered. Her lips hovered over yours, close enough for her breath to ghost your mouth, not close enough to kiss unless you leaned in first.
Your hips rolled forward instinctively, the pressure building, heightening, cresting â and it hit you again, that place youâd just discovered, that electric, startling wave of sensation.
This time it was stronger. This time your body couldnât hide it. A deep, broken moan tore out of you â unplanned, unguarded, undeniable. Your mouth fell open against hers, breath shuddering out in a way you couldnât control, your forehead pressing to her cheek as you gasped for air you suddenly couldnât find.
Agatha stilled beneath you â not pulling back, not tightening her hold â just feeling you, absorbing the sound like it did something to her. Her hands tightened slightly on your waist, anchoring you, her own breath catching at the rawness of your reaction.
âThatââ you tried, voice shaking, fingers digging into her shoulders, ââthere.â
You moved again, without meaning to, chasing that feeling, that spark, that more your body had been searching for without knowing its name. A second moan slipped out â softer, breathier, almost disbelieving. Your thighs trembled around hers.
Her hands slid up your back, drawing you closer, her thumbs brushing soothing lines into your skin even as her thigh stayed firm beneath yours, perfectly placed, perfectly supportive.
You lifted your head again, eyes half-lidded, desperate for her mouth but stunned by the intensity of what you felt.
âI wantââ you whispered, voice breaking.
Her gaze locked on yours.
Warm.
Steady.
Knowing.
âWhat do you want?â she asked softly. âTell me.â
Your hips answered before your words did â pressing down, slowly, needfully, with a longing so new your voice cracked around it.
âMore,â you breathed. âI want⊠more.â
Agatha exhaled sharply â the sound warm and wrecked against your lips.
Her hands tightened slightly on your waist, anchoring you, her own breath catching at the rawness of your reaction.
Agatha kissed you again â slow, deep, a pull of her lips against yours that made your whole body lean into her without thought. Your hands slid into her hair, gripping softly, and she exhaled into your mouth, a low sound of approval.
Her hands moved with new confidence now â one sliding up your back beneath your shirt, the other smoothing around your waist, holding you steady as she guided the roll of your hips with a subtle, deliberate pressure.
âFollow my hands,â she whispered against your lips.
You did.
Your hips moved with hers â slow, steady, controlled â and the sensation that bloomed through you was different this time.
Stronger.
More direct.
More yours.
A quiet, trembling sound escaped you. âThatâs it,â she murmured, her thumb brushing your side.
Your breath hitched again, and your hips rocked forward with more intention. The contact sent another wave of heat spiraling through you, making your thighs tremble around hers.
Agatha felt the shiver â her breath caught, her fingers tightening just slightly. âGood,â she breathed. âLook at you learning.â
Your shirt lifted higher as her hands slid further up your back, her palms warm and sure as they explored new places with gentle pressure â the dip of your spine, the sensitive space just beneath your shoulder blades. Each touch sent a little shock through you, your breath growing more unsteady.
When her fingers brushed the sides of your ribs again, you gasped â not softly this time, but a sharp, startled sound that made her mouth pause against your throat.
She smiled against your skin â soft, warm, knowing. âYou have no idea how sweet you sound,â she murmured, kissing the spot again just to feel you twitch.
You clutched her shoulders, your forehead dropping to hers, breath shaking. âAgathaââ
âKeep going,â she whispered.
You did â but now the rhythm had changed. Your hips moved more deliberately, your body learning the angle, the pressure, the pull of her hands guiding you subtly into what felt good. Each shift brought that same heated shock through your stomach and thighs, your breath breaking in little gasps you didnât recognize as your own.
Agatha kissed you through all of it.
Slow at first.
Then deeper.
A little more open, a little more claiming when she felt your hips start to tremble with the effort of feeling so much at once.
Her hands never left you.
One steady on your back.
One warm at your waist.
Both grounding.
Both guiding.
Her lips moved along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, whispering between kisses:
âThatâs it.â
âGood.â
âJust like that.â
âYouâre doing so well.â
You lifted your head again, eyes half-lidded, your body shaking with the wanting.
She met your gaze â and the look in her eyes made your breath stop entirely. âTell me again,â she said softly, her voice warm and low.
You swallowed, your body already answering as your hips rolled once more against hers. âI want more,â you whispered â no hesitation, no stutter, just truth.
Agathaâs breath faltered â a soft, wrecked exhale that brushed your lips. Your whole body shivered.
She felt it.
She paused.
Not pulling away â holding you there.
Breathing with you.
Feeling the way your hips trembled in her lap.
Then she lifted her gaze to yours, something steady and deliberate settling behind her eyes. âStand up,â she whispered.
For a moment, you werenât sure youâd heard her right.
Her hands slid to your hips, guiding you gently, helping you lift as your legs trembled from the intensity of the moment.
You rose to your feet in front of her â breath unsteady, skin flushed, shirt rumpled from her hands.
Agatha stayed seated for a beat, looking up at you.
And the way she lookedâŠ
It wasnât hunger.
It wasnât impatience.
It was decision.
She stood slowly, her body brushing yours as she rose, her fingers lingering at your waist before slipping away.
âFollow me,â she said softly â not rushed, not commanding, but warm, certain, chosen.
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Welcome to a mini-series for you! Let me know what you think, as always.
