Maybe they are⊠đïžđ«Šđïž
Ona covers your body with hers again and your hands instinctively wrap around her back, pulling her down until the space between you is gone and her lips collide against yours.
The kiss tastes of desperation, mostly from you. Youâve had Onaâs fingers work you open, then Lucyâs, then had to wait patiently for an absolute eternity while Ona harnessed up. The longer that passes, the heavier the promise of whatâs to come feels. The more you want it.
Youâre hyperaware of the strap pressing into your thigh as Ona kisses you. You hook a leg around her hips to keep her close. Maybe youâre seeking something to grind against. Maybe youâre hoping itâll slip in by accident.
All you know is that what should be inside you, isnât.
Onaâs lips trail across your cheek, down your jaw. Before you can ask her why sheâs not yet fucking you, she finds sensitive spot on your neck that she discovered much earlier, taunting it with a wicked combination of teeth and tongue until youâre melting into the mattress.
As another moan escapes your lips, you look down at the way your bodies intertwine, past the tattoos dotted across Onaâs black, the harness snug against her ass and thighs, your legs around her hips trapping her body against yours.
You fit together like this is exactly where youâre supposed to be.
But thereâs something not quite right.
She lifts her head to look at you, a question mark in her familiar brown eyes.
You glance down your bodies again to where black fabric contrasts against pale skin. When you meet Onaâs gaze once more, thereâs only one thing on your mind.
You simply have to vocalise it.
âWhy are we both still wearing socks?â