Page 5 of Her Patron
Even if she were absolutely, without a doubt single, Sette would still have a logical approach to this encounter. She wasn’t here because she thought Miquela was the kind of drop-dead-gorgeous that required ripping off one’s undies and screaming,“Fuck me!”into the abyss. Nor was she the type that Sette fantasized about climbing on top of and making feel like a goddess being born from the foam. She was good-looking. Probably talented in bed. Sette didn’t doubt that she would walk away sexually satisfied and carrying nary a regret.
But she knew they were a mismatch beyond that night. She knew it before that date, but when she arrived, Miquela had presumptuously ordered for her?She underestimates me.Miquela also liked to dote on her girlfriends. Spoil them, both inside and outside the bedroom.
At least one of those things was supposed to be Sette’s prerogative.
Butches. For fucking real.
Yet, for now, she would let Miquela be in charge. It was her house, after all.
Miquela’s breath was hot against Sette’s nape. A shiver traced its way down her spine. Hands, firm and sure, slid from Sette’s waist to her hips, pulling her back flush against Miquela’s body. The fabric of Sette’s dress tightened. Miquela’s fingers splayed wide, thumbs pressing into the hollows of Sette’s back.
“You probably have no idea,” Miquela murmured with her imperceptible accent, her lips grazing the shell of Sette’s ear, “how much I’ve wanted to touch you like this all night.”
Sette didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The logical part of her brain, the part that filed away information and drew conclusions, was short-circuiting. All that remained was sensation. The steady pressure of Miquela’s chest against her back. The scent of her skin. The slow, deliberate slide of a single hand up her ribcage.
Miquela paused, her palm cupping the underside of Sette’s breast. She didn’t squeeze. She simply held it there, testing boundaries. Sette held her breath. Her own hands, hanging at her sides, curled into fists. She wanted to shove Miquela away. She wanted to lean into her hold.
She did neither.
Then Miquela’s other hand moved. Down. Over the curve of Sette’s hip, finding the hem of her skirt. A fingernail scraped lightly against the fabric before dipping beneath it. The rough surface of Miquela’s fingertips against the smooth skin of Sette’s inner thigh made her gasp. Higher.Inexorable. Until Miquela’s knuckles brushed against Sette’s underwear.
Sette’s head fell back against Miquela’s shoulder.Sure. Why the fuck not.
Miquela’s fingers pressed more firmly, the fabric giving way and letting her access the heat beneath. “Tell me,” she whispered, that voice a low rumble that vibrated through Sette’s entire body. “What do you like?”
A frustrated sound escaped Sette’s throat.Don’t think. Don’t analyze. Just go with it.Her hips pushed back in a small, involuntary motion.
“I don’t want to have to think,” Sette spat out. “Just fuck.”
Miquela chuckled. “I like the way you say that word. It’s unexpected.”
“You serious?” Sette squeaked, still being felt up as they awkwardly stood there. “Women say ‘fuck’ all the time.”
“Even the ones as pretty as you?”
“Seriously. You need to sleep around America a little more. We love ‘fuck.’”
Miquela’s fingers pressed between Sette’s legs. “Say it again.”
Just for that, Sette kept her lips zipped shut.
Miquela's lips found the sensitive skin behind Sette's ear. She shuddered. She couldn't help it. That was all the permission Miquela needed.
She kissed Sette’s neck. Her teeth grazed with a sharp threat that made Sette catch her breath. Another kiss to the shoulder, with Miquela’s tongue tracing the line of Sette's collarbone. All while her fingers moved.God damnit, this is hot.The friction against her slit was both infuriating and intoxicating.
Sette arched her back in surrender. The logical part of her brain, the analyst, the artist who deconstructed scenes… it was all a distant scream, drowned out by the rhythmic slide of Miquela’s touch. Her hips began to move, rocking against Miquela's hand. Small movements at first, then more demanding.If I chase the pressure, I get what I want faster.
What did Sette want? Sex? Pleasure? Or to get to the part whereshewas in control?
“Much better,” Miquela whispered against her skin. She reached up, her other hand finding the cold metal clasp at the nape of Sette’s neck. With a deft flick, it was open. Miquela pulled it free. A sharp clatter sounded against the credenza.Sette’s hair, dark and heavy, tumbled down, a curtain shielding her face. Miquela brushed it aside, her lips finding the newly exposed skin. Sette gasped, her body going rigid for a second before melting back against Miquela. The control was gone. All that was left was the building, aching need.
Forgive me, June.There was that little bit of guilt inside her. Just like Miquela was on the hunt to get inside her.She knows what she’s doing. Just like you.
Sette’s knees were weak. She wanted to be in a bed. Or a floor. Anywhere but standing there, at the mercy of this woman.
“Let’s go to bed,” Miquela said. “I have plans for you.”
She still had one arm around Sette when she stepped forward. Sette did not move.
