ᄫᥠabout me: leah. 17. irish. she/her. wlw. billie eilish. no.1 halleyâs comet, listen before i go, hostage & billie bossa nova fan. happier than ever enthusiast. yapper.
ᄫᥠlikes: billie eilish. frank ocean. horror movies. clairo. the weeknd. my friends. the mariaâs. lana del rey. women. summer. towa bird. charli xcx. eilish no.2.
themes: teen romance, fluff?, and idk just read it.. please :p
a/n: is it obvious I took inspiration from rue and jules oh and #bringbackthugillie
Billie was the kind of girl people noticed without her even trying. Not because she was loud, or dressed to stand out no, she blended in the way smoke did: impossible to ignore once you saw it drifting. Dark blue hair falling over her freckled face, baggy jeans dragging at the ankles, black hoodie swallowed around her frame, rings glinting when she tugged at the strings. Always leaning against something, fence, wall, car like the world was hers to rest on.
Youâd seen her before. Everyone at school had. Billie with guys, Billie skipping class, Billie with her deadpan sarcasm that made teachers roll their eyes and kids laugh too hard. But it wasnât until the day she caught you staring across the basketball court that she actually looked back.
Her ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours, sharp and lazy at the same time. She tilted her chin up, like daring you to look away. You didnât. And the smirk that curved her lips after, that was enough to keep you thinking about her the rest of the night.
The next time, it was at the corner store. You walked out with a soda, and there she was, posted up against her bike, hood half up, a bag of chips dangling from her fingers. She clocked you instantly.
âYou following me or something?â she asked, voice dry as gravel.
Your mouth opened, closed. âI- no. I live around here.â
Her lips twitched, amused. She popped a chip into her mouth, eyes flicking over you slow enough to make your skin buzz. âUh huh. Sure.â Then, like she was doing you a favor, âGuess youâre lucky. I might let you hang with me.â
That was how it started.
Hanging out with Billie felt like being pulled into the part of town the streetlights forgot. Sheâd text you at midnight: come outside. No explanation. Youâd slip out, heart hammering, and sheâd be leaning on her bike, tossing you one of her hoodies because âyou look cold, princess.â She always said it with that mocking edge, but the way she shoved it into your hands like sheâd noticed you shiver without even looking gave her away.
Her friends never questioned you. If Billie brought you around, that was it. You were in. Nights blurred into smoke curling up from cheap blunts, bass thumping from someoneâs speaker, laughter echoing under bridges. Billie never said much, but her sarcasm carried weight, her humor cutting through the dark in a way that made everyone double over.
With you, though it was different. Sheâd tease, yeah, but sometimes sheâd just watch. Quiet. Blue eyes catching the glow of streetlight, lingering on you longer than they should. And if you called her out, sheâd just scoff. âYouâre imagining things.â
But you werenât.
One night, on her roof, the city buzzing low beneath you, she leaned back on her elbows, cigarette dangling from her fingers. She took a drag, blew the smoke out slow, and said, âYou know youâre trouble, right?â
You laughed. âYouâre literally the definition of trouble.â
Billie smirked sideways, smoke curling between her words. âYeah, but⊠you actually make me care.â
Her voice cracked soft on that last part. You almost thought you imagined it.
Billie liked that you werenât like her friends. You didnât smoke, you didnât cut class just for fun, you didnât mouth off to teachers with a smirk on your lips. You were softer, almost careful with the way you spoke, the way you stood in a room. But you didnât judge her either. You just looked at her really looked and Billie could feel it under her skin.
She teased you about it, of course.
âDonât tell me Iâm corrupting you,â she said one night, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth.
You shook your head, hugging your knees tighter on the roof. âYou already have.â
That made her laugh, low, surprised, the sound vibrating in her chest. She bumped her shoulder against yours, rings cool against your skin.
Being around her was overwhelming sometimes. The smoke in her hoodie when she pulled it over your shoulders, the sharp jokes that made you laugh too hard, the way her blue hair caught the glow of a streetlight and turned it into something you couldnât look away from. She made you nervous in a way you didnât hate.
And Billie knew it.
She leaned into your innocence, poking at it, teasing, but never crossing too far. It was in the way sheâd blow smoke out the corner of her mouth, then smirk when you waved it away with a cough. The way sheâd ride too fast on her bike with you on the back, then laugh when you buried your face into her hoodie. âRelax, angel. I got you.â
But sometimes, when the night got quiet, when her friends werenât around, when the city hummed low beneath your feet her edge softened. Like she wasnât Billie with uneasy reputation. She was just Billie. With freckles across her nose, ocean-blue eyes that lingered too long, a girl who handed you her hoodie before you even asked.
That night on the roof, you caught her staring. Really staring. Her lips parted, cigarette forgotten between her fingers. And for once, she didnât cover it up with a smirk or a joke.
âWhat?â you whispered, cheeks heating.
Her jaw flexed. She exhaled, slow. âNothing. Just⊠youâre not supposed to look at me like that.â
You frowned. âLike what?â
Billie flicked the cigarette away, eyes never leaving yours. Her voice dropped, almost vulnerable. âLike Iâm not fucked up.â
The words hung heavy between you.
You didnât answer right away. Your chest ached, your pulse too fast, but you reached out slow, cautious and brushed your hand over hers. She froze. Then, almost like she couldnât stop herself, Billie leaned in.
It wasnât a rushed kiss, not reckless like you expected. It was soft at first, testing, her lips brushing yours like she wasnât sure she deserved it. But when you kissed her back nervous, innocent, but real Billie made a low sound in her throat and pulled you closer, rings cool against your jaw, hoodie rough against your cheek.
For once, she wasnât smirking. She wasnât cold. She was just a girl, kissing you like sheâd been waiting for it all along.
I need to see you write something about Billie finding out about readers praise kink and Billie goes all soft!domme, talking her through orgasm after orgasm
âËàż a/n :: for all my babies who missed billie !!
her fingers slowly slide into your pussy, filling you so good, so perfectly, that your eyes roll into the back of your head once again, your hips lifting up, seeking more contact with her. billie looks straight into your eyes, not breaking contact, lips playfully pouting as she mimics your face, pure pleasure written all over it.
"bilâplease..!" you swallow hard, trying to squeeze out at least a few more words, but the pleasure is too blinding when her thumb rests on your clit, intensely stimulating, making your legs shake.
"please what baby? ask properly"
you sob, grabbing her face to pull her closer for a sloppy kiss, biting and kissing her lips desperately, whispering and begging.
"faster, i need faster..! please!" your words barely perceptible, but billie's too lost in you to deny her baby anything.
"that's it, that's my good girl" her fingers begin to thrust into you faster, more furiously, not sparing your pussy as you left scratches on her bare back, covered only by a sports bra. she growled in pleasure, feeling this pain.
ⶠsynopsis :: billie was pretty sure she had every right to flirt with other girls in your presence, well you need to prove her wrong
the heavy air, filled with the mixed aromas of other people's perfumes and cheap alcohol, begins to thicken around your head, filling with a new, disgusting smell â your jealousy. acrid, poisonous and deadly jealousy, causing the glass in your hand to almost crack from the force of squeezing.
your heart pounds against your ribcage, your lungs squeeze, not allowing you to take a single breath. in front of your eyes, ignoring dozens of drunk teenagers, thereâs only one thing â billie. her hands. her rings. her fingers tracing the line of some stranger's jaw. your insides were burning, even if you werenât officially a thing, werenât a couple, had no right to claim each other, but this feeling was stronger, stronger than your pride. and you don't care if you have to get your hands dirty.
your legs donât listen to common sense somewhere inside your head, carrying you straight to them, straight to billie's eyes, which meet your fire, illuminating almost the entire club. there's a smile on her face, wicked, playful, telling you that you're not the only one, that she can still fuck whoever she wants.
and⊠maybe she can. but not tonight.
you smile back, more boldly, more hotly, and the next moment you're behind her girl, your breath still thick with cheap whiskey from the bar, burning her neck. you're pretty sure you heard her sigh pathetically, too eager for any attention. just what you wanted. just like that to wipe that damn smile off billie's face.
"i'm taking your girlfriend for a little while, mmm, doll?" the voice is sickeningly sweet, soft, making the cute blonde open her mouth, finding the words too long and just nod when you already grabbed billie by the wrist, using all your strength to pull her away and lead her into a quieter hallway, where there was not a soul except for you.
her back hits the brick wall when you push her, sparing no strength. she hisses, but you only grab her again, wrapping your fingers around her chin, long nails digging into her cheeks.
she chuckles, ignoring the pain. "mm, someone not in the mood today, love?"
her blue drunken eyes staring straight into yours, tempting, throwing a challenge that she knew you would accept. you always do.
"you think you can flirt with her, hm? you thinkââ and before you can finish, her body is no longer pressed against the wall, but yours is. for her, switching you was no big deal. for her, squeeze of your throat was no big deal. the wet spot on your panties is.
âiâm not yours, princess. weâre nothing to each other.â
she whispers, leaning closer until her lips are an inch from yours. ânothing.â
the kiss is fierce, malicious, so arousing that her fingers tighten around your neck, slightly cutting off your air supply. her tongue slides between your lips, and you give her dominance without hesitation, just to enjoy your own show.
âyouâre too easy to resist me, love.â billie hums between kisses, her right hand sliding down your arm, your waist, your hip, until sheâs lowered enough to try to lift your dress.
âi betâ your knee finds its way between her legs too quickly, pressing down just enough to make her whine pathetically. the world around you stops, your body temperatures rise, and her hand hovers just above the hem of your dress.
âitâs a shame you think with your dickâ you look up, meeting her face, defeated written all over it, brows furrowed slightly, lips parted in silent request.
âyou know, billieâŠâ your fingers tug at the buckle of her belt, undoing it as quickly as the zipper of her pants. ââŠyou may not be mine, but no one fucks you as good as meâ
her eyes roll back into her head the same moment your hand wraps around her cock, feeling it throb wildly. itâs thick, long, perfect for you, just for you.
her fingers loosen their grip on your neck, now resting on the wall on either side of your head.
"she couldn't do what i do with my eyes closed" your hand slides up and down her cock, smearing her precum all over the length, causing a distinctive sound.
nasty and sweet, making you want to eat her alive.
her head drops down, eyes closing, quiet whines and moans leaving her lips, along with pleas, with your name.
"fuck, fuckâbaby" billie tries desperately to be quiet, but with your hand changing pace, squeezing her tip, it was impossible.
so free and full of life, eyes glimmering with something someone could mistake as love if they didn't look close enough. but you always seemed to read right through her facade. even if you weren't trying toâyou claimed it was just because you've been around her for a quarter of the summer. though it didn't really make sense.
it would have made sense if you saw casey in the same way, but you didn't. you couldn't tell when he was masking his sadness with a smile, couldn't tell if he was jealous or just happy every time he saw you and billie together and nodded his head firmly. shit, you couldn't even tell if he felt sorry for you the nights when you came crying to him about your problems with said girl.
so why was it that you noticed every minuscule detail about the charming cowgirl?
from the small, hard-to-catch frown she made whenever she saw you hanging around the older country boys in the town, to the gentle, almost admirable smile she flashed at you every time you so much as looked at her with those eyes that she always found herself getting lost in. you noticed all of it and more.
and tonight, you seemed to notice a lot.
the old barn is dimly lit by a couple of lanterns hung on every corner post, the low light spilling through the barn doors illuminating the cars parked outside. it bounced off the heads of the partygoers, highlighting the strands of their hair every time they moved. however, you weren't focused on anyone except for the shorter girl near one of the rebuilt stables in the corner, a red dress flowing over her frame in a rather majestic way.
you didn't have to guess to know who it was, you just had a certain hunch by the way dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders and flowed down her back. the faint fairy tattoo on her hand was a dead-giveawayâyou were staring right at billie o'connell, the cocky cowgirl who loved getting under your skin any chance she could. albeit, she hadn't once interacted with you since yesterday.
it was weird. normally, she would've been attached to your hip, spouting some lame joke into your ear or maybe even pulling you into the middle of the barn to dance. none of that happenedânot even with someone else. matter of fact, not one person even talked to you.
well, until you saw a familiar dirty-blonded boy walking your way. his hat was hanging around his neck by the strings, resting lazily on his shoulder.
"hey," he greeted, smiling all soft. "didn't expect you to be all alone like this. ain't you the talk of the town?"
you shake your head, offering him a small, faux smile. as much as you appreciated the boy, he wasn't the person you wanted to be talking to right now. "aren't you supposed to be feeding your family's horses?"
he shrugs. "yeah, but... i wasn't planning on passing this up. i haven't been out to one of these in a while."
"...a party?" you murmur.
"a get-together," he corrects, nudging your shoulder. "there's a difference, sweetheart. a party is one of those sloppy, good-for-nothin' hangouts. a get-together is an opportunity to bond with the folks you haven't met yetâor to stare longingly at the ones you're falling for."
he nods his head across the room as the words leave his mouth, eyes traveling over to billie. her eyes were already set on the two of you.
you glance back at him. "i'm not falling for her. i'm just... trying to figure her out."
"well, last time i checked, co-workers don't flirt like peacocks every time they're around each other," casey teases, slugging an arm around your shoulder. he leans closer, lips hovering at your ear, "they don't glare knives at people who get too close to them either."
you hate his metaphors.
you also hate how absolutely correct he is.
because you are falling for billie, and casey would 110% be dead on the floor right now if looks could kill.
anybody else would just pass it by as dissociating, but you and casey both know that couldn't be far from the truth. she was jealous, and it was far more than obviousâit was painfully obvious, and you kind of liked it. after not having her attention for an entire night, you're really basking in the small amount she's giving you right now.
he taps your shoulder, directing your attention back. "i don't know what's goin' on with you two, but i just gave you an open shot to fix it."
you bite your lip, contemplating, a little nervous.
but then he presses his hand to your lower back and pushes you forward gently, a genuine smile on his face as he mouths the words, "good luck."
and suddenly your feet have a mind of their own, carrying you across the floors covered with hay and past the pretty boys who are immersed in dancing with their partners. billie's already "focused" on something else the second you plant your feet in front of her, cheeks a little flushed, heart pounding like a metronome in your ears.
she looks up after a moment, eyes as blue as you remember, freckles soft and more prominent in the low light. she smooths a hand down her dress, trying to seem subtle with the action but straying far from it. you both crack a smile at that, but hers quickly fades.
that's what does it for you. because what is she mad for?
"are you gonna keep ignoring me or are you gonna tell me what's wrong so we can make up?" you blurt.
billie doesn't flinch, she only exhales deeply, leaning back against the newly-renovated stable door. you don't miss the way her eyes flick down to your lips for a split-second before she moves to speak, demeanor all tense and teetering on the edge of hostile.
"i wasn't ignoring you," she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. "maybe you were too busy rubbing up on casey you forgot i was here."
your brows furrow. "what?"
she scoffs. "you don't think i noticed how he was whispering into your ear like some casanova?"
"he's a friend, billie," you say after a beat. "and he's already got his eyes on that cowboy across the lake. youâyou're telling me you haven't noticed how he looks at my dad? he's gay, and if you weren't so caught up in your stupid jealousy bullshit, you'd have noticed much sooner."
well damn.
now she's feeling a little dumbfounded.
you can tell by the way her brows rise in the slightest and her lips part in surprise.
"oh, shit," she mumbles, eyes drifting down.
you sigh, already done with the conversation. "so are you gonna keep pretending you're not jealous?"
"who said i am?"
"you didn't deny the fact."
"i'm notâand it's not a fact, either."
"so you wouldn't care if i went and kissed someone else?"
she scoffs, eyes narrowed and flashing with jealousy. "like you're really thinking of doing that."
before you can fire back with something snarky, she's grabbing your face and pulling you in quickâsoft, but quick, like she needs your lips on hers but is afraid to accidentally startle you. and it works, because you're kissing her back with just the same amount of passion, and billie melts even further into you.
your fingers tangle in her hair, subconsciously pressing her into the door. you pull away not long after, chest rising and falling unevenly. there's a ghost of a smile on her lips, eyes glinting with something softer nowâalmost reminiscent of love.
almost.
she's still hesitating.
"so you were jealous," you murmur.
billie sighs, lips still glistening. "wasn't it obvious? tonight was just the breaking point."
you hum. "clearly," her eyes flick back to yours, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. you lean closer. "but it's clear you're feeling something else, too."
her eyes widen subtly, glassy and soft.
"...and what's that?"
you don't answer, and billis holds her breath, cheeks flushing even further than before.
she's almost sure you can hear her heart beating.
so she speaks first.
"i love you," she mumbles.
your breath catches, almost unnoticeable, but she catches it at the last second.
silence.
then, louder than her, you whisper,
"i love you, too."
a beat passes.
two.
three.
on the fourth, you kiss her again. it's quicker this time, a small peck, but she basks in the feeling of your lips on hers, warm and comforting.
and then you smile, nudging her shoulder. "now stop being an asshole and come dance with me."
she rolls her eyes. nonetheless, she grabs your hand and drags you out to the middle of the barn, fingers tight between yours, firm and unrelentingâlike she never wants to let you go, especially not after confirming that her feelings were mutual.
"c'mon, city girl."
letters. is this enough or do you guys want my soul
The Purity List Ë đ âč Ëâ
Chapter Three: "Too Many Ghosts"
Chapters: one. two. three.
Summary: After days of playful texts and lingering thoughts, you find yourself back in Billie's room. What starts as a quiet study session turns into something more. Something deeper.
Word Count: 2.6K
Itâs been a few days since that night. The night you kissed âtil your lips felt bruised and raw. And that morning. The morning with her warm mug of hot chocolate and playful conversations. Though you havenât talked about that night in particular, youâve been texting. Just casually. A tiktok that makes her think of you. A text when the moon is high and youâre already staring at your phone waiting. Just little things. Easy things.Â
You find yourself smiling when her name lights up your screen. Reading old messages for no reason. Looking for meaning in the way she types certain texts. The way she uses your name in every other text so casually, so normally, so tenderly.Â
âHeyâÂ
You text her. Just the one word. You stare at it longer than youâd like to admit. Your thumb hovering over the send button as if you havenât already sent the message. Itâs far too late to play it cool. Far too late to unsend and risk her calling you out for it because you know she would. Your thoughts donât get far. In a matter of seconds her reply pops up.Â
âhey youâ
Itâs dumb how your stomach flips over those two words. How her attention always feels like a spotlight and a secret all at once. A secret youâre still getting used to holding. Then another text comes through and your heart skip a beat.
âcome over. bring whateverâs stressing you out.â
You hesitate for a second. You hate to admit that youâd been waiting for this. Practically praying for it. You can't help but feel clingy and pathetic. Part of you wants to play it cool. Keep it casual. But another part wants to crawl through your phone and land in her bed again. Part of you is thinking of your embarrassingly high score.
Without another though, you grab your laptop, a hoodie, and an essay you've been avoiding all weekend. You walk to her dorm holding your laptop to your chest. Clinging to it as you try to focus on your breathing. Youâre not expecting more than a study session but youâre hoping for more.
You wonder what happens if you cross another line tonight. If itâll make you braver or if itâll make it harder to go back to the quiet and safe version of yourself that youâve always been. Your pesky little insecurities sting like the crisp fall air on your face as you approach her building.
Your heart is racing as you double check the dorm number on the text message. Your fist hovers over the door for a few seconds before knocking quietly. The door opens almost instantly as if she'd been waiting by it. The lights are dim but you can make out her grey sweatpants and mismatched socks. A tea bag floats in the chipped mug sheâs holding. She pulls you in by your sleeve and closes the door with her foot.
âHungry?â she asks, holding out a granola bar as she walks you to her room. Itâs bitten and half eaten, but you take it anyway. The worries that were eating you alive on the walk here slowly dissipate with her calm nature. You find it endearing how comfortable she is around you; how comfortable she makes you feel. Like youâve known each other for decades and not just a few days.Â
You sit on her bed, cross-legged with your laptop propped up on a pillow. She settles beside you as you take a bite of the granola bar. You chew slowly as her thigh touches yours; your eyes flicking to the spot. You hope she doesnât notice how you stop chewing and start fake tying. She just clears her throat adjusting her body on the bed. Thatâs when you notice the music. Itâs slow and moody. Something with a beat that matches the quiet rhythm of her breathing. She doesnât try to fill the silence. She's focused on her book. And somehow that makes everything easier.Â
Half an hour in, she stretches her arms over her head, groaning like sheâs just been forced to sit through an eight hour lecture. She shoves her book to the side before talking.  Â
âWanna take a break?âÂ
You raise a brow glancing at her. âWe just started.â But before you can go back to your essay, sheâs bringing her laptop closer to you, pulling up a tab.
The Rice Purity Test.Â
Your stomach flips. âReally?â
Billie shrugs teasingly. âIâm curious. What number are you at now?â
The question makes your cheeks flush. Itâs like she knows youâve been keeping track of your score and that makes you nauseous. Keeping track seems so juvenile youâre almost embarrassed. The worst part is that you have been keeping score but youâre not going to admit that to her. God, how much more pathetic could you get?
âYouâre the one making me impureâ you joke, trying to divert the attention from the nerves rumbling in your tummy.Â
âGood,â she says proudly. âYou needed it.â She doesnât say it in a mean way and you know she doesnât mean any harm by it. Your ears still burn hot from the early subtle call out, but you donât feel offended. Not when thereâs a softness in her eyes as she bumps your shoulder playfully.Â
You open your mouth to speak. âWhat about you? Whatâs your actual score?âÂ
She bites her bottom lip. Two fingers gliding on the trackpad, running down the list as she breaks eye contact. Itâs clear sheâs trying to avoid answering the question but she says something anyway. âI told you, dangerously low.â
You know thatâs not true. You know it by the way she's still avoiding your eyes and is now clicking random boxes checking off items on the list. Her eyes skipping certain numbers like they might burn if she looks for too long.Â
You realize there are pieces of her sheâs not ready to share yet and you feel the ache in your bones of wanting to be trusted enough to see them someday. You just hope she keeps you around for that long. And suddenly something that was so low key and low pressure suddenly feels deep and heavy and crushing and now youâre preparing yourself for the day that Billie wonât be an item to check off the list. The day that Billie becomes another person you just met in college. A stranger again.
She closes her laptop snapping you out of your spiral. She looks at you sincerely when you donât speak. You can feel the shift in the air and you curse yourself for making things awkward and tense. Her eyes are on you when she says, âI didnât finish it. Too many ghosts on that list.â Her voice trails as you nod. You want to ask her what she means by that but you know this is the end of the conversation.
âSit here,â she says, patting the space between her legs. You furrow your brows.Â
âWhy?â and itâs the first time youâve questioned a command from Billie.Â
âBecause I said so.â
You squint your eyes but do as she says settling between her thighs. Your computer still on your lap. Your essay still daunting. Her body warm behind you. The atmosphere still a little heavy with unspoken words.
You stiffen for only a second when her arms slide around your waist but you relax when her chin rests on your shoulder. She doesnât say anything. Doesnât do anything. She just watches you work silently for a few minutes until you hear a sigh.Â
âThis paperâs gonna put me to sleep,â she murmurs and you laugh tilting your head back slightly. You feel her smile against your neck. Then her hands slide up the side of your arms. Thumbs digging gently into the knots in your shoulders. Carefully making their way down your spine. You exhale with relief. You can feel every bone in your body relaxing. Â
âGod,â you whisper, closing your eyes. Fingers limp on the keyboard. A minute later her lips brush under your ear. Featherlike and ticklish. You feel the heat flare to your chest again. She tells you to keep working as she massages your shoulders; time trickling around you. Eventually she lies back against the wall as you work. She half-watches a movie, scrolling on her phone with her hand loosely curled around your hip when you finally finish your essay.
When you yawn and close your laptop, she sits up. Chin back on your shoulder.Â
âIâm done,â you state with a small smile. Exhaling the tension youâd been holding on to. Youâre pushing your laptop off your lap and getting out of her bed when she touches your arm. Fingers softly curling around your wrist.Â
âStay,â she says. âJust sleep. Like last time.â
It doesnât take long for you to make your decision. You get out of bed. Slipping your laptop into your bag. She gets up as well walking to her dresser.
You peel off your hoodie and she tosses you a clean shirt that smells like her. You resist the urge to bury your nose into the fabric and inhale her. Instead you just slip it on. Smoothing it over your torso as you make your way back to her bed.Â
âYou look better in that than I do.â Her eyes flick down then back up as she lays down. Your face feels hot as you mumble a shy âthanksâ before crawling into bed with her. When she turns to you, her hand finds your waist. Fingers hovering, waiting for your next move. You can feel the tension rising. You can feel it in your chest. It's suffocating and debilitating. She's letting you take control of the moment.
You want to be smothered in her. You want to feel her pressed so close you can hardly breathe. You want to kiss her over and over and over until your lips go numb and your brain shuts off.
When you shift closer, she catches your hips gently and you rest your hand on her neck. The gravitational pull is undeniable as your bodies move closer. You lift a leg over her body shifting your weight. It's not pretty. You struggle. But eventually your legs are resting on either side of her thighs and you're full on straddling her. The air hot and thick.Â
You rock once. Barely. Just testing.
She catches her breath. Digs her fingers into your waist. Itâs reassuring. Itâs encouraging. You move again. But this time with a purpose. You move in slow grinding circles against her. You're not sure what you're chasing but your body reacts to the friction building between your bodies. The sweet pressure building between layers of cotton. Â
She inhales deeply. Her hand sliding lower gripping the curve of your ass pulling you closer like she needs more. Like sheâs starving for it. Her eyes are focused on yours as your thighs part just enough to sink lower into her. When you push yourself forward this time, her body arches up and her mouth falls open in a silent moan. Her face scrunches in pleasure and knowing you're the reason for it gives you a confidence boost.
The heat between your bodies burns through the fabric of your clothes. You rock against her again. Harder this time. Youâre still not quite sure what youâre doing but you know it feels good and you know she feels good. Every swing and sway makes your insides flutter. Thereâs a heat in the pit of your belly thatâs transforming with every movement.Â
Your lips graze her jaw. You breathe her in. She says your name like itâs the only word she knows. You bury your face in her neck. Breath hot and uneven. âIs this good?â you canât help but ask, feeling the insecurities creeping again when she doesnât say anything.Â
She wraps her arms tight around your waist. Her voice thick. âDonât stop.âÂ
Itâs all the reassurance you need to keep going. You press your hips down and feel hers buck matching your movements. Your bodies sync just like that first night when you danced together. But unlike that night this rhythm is desperate. A back and forth you never want to end. Â
â 24. Gone through the motions of intercourse while fully dressed.
Youâre both breathless now. Tangled and flushed and quiet. Your thigh nestled between hers. Her sweatshirt hiked up to her ribs. Billieâs fingers press into the small of your back like she doesnât want to let go. She gasps for air. You kiss her neck. Just once. Gentle. Just enough to feel her swallow. Her fingers twitch where theyâre pressed into your skin. You pull away.
âYou okay?â she asks sincerely. Her voice soft. Barely above a whisper. And then, before you can stop yourself, it slips outâŠ
âI want my score to be in the depths by the time youâre done with me.â
The words ring in your ears. You can't believe that just came out of your mouth. That's the most forward you've been in your life. The most honest and truthful and courageous. You freeze on top of her.
âOh my god,â you groan immediately hiding your face rolling off her. You wish the Earth would swallow you whole right now. You wish you could erase her memory and forget you ever say that. âForget I said that. Please.â Your voice come out with a whine.Â
She laughs. Warm and amused. Her breath brushing your ear. âToo late.â She kisses your temple pulling you closer until youâre turning your body facing her with a pout.
âI mean,â she murmurs, fingers tracing lazy lines down your lower back, âthat might be the hottest thing anyoneâs ever said to me.â
Your stomach flips. The beating in your throat is palpable. It's making it difficult to conjure up a response.
âI like you like this,â she adds touching your cheek. Fingers softly caressing your skin. Thumb brushing along your bottom lip. âSweet. Nervous. Kinda filthy.â
Filthy. God, youâd never thought that word would give you such a visceral reaction. It makes the heat flare low in your stomach. Youâre not sure if youâre embarrassed or electrified. You just want her to say it again. You never want this to stop.
â 25. Seen or been seen by another person in a sensual context.
You lunge forward, catching her off guard with a kiss. A kiss that lingers as she lifts her upper body pinning you down to the bed. Her hand pressed on your hip. Her her falling down the side of her face and on your neck. Her lips are firm and hungry and unstoppable until you're too lightheaded to continue.
You find yourselves lying side by side with your hands high in the air. You touch fingertips and close your fingers around your palms. Opening and closing as she speaks. âYou ever think about how weird this is?â The question catches you off guard and you try not to turn to look at her. You're not sure what she means exactly and you're afraid to ask.
âWeird in a good way, I hope.â It's the only response you can muster. Your voice hardly a whisper. She doesnât say anything. She just brings your hands down. Moves her body so she's facing you. You mimic her movements. Her hand falls down to your lower back. Your legs tangled. The smell of her shampoo in the pillow is comforting. You feel an unexpected heaviness in your lids. They close without thinking and you fall asleep without realizing it. Â
â 41. Slept in the same bed with someone you were not dating.
The second time this week. But tonight feels different. Different in a way that makes you want more and fear it all at once because if this keeps happening, you donât know how youâll survive the day it stops.
Purity Score: 85
MASTERPOST
Note: Things are getting steamier... Again, thank you for all the sweet comments and interactions. It makes writing this all the more enjoyable for me!!!
note: I AM BACK!!! long awaited return ik you all missed me. i think this is a shit fic but whatever Iâm back.
synopsis: you meet billie working as a fashion intern at one of her shoots and she takes an interest in you
warnings: smut, oral (b receiving), strap (r receiving), spanking, praise, slight degrading if you squint. dom billie, sub reader
The styling department is smaller than you imagined. Cramped. Walls crowded with racks of clothes, some still half covered in plastic, others spilling onto mismatched chairs or folded on folding tables that groan under their weight. The faint smell of fabric softener mingles with a sharp metallic tang, steamers always on somewhere, filling the air with thick warm vapor. It hangs heavy, clinging to your skin, making the back of your neck damp, your shirt stick to your ribs.
You stand awkwardly near the door, hands folded loosely at your front, eyes flicking between the cluttered surfaces and the handful of people buzzing around. Three weeks in, and this is your real role so far: fetching coffees, steaming garments, trying not to make mistakes. Itâs not glamorous, not close to what you pictured when you applied for this internship. But you tell yourself itâs a start.
Daniel walks in like he owns the place. Mid 40s, sharp black hair streaked with grey at the temples, ironed black slacks and a pressed white shirt under a charcoal blazer that looks like itâs been perfectly tailored for him, not a crease or a thread out of place. His eyes, sharp and hawk like, sweep the room with practiced precision.
âMaya.â His voice cuts through the chatter, clipped and no nonsense. âWhere are the samples for the Harper shoot?â
Maya, the wardrobe assistant, is at a folding table piled high with what looks like a mountain of delicate garments. She glances up, eyes tired but polite. âIn the back corner, on the metal rack. Iâll bring them in a sec.â
Daniel shakes his head like heâs already frustrated. âBring them now. We donât have time to wait.â
He turns to Ricky, the lighting runner, whoâs leaning against a wall, arms crossed and smirking like heâs heard this all before.
âRicky, get the rigging checked. Light needs to be perfect no excuses.â
Ricky grins, a lazy tilt of the head. âGot itâ
You watch the exchange, heart tightening with that familiar twist of nerves and eagerness. Danielâs eyes flick to you now, brief, assessing, like youâre some unfamiliar puzzle.
âYou.â His voice drops to a low, sharp tone, cutting through the noise. âYouâre shadowing me. No talking back. No offering suggestions. When I say fix, you fix. Youâre not here to think, just to move. Understood?â
You nod, barely able to breathe for a second, mouth dry. âYes, Daniel.â
âGood.â He starts pacing again, glancing at his phone before snapping it shut. âWeâre behind schedule. I want everything ready by noon. No fuck ups. You follow me, keep your head down.â
You feel a heat rising in your cheeks, half embarrassment, half adrenaline. The room hums with muted tension; the steamers hiss quietly, punctuating the chaos with sharp bursts of white mist. Maya pulls a thin cardigan off the rack, her fingers quick but careful, while Ricky tosses a grin at you, like a silent, low-key reassurance that maybe youâll survive today. You glance down at your hands, fingers slightly trembling, palms sweaty, but you tell yourself youâre ready. Three weeks of fetching coffee have done something. You know where the steamers are. You know how to fold without crushing the delicate fabric. And now, youâre about to step closer into the real fray.
Daniel stops by a rack of clothes, running a hand along a silk blouse with the faintest scowl.
âFix this.â His voice is sharp but quick. âSteam it again. And make sure no wrinkles. You got it?â
You take the blouse gently, feeling the cool silk under your fingers. Your breath catches. âYes, Daniel.â
He doesnât wait for more. Heâs already walking away, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders into the receiver, eyes darting around like heâs mentally ticking off a hundred things in his head. You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding and move to the steamer, your hands steadying as you lift the heavy device. The warm hiss of the steam fills your ears as you bring it close to the blouse, focusing on smoothing every crease, every fold. The faint smell of burning fabric teeters at the edge of your senses, and you jerk the steamer back slightly, heart pounding.
Behind you, you hear Mayaâs soft voice, âYouâre doing fine.â She doesnât look, doesnât really mean it loud, but itâs enough.
Ricky cracks a joke about Danielâs âeyebrow of doom,â and you manage a small, almost imperceptible smile.
But Daniel? He doesnât glance back.
No chatter. No opinions. Fix. Move. Shadow.
You breathe deep and follow. Soon enough youâre all gently placing the clothes into the van and driving across the Hollywood hills toward the shoot location. The sun hits hard the second you step onto the driveway. The house looms, glass and steel, sharp edges, the kind of place that could swallow you whole if you let it. Crew trucks line the drive, their engines humming softly under the thicker noise of footsteps and murmurs. The bag pulls at your shoulder, a familiar weight now, but the strapâs rough edge bites into skin you barely notice as you focus on Daniel in front of you. He moves with that same relentless purpose, no hesitation, no slowing down.
âStay tight,â he says without turning, voice clipped, sharp like a whip.
You nod, adjusting the steamer in your hand, the cord coiling around your wrist like a lifeline.
Ahead, Daniel weaves through the scattered crew with the ease of a man who owns the place but never looks like it. Maya is at the side, sorting accessories, focused, barely glancing your way. Rickyâs leaning against a truck, lighting a cigarette with the kind of laid back ease that feels out of place but somehow necessary here.
Danielâs voice cuts through again. âLint rollers. Two, on the table by the back door. Get them.â
You move without thinking, weaving through cables and crates, the heat already sticking to your skin.
By the house entrance, Eli Navarro - a guy you think is the photographer - is waiting, hands shoved in his pockets, scanning the set with a casual confidence. His voice is smooth when he spots Daniel, but youâre too keyed up to catch much.
âHey, Daniel,â Eli says. âReady to roll?â
Daniel barely glances. âYeah. Tight schedule.â
No small talk. No smiles. The words hang between them like business.
You swallow the lump forming in your throat. Keep up. Donât mess this up.
âBillieâs ready,â someone calls out sharp and clear, cutting through the background buzz like a shot.
You freeze for a second, heart lurching. Oh my fuck, itâs Billie Eilish, Billie Eilish, the name itself a weight in your chest, a cold jolt up your spine. Nobody had told you who the high profile shoot was for, youâd guessed someone maybe notable, not Billie.Â
Your eyes flick up toward the patio, your gaze locking on her before your brain can catch up. Sheâs there, leaning casually against the glass railing, one hip cocked just so. The late morning sunlight hits her at the perfect angle, catching the silver chain around her neck so it glints like a warning.
Sheâs wearing that long-sleeved rugby shirt, the kind you only really see on people who donât care what anyone thinks but somehow look effortless doing it. Bold, thick red and black stripes cut across the fabric, the white collar crisp but worn, two buttons left undone. The inside lining is dark, just catching at the edges where the collar flips up. You see the faintest flicker of warmth at her neck, the soft skin exposed where the shirt dips down.
Her black flat brim cap is pulled low, tilted forward enough to shadow her eyes. Lightly tinted, silver-framed glasses sit balanced on the bridge of her nose.
Sheâs not looking anywhere else but straight at you. You catch the slow, deliberate glance, not quite a look, not quite an assessment. It lands heavy, unblinking, and you feel it deep in your chest, a mix of something like challenge and calm that takes your breath away. The split-second weight of it makes you shiver, and then she turns back to her phone like you donât exist, the moment gone as quickly as it came.
You swallow hard. Your pulse bangs in your ears. The crew keeps moving around you, but for a beat, the whole world feels like itâs shrunk down to just that glance.
Then Danielâs voice cuts through, brisk, no room for hesitation.
âCollarâs wrong. Go.â
You step forward before you even have time to think. The whole set seems to pulse faster as you move in, slipping into the space beside Billie as the camera keeps rolling.
Your hands reach out, and suddenly youâre brushing the warm skin at the nape of her neck as you straighten the white collar, tucking it under the rugby shirt just so. The faint heat of her skin seeps through your fingers, grounding you, but she remains perfectly still.Â
Her eyes flick up through those tinted lenses, watching you, sharp and steady, but she doesnât flinch. No smile, no softening. Just this quiet, observant presence that pins you for a moment longer than feels comfortable.
Youâre suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet thud of your heartbeat, the slight tremor in your fingers you try to clamp down on. You know this is more than just fixing a collar.
Later, crouching to straighten the hem of her shirt, you notice how steady her breathing is, slow, even, like sheâs in complete control of everything here. Compared to your own quick breaths, itâs almost unreal. When you step away, she lets her eyes follow you just a beat longer than necessary, the barest hint of something unspoken passing between you. You donât know what it is yet, but you feel it like a low hum under the surface, and it makes your throat dry.
The quick-change tent is in the garden, tucked behind a blooming jacaranda, the scent of its purple petals faint but unmistakable. Mayaâs already there, working with another dresser, hands moving fast but careful as they help Billie swap into the next look.
The bright green hoodie goes on first, zipper pulled down halfway, exposing the base of her neck and the top of a white tee beneath. Navy cargo pants, practical and loose, gather slightly at the ankles. Chunky light-grey boots with black details thud softly as she shifts her weight. You notice the white bandana tied carefully over her hair, black print twisting in soft waves across the fabric. The stacked bracelets peek out from under her sleeve, a mix of metal and leather. She steps out of the tent with a new kind of energy. Itâs looser, more casual, but you catch the way her eyes narrow just slightly.Â
Danielâs voice snaps again, slicing through the murmur.
âCuffs are uneven. Fix it.â
Your stomach tightens. You kneel down in front of her, fumbling slightly as you smooth one cargo cuff over the bulky boot, trying to fold it neatly but feeling the edge of nerves prickling down your spine.
âSorry,â you mutter under your breath, fingers catching on the fabric for a moment longer than you wanted.
Her gaze drops to you, those tinted lenses flickering with something new. The corner of her mouth twitches upward, not quite a smile, more like a smirk edged with dry humor.
âYour boss is a right cuntâ she says quietly. Not mocking, just⊠an observation.
You laugh, awkward and unguarded, surprised by how much relief it brings.
Her mouth curves just a little more, and she mouths âReally donât stress it, youâre doing fine.â
Sheâs quiet, almost still at first, but then the subtle cracks begin. Like a deliberate game only Billie knows the rules to.
The first time, itâs the sleeve. Youâre straightening the hem of her hoodie and suddenly she shifts just enough for the cuff to roll up too far, exposing pale skin, a thin silver bracelet catching the light. Her fingers brush your wrist lightly as you move to fix it, just a touch, not enough to be anything but deliberate. You freeze for a second, heat blooming in your cheeks, but you donât pull away.
âCareful,â she says softly, voice low, not mocking but sharp.
The next time, itâs the hem of the hoodie, twisted just so. You step forward, hands moving with deliberate care to smooth it down again. Her eyes meet yours for a moment longer than you expect, gaze steady.
Her hand flicks to the bandana next, tugging it at the edge. âNot quite right,â she murmurs, voice like silk edged with steel. You reach up to adjust it, fingertips brushing against the skin just behind her ear. The contact lingers just a beat longer than necessary. She watches your hands as they move, then flicks her gaze to the silver rings glinting on your fingers, delicate bands, a mix of vintage and new, each with its own story you never bothered to share with anyone.
âNice rings,â she says, voice soft but carrying weight, like she means more than just the metal.
Her fingers trail over her own hand as if considering, then she lightly touches one of your rings herself. You smile, too terrified to trust yourself to give her a compliment back, then go back to working.  You catch her make a fleeting glance down at your tits, subtle, almost too quick to notice, and you try to hold back a blush.  Suddenly, Eli calls out, something about needing a different lens. Danielâs phone rings sharply, cutting through the buzz, and he steps away without looking back.
The afternoon unspools toward evening. The crew buzz starts to soften, equipment packed away, cables coiled like sleeping snakes. Danielâs still on the phone, pacing in long, tense strides near the vans. Billieâs bag is slung casually over one shoulder, the strap digging into her skin.Â
Billie starts walking toward the back of the driveway, eyes forward, shoulders squared. Then, without breaking stride or looking back, she calls out:
âHey. Come here.â
No hesitation. No softness. The command sits in the air heavy and clear.
You donât hesitate either. Your feet move before your mind catches up, and you fall into step behind her, the space between you shrinking with every step.
Behind a parked grip truck, half hidden in shadow, is the matte black dodge challenger, its surface almost bleeding the last light of day.
She reaches out, opens the driverâs side door with a slow, deliberate motion. The metal thuds softly against the frame.
Billie slides into the driverâs seat but doesnât start the engine. The interior swallows her in shadows, the faint scent of leather mixing with something unmistakably hers, a trace of smoky perfume, and maybe something else, something raw and unfiltered. Her head turns slowly, eyes locking onto yours through the open door.
No smile. No sign of warmth. Just that same steady, unflinching gaze from earlier, the one that feels like itâs trying to strip away everything you thought you knew about yourself.
She waits.
The door shuts behind you with a sharp click that seems to seal the moment away from the world outside. The interior of the Challenger is a bubble, warm, tight, heavy with leather and the faintest ghost of smoke, a dark, lingering trace like a secret left hanging in the air. Her perfume drifts in the confined space, a dry vanilla with an undercurrent of musk that somehow makes your head spin just a little.
She swivels slowly in her seat to face you, all calm, all control, the gaze that caught you earlier now sharpened with something more, intent, challenge, the steady certainty of a predator sizing up its prey. Her eyes donât waver. They pin you in place just as much as the car does.
Without a word, her hand clamps down on the collar of your shirt. The leather around your neck shifts under her grip. She pulls you forward and crushes her mouth to yours. Hard. The kiss robs you of breath. Her lips press so firmly against yours that your teeth brush hers and your heart thuds, loud and fast, like it might jump out of your chest.
Her tongue slides in slow, deliberate, tasting you. You respond instinctively, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, fingers tangling in her hair. Billieâs hand moves to your thigh, gripping just enough to anchor you, to remind you that youâre hers in this moment, no question.
Then, just as suddenly, she pulls back. Her breath is quiet, steady, but your chest is still pounding in your ears. She looks at you with that same flat, sure tone, like sheâs stating facts nobody can argue with.
âThis is how itâs going to be.â
Her hand slides under the seat. You hold your breath.
She pulls out a small black duffel bag, unzips it just enough to reveal the strap, sleek, matte black silicone catching the dim light inside the car.
Your pulse spikes, nervous, excited, raw. The air suddenly feels thicker, heavier, like youâre both suspended in a moment stretched thin between anticipation and something deeper, darker.
She nods once, just a tilt of her chin.
You move forward without hesitation, climbing over the console, every movement deliberate but trembling with nerves. The hard steering wheel presses into your back, solid. Her thighs spread wide beneath you, warm and firm, the muscles tense and ready. One hand curls tight around your waist, fingers digging into the soft skin there with a grip.  Her other hand adjusts the harness, pulling, tightening, making sure it fits just right.
She leans in close, breath warm against your cheek. Her lips brush yours, slow, teasing, a soft exploration that ignites your senses all over again. Her tongue slips inside, tracing, tasting. Then her teeth catch your bottom lip in a bite, gentle but possessive. You gasp, and your fingers dig deeper into her hair, clutching as if holding on to the moment will keep you tethered.Â
Thereâs no rush. Billie makes you feel every second of waiting, every flicker of anticipation stretching out like elastic.
Her hand on your waist pulls you closer, then pushes you back just a little, testing. Then she guides you down onto the strap.
The first contact is cold, a sharp shock as the dildo presses against your pussy. You shudder but keep your eyes locked on her face, searching for any hint of mercy.
âBills. Fuck its bigâ
She doesnât reply, just nods as if sheâs already sure you can take it. She moves you down until you bottom out. Your breath catches in a shaky moan that spills out before you can stop it.
âGood girl,â she murmurs against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction. âThatâs what I like to hear.â
Her grip tightens on your lower back, bracing you steady. The other hand lifts your chin so you canât look away. You meet her gaze, eyes wide and raw, and sheâs watching you like youâre the most beautiful thing sheâs ever seen.
âSuch a pretty face,â she says softly, voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. âMaking such pretty noises, baby.â
Your knees press hard against the console, braced, no escape. Youâre pinned by the car, by her hands, by the weight of the moment, and somehow it makes everything sharper, more intense. Her hand slides up to cup your tits, fingers brushing your nipple through the thin fabric.
You murmur lightly, âBillie pleaseâ
Your hands find her hair again, clutching, pulling her mouth back to your neck, burying your face in the warmth and scent of her skin. Her breath is hot against your pulse point, and her voice is rough when she speaks again, low and heavy with praise thatâs more than just words.
âYeah⊠just like that. Fuck, you feel so good.â
Youâre trembling now, close to the edge, the tension coiling tight inside your belly.
She smirks, thumb coming to your lip and brushing lightly, âCum for me pretty girlâ
Then it breaks, the flood of sensation crashing through you in waves. Your whole body shudders, breath catching in ragged gasps. Your hands grip her sides, nails pressing into soft flesh as you tremble against her, loud and uncontrolled.Â
âOh my god Billie. Fuckâ
Sheâs not done.
Her hips thrust up, hard and fast, driving you deeper onto the strap. The motion is powerful, relentless, and your skin prickles with every movement. Her hands slide between you, one still cupping your breast, teasing your nipple into a tight, hard peak, the other wrapping around your waist, pulling you down and up in slow, deliberate motions.
Her breath hitches, quick and ragged, her chest rising and falling in time with the rhythm she sets.
The friction, the way your bodies move together, the heat, the tightness, itâs too much. You can feel her come, sudden and raw, muscles clenching beneath your hands, the sound a guttural, shuddering exhale that fills the car. Her hips roll in slow circles, grinding against you as she holds you pinned, trapped and utterly claimed. Youâre trembling, breathless, limbs heavy and shaking as the waves of pleasure crash over you both.
The leather creaks beneath the weight of it all.
You donât even have time to catch your breath before she pulls you down from her lap with that slow, wicked smirk curling her lips. The city lights flicker past the tinted windows, casting fleeting shadows over the curves of her body as she settles fully back into the back seat of the car, the soft creak of leather under her weight echoing in the confined space. Your legs are still trembling as she guides you over,Â
âCâmere angel, in my lapâ
Her legs spread deliberately, framing you, and you slide between them with your knees braced on either side, the heat radiating off her skin hotter than the air inside the car. Billieâs hands find you immediately, fingers threading through your hair with a firm, possessive grip. They pull your mouth to hers with no hesitation, lips crushing against yours in a hard, demanding kiss that leaves you gasping. Her other hand slides down, warm and deliberate, pressing against your thigh before creeping slowly upward, fingers teasing the smooth skin beneath your shirt.
Then Billie is pushing your head down whilst jerking her hips up and pulling off her panties, discarded somewhere on the floor of the car.Â
âStart slow,â she murmurs, voice low, âUse the tip of your tongue, feel every inch. Donât rush me. Suck gently⊠like you mean it.â
Your tongue slides out, wet and searching, flicking lightly over the delicate, sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her breath hitches sharply as your tongue grazes closer, teasing the soft bundle of nerves just above where her hips arch beneath your touch. The slick heat pooling there is so thick you can taste it on your tongue before you even reach her. Your lips part, teasing her clit gently, just the tip of your tongue, circling, flicking, careful not to overwhelm.Â
Billieâs hands tighten in your hair, fingers curling as she guides you deeper, hips shifting impatiently beneath you. She bites down lightly on your lower lip, then pulls away just enough to speak, voice rough and low.
âNow suck. Slow, steady. Donât stop until I say.â
Her other hand leaves your hair and trails over your ribs, sliding under your shirt to cup your tits.Â
She pulls you up just enough to smack your ass hard, the sting sharp and immediate, blooming bright red. Your body jolts with the surprise, but the ache beneath the slap stokes the fire building in your core. Youâre dripping slick, the warmth pooling between your thighs now mixing with the heat of her hand on your skin.
âYou like that, donât you? Being marked. Being mine. Dirty fucking slutâ Her voice is low, almost a growl.
You canât help but moan into her pussy, sheâs still guiding your head with one hand, the other now ghosting over your ribs, down to your waist, fingers trailing over your damp skin, teasing the delicate curve of your hip bone.
Her thighs squeeze your shoulders lightly, pinning you firmly in place. The leather beneath you presses cool against the backs of your knees as you arch your back, unable to resist the pull of her dominance.
Her lips brush your neck as she whispers, âLook at me. I want to see that pretty face while you do this.â
You meet her gaze, eyes wide and wet with need, your lips trembling as you slide back to her core. Your tongue flicks over her swollen clit again, circling slowly, pressing soft, steady kisses along the sensitive bud. Her breathing quickens, sharp and ragged, matching the wild pounding of your heart.
Her hand leaves your breast to trail lower, sliding between your legs briefly, teasing your own slickness with a fingertip before pulling away. Your body shivers, desperate for more, and she laughs softly, dark and possessive.
âNo, not yet. Poor baby all desperate arenât youâ
Her hand returns with renewed force to your ass, spanking you hard again, each smack punctuated with sharp, breathy praise.
âThatâs my good girl. Taking it so well. All wet for me already.â
Her fingers find your nipple again, pinching and rolling the hard peak with expert ease while her other hand threads through your hair, pressing you harder against her dripping pussy. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, mouth working tirelessly at her clit, tongue flicking and sucking, hands clutching at the leather seat behind her, nails digging in where her touch hasnât yet reached.
She bites down on your shoulder, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as she murmurs filthy praise into your ear.
âSuch a filthy little thing.Thatâs my girl. So fucking good for me.â
The slick warmth at your own core throbs, pulse pounding through your clit in sync with every flick of your tongue and press of her fingers against your breasts.
Her hips jerk sharply beneath you, trembling as her muscles clench and pulse around nothing but air, her breathing breaking into ragged gasps that shake her frame. You feel the heat surge, the slow burn exploding into white-hot waves that ripple from her core, spreading through her whole body. Her hands dig into your scalp, pulling roughly, desperate, as she shudders violently.
âFuckâfuck, yes, right there, right there!â she pants, voice ragged and soaked with need. âDonât stopâdonât fucking stop, baby.â
Her thighs squeeze your shoulders with urgent pressure, locking you in place as her body rides the waves of her orgasm, quivering and trembling uncontrollably. Her breath hitches in sharp, broken bursts as she cries out your name, voice raw and breathless.
You mumble into her pussy, vibrating against her making Billie whimper and shiver slightly,
âTaste so good Billsâ
âYouâre such a good girl. Fuck. My godâ
Her nails rake down your back, light but fierce, grounding you in the moment as her body spasms again, slower now, trembling through the aftershocks.
âSo fucking perfect.â
Pinned to her, breath ragged and heart pounding, the leather cool beneath your sweat-slick skin, you realise maybe now youâre starting to see the benefits of your job.Â
