Ignited

The sun dips toward the horizon, brushing the sky in hues of rose and gold, a soft glow over the winter landscape as we approach the boys where they wait outside the restaurant. Amy and I are holding hands. I love the way it fits in mine, I love the way we already have an implicit order for whose hand goes on top. Mine, of course.

We’ve dressed up to go out tonight, for no reason other than it feels good. Getting dressed with my girlfriend was a positive experience I didn’t know I was missing. Amy even helped me put my hair up in a way I’ve never tried. Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it, but Amy seems to like it.

Caleb spots us first, his wide grin a beacon as he bounds toward us with the unabashed enthusiasm of a puppy. "Look at you two cuties!" he exclaims, his arms swooping around both Amy and me in a bear hug that smells faintly of a masculine cologne. Amy's frame is rigid for a heartbeat, a deer caught in affectionate headlights, before she relaxes into the embrace, her laughter ringing clear and bright as a bell.

Ethan's approach is more measured, his cool demeanor a stark contrast to Caleb's exuberance. But the warmth in his eyes as he fistbumps me betrays his own brand of excitement. "Jo, you're glowing," he observes, the understatement hanging in the air like a shared secret. He turns to Amy, and his "Hey there, Amy, what’s up?" is quieter, but honest and comfortable.

The table we choose is tucked away in the corner of the bustling restaurant. The flicker of the candle at its center casts dancing shadows over Amy's features, turning her thoughtful expression into something of a mystery. I catch her eye, and for a moment, it's just us again—just like in the library.

"Seriously, you two are SO fucking cute!” Caleb exclaims, gesturing to us across the table. “I hear things are getting spiiiicy,” he draws out the word, leaning forward conspiratorially, his biceps bulging against the sleeves of his shirt. “Tell us everything!”

“Well, not everything,” Ethan corrects. Amy's cheeks bloom with color.

A cheeky grin that curls my lips as I lean forward, the flickering candlelight casting a conspiratorial glow over the table.

"Well, speaking of sexy, I've learned something intriguing about girls," I begin, the words saucy and ripe with innuendo. "They're quite adept at... going down on the subject." I wink, and Amy looks like she wants to cover her face.

Caleb's eyebrows shoot up, his mouth opening in a wide, scandalized 'O'. "You go, girl! Get it!" he cheers, before scrunching his face, "But also, ew, spare us the dirty deets. Also, that is the least subtle innuendo of all time."

I waggle my eyebrows as Ethan's hand meets his forehead, his face a picture of mock agony. "Why do I put up with you two? You literally bring out the worst in each other," he groans. Shaking his head, he turns to Amy, his voice dipping into the cadence of shared interests. "Amy, have you finished Blacktongue Thief yet? I'm dying to discuss it with someone."

Amy's eyes ignite with fervor. "Oh, I loved it! Ok, the perspective thing he does with the worldbuilding…" She leans toward Ethan, her shyness dissolving as they dive into book talk.

Caleb, seizing the opportunity, swivels his attention back to me. "And how about you, Jo? How's life on the queer side?" he says, his hand fluttering dramatically in the air.

I laugh, feeling a warmth of acceptance that I didn’t know I craved. "It's different," I admit, "Girls are soft, and everything feels so... intentional. It's not like boys." I shrug, a playful smirk pulling at my lips. “They’re so easy.”

"Ugh, gross," Caleb feigns a shudder, but his eyes are dancing with mirth. "But you're glowing, honey, so it's obviously working out for you."

Encouraged, I lean in. “Oh yeah, and the first night, Amy just took control, and she did this thing with her finger-”

But Caleb raises a hand, cutting me off with a laugh. "As much as I'm all for living your truth, I don't need the play-by-play. It's no fair. I can’t even torment you with stories of gay passion, because you’d be like, obsessed."

I snort. He’s so right. "You should consider expanding your horizons, Caleb. Playing both sides has its perks," I tease, the hint of a challenge in my voice.

He scoffs playfully, shaking his head. "Jezebel," he mock-scolds. Suddenly I’m thinking about my mother’s lectures on “loose women.” How they supposedly used their feminine wiles to entrap powerful men. How it was our responsibility as girls to keep ourselves pure. Never be a Jezebel. I shake the thought off.

I keep the conversation light with Caleb, our words bouncing back and forth like a casual game of catch. But as I speak, my eyes drift to where Amy and Ethan are seated, their heads close together, animated in a discussion that's clearly about the latest fantasy whatever that they’re both enjoying.

I watch them, the way Amy's eyes light up, the easy smile on Ethan's face, and a familiar tightness coils in my chest, that same feeling when Amy introduced me to her parents as her “friend.” It's a strange sensation, this niggling seed of insecurity. I’m not worried about Amy and Ethan. I’m worried about Amy and me. What do I even bring to the table here? Sure, there's the physical connection, the chemistry that sparks between Amy and I, and yeah, it’s really fucking hot, but beyond that…?

I don't dive into books about, I don’t know, worldbuilding? My conversations don't twist and turn through plots and ploys of high fantasy. Amy's intellect is a galaxy I admire but one that I can't always feel a part of; she's smarter than me, in so many ways.

And what am I? The jock? The bimbo? The one who's good with her hands in more ways than one but can't follow a conversation about magic systems or character arcs? For a moment, I'm adrift, the familiar confidence that usually buoys me dipping below the surface.

The self-consciousness is a new and uncomfortable coat that I don't know how to wear. It's scratchy, ill-fitting. I'm not used to questioning my place in someone's life, especially not Amy's. But here I am, doing just that. What is it that I add to her life? What can I share with her that's just as valuable as the worlds she finds in her books or the universe in the sky above?

I want to be more than just a lover to her. The realization surprises me.

Before I can spiral further, Caleb's voice cuts through my reverie. "Jo? Earth to Jo. Hello! Did you hear me? Have you been watching Our Flag Means Death?"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you," I say, shaking off the cobwebs of doubt. I keep up the conversation, trying to anchor myself back to the present, back to the reality where I'm just Jo, the old familiar version of myself, and everything's straightforward, where everything fits, where I fit.

Amy catches my eye, her smile a silent beam of connection. It's warm and genuine, and for a second, it acts like a balm on the raw edges of my insecurities. I smile back, a soft acknowledgment.

But as the night wears on, the laughter and conversation flowing around me, that tightness in my chest doesn't completely dissipate. It lingers, a whisper of fear that I might not be enough. I'm left with a silent promise to myself, a determination to find new depths within me, to be someone with whom Amy can share not just her bed but her passions.

And as much as I join in, my laughter mingling with the others', a part of me – that other Jo, the new Jo – is nervously wondering how I’m going to bridge the gulf between Amy's universe and mine.

≋ ≋ ≋

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of winter as we weave our way back from the restaurant. Amy's hand in mine is a steady presence, a reassuring weight that anchors me to the moment.

“I really like both of them,” Amy says, breaking the silence hanging comfortably between us. Her breath clouds the air, a fleeting wisp of warmth. “They’re fun.”

I nod, squeezing her hand gently. “Yeah, Ethan's impression of his cat trying to 'help' him work was hilarious. I’ve never seen him so animated.” The laughter still lingers in my chest.

Amy's chuckle is a sweet sound, one that tugs the corners of my lips upward. "You'll have to meet some of my friends too," she says, a hint of hesitancy lacing her voice. "They're... well, they're super nerds, you know? I hope they find it in themselves to be as welcoming to you as your friends have been with me."

The words stir something within me, a flicker of unease that I quickly tamp down. I’m not the type to feel insecure, I tell myself. And yet, the fear of being seen as nothing more than a source of physical pleasure gnaws at me. I shove the thought aside. I want to focus on the here and now, on Amy and the comforting squeeze she gives my hand.

"Don't worry about it," I say with a casual shrug. "We can always break the ice with a board game or something.”

Amy's laughter rings out, clear and bright, as she teases, "Oh sure, as long as you're up for a quick eight-hour game of Twilight Imperium." Her eyes sparkle as she glances at me. "It's a bit much even for me... There's politics, economics, warfare... You need a strategy just to make it through the rulebook."

Embarrassment crawls up in me at her words, but I hide it behind a joke. "Wow, sounds like a lot for a hot communications major to take in," I say, the words accompanied with some eyebrow pumps to better obscure my feelings.

Her joyful giggle doesn’t move my mood either direction. "Hey, if I was your neighbor, I’d protect you from any attacks. I’d even swap Support for the Throne with you."

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m in.”

Amy’s hand in mine is the life raft that keeps me afloat in my anxiety. I keep reminding myself of everything we’ve shared, both physical and emotional. And as the stars begin to twinkle overhead, it does make me feel at least a little bit better.

The complexity of Amy's world is daunting, but the intimacy of our interlocked fingers is simple, uncomplicated, good. It gives me hope of a future where I might find my place among the stars she loves so much.

Here and now, under those stars, Amy's voice is a tender murmur, carrying a weight that stops me mid-step. "Jo, do you want to... go further tonight?" Her eyes search mine.

A spark ignites within me, sending a thrill cascading down my spine. I'm a rush of adrenaline, a cascade of desire. Beneath the surface, though, there's a flicker of conflict. Always back to this, back to the physical.

I’m torn between two honest and true versions of myself: The Jo that wants to be loved; the Jo that wants deep connection. The new Jo. Between that Jo and the horny Jo.

I let horny Jo drive.

“Hell yes. I want to go as far as you want to take me,” I say, my voice practically vibrating with excitement.

Amy smiles at me, but stays serious. Dom mode doesn’t make an appearance, not just yet. "We should set a safe word," Amy says. The comment brings out a unique emotion in me, a strange mix of anticipation and a sobering sense of care.

“That’s a good idea, but I don’t really think I’ll need one. I like what you do to me…”

Amy raises her eyebrows at me, pursing her lips. “Jo, that’s not the point. It’s safety, for both of us.”

I roll my eyes, but believe her. “Ok, fine. Can you pick one, then? It doesn’t matter because I totally won’t use it.”

Amy's eyes soften, and she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Absolutely. How about... 'nebula'?"

"Nebula," I echo. “Well, at least it’s a cool safe word.”

Her lips curve into a smile, and she leans closer, her voice a whisper laced with romance. "I'm excited," she breathes, "I like the way you let go with me."

Her words are a flame, and I'm the kindling. Heat pools within me, a private fire kindled deep in my core. Desire coils, tight and insistent.

Again, those stupid feelings surface, ugly heads rearing from the depths of my inadequacy. I want to speak, to voice the subtle ache of my reservations, the fear that my value in her eyes is tied too closely to these moments of passion. But the words smolder unspoken, a different kind of yearning burning a hole in my heart.

Instead, our lips crash together like waves, and I’m merely an ocean of hunger and need. Amy's kiss is assertive, her dominance steel thread weaving through the intensity. She's the tide and I'm pulled under, a riptide that leaves me breathless. Her teeth graze my lip, a gentle assertion of power.

I am clay in her hands, willing to be shaped by her desire.

We break away, our breaths mingling in the cool air, the kiss a lingering taste of the storm to come. There's an urgency now, a magnetic pull that drags us in the direction of my dorm room. Our footsteps quicken, a staccato rhythm against the pavement.

We're a blur of motion, a tangle of limbs and whispered promises as we make our way across campus and to my room.

≋ ≋ ≋

I’m on a chair in my room, completely naked. The only light in the room is one lamp on my desk. Amy has stripped me down, and I’m delightfully vulnerable under her gaze.

She stands before me, still dressed. I watch, transfixed, as she reaches out, her fingers deft and deliberate. A pinch — sharp, sudden — clasps my nipple. The gasp that escapes me puts a smile on Amy’s face.

My hands, guided by instinct, travel up her torso, tracing the landscape of fabric, longing for the warmth of skin beneath. Then, darkness, as she reaches out to put a blindfold on me. My other senses sharpen — a soundscape unfurls around me. The whisper of fabric, the hiss of a zipper; it's the sound of anticipation, of things hidden being revealed.

Amy's hands are on me again, guiding me to my feet, a gentle pressure that's both command and caress. I'm adrift in darkness. She lays me down upon the bed, gently, and her hands roam my torso as she does. I shudder as she strokes my breasts.

"Do you trust me?" Her voice is firm, commanding.

"Yes," I breathe, the word a leap into the unknown.

"Refer to me as darling," she instructs, her tone laced with an authority that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Yes, darling," I reply, the title a key turning in the lock of my surrender.

"Good girl," she says, and the praise is a caress that has me wet.

I feel the bed shift as she moves around me, the slight creak of the mattress under her weight. Then, my arms are drawn behind my head, the cool air kissing the exposed flesh of my underarms. I feel a gentle tug as Amy works knots around my wrists.

“Have you been looking up sex knots on the internet?” I say, trying to keep my tone light as Amy moves my legs into a spread eagle position. This is making me nervous, but in a good way.

Amy's laughter is a melody. "You know how much I love doing research," she says, calming the flicker of fear that comes with such naked exposure.

She finishes tying down an ankle and I flex against the soft yet unyielding embrace of the ties.

The rustle of sheets, the shifting of my body as she places a pillow under my head — these are the preludes to the kiss she plants upon my lips, soft and affirming. A brush of fingers through my hair, a touch that speaks of love and care amidst my submission.

Amy’s fingers make contact at my collarbone, a touch so light it's a suprise. They glide like a feather drifting on a breeze, skimming down the valley between my breasts, raising goosebumps on my skin in their wake. The sensation is ticklish, and I writhe against my restraints.

Her hands, warm and sure, slide over the plane of my stomach, sending ripples of desire through my muscles. The air seems to pulsate with my quickening breaths, each one caught and held in the space between her touch and my skin.

Down further, her fingers journey over the curve of my hips. They dance across the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, a whisper that promises more, always more. I can't help but writhe, a silent plea for a firmer touch, for release.

Finally, Amy's fingers brush against my clit, a contact so fleeting that it feels like a secret shared in the dark. The sensation is a jolt, a spark that ignites the tinder of my need. I flex against the restraints, testing their hold on me, craving the freedom to chase her touch. The silk of the ties doesn't chafe; instead, it's a gentle caress at my wrists and ankles.

"Please, darling," I whisper, my voice strained with need. "More."

She pauses, her fingers lingering at the cusp of my arousal. "Wait," she says, and the word is a silken directive that resonates with the deepest parts of me. It's a denial that holds as much pleasure as any touch could provide, and I am left panting, wanting, suspended in a web of my own desire.

I hear rustling of fabric, the whirr of a zipper. My heart is pounding in anticipation as I await what Amy has in store for me. My legs are stretched out, the ties at my wrists and ankles taut, securing me to the four posts of the bed in a vulnerable display. I let out an involuntary whimper of need.

The blindfold slips away, and the world rushes back in a cascade of dimly lit shapes. My eyes, adjusting to the sudden flood of light, settle on Amy. She's transformed, clad in leather that clings to her like a second skin. She’s a vision of raw, unadulterated sex. I’ve never seen her dressed like this; it’s a revelation that sends my pulse racing. The sight of her, powerful and poised, is an electric jolt to my system, igniting a fire that courses through my veins.

Amy stands at the edge of my bed, her dominance an aura that envelopes her. She is in control. Her eyes lock onto mine, a silent conversation of desire and power that crackles in the air between us.

She leans down, her lips finding mine once more. The kiss is different now, one of possession, of claiming. Her fingertips trail a path along my body, mapping the contours of my excitement, the peaks and valleys of my anticipation. The touch is light, explorative, and maddening in its deliberate pace.

I flex against the restraints again. The sensation of being held tight is both a thrill and a frustration, a dichotomy that heightens every sensation. My body is alight, every movement, every touch amplified by the fact that I can't move, that I can't take control.

Amy's teasing continues, her hands now venturing down, skimming along the insides of my thighs. The proximity to my clit is a torment, and her refusal to give me what I want is a delicious cruelty. She watches me with a focused gaze, drinking in the sight of my need, my desire.

"Beg for it," she whispers, her voice resonates with the part of me that wants to capitulate, to give everything to her.

And so I beg. My voice is a husky plea, words tumbling out in a rush of breath and longing. "Please, darling, please..." The title slips out naturally, a token of my submission, an acknowledgment of her power and my own deep, aching desire.

"Good girl," Amy breathes out, her voice a soft caress that echoes the gentle brush of her fingers against my folds. It's withholds just enough to be maddening. I arch into the sensation, trying to increase the pressure, to encourage a firmer, more fulfilling contact, but Amy is in control. She maintains the feather-light caress, the master of my responses.

"Tell me what you want, Jo," Amy commands.

I squirm against my bindings, the coarse fabric of the sheets brushing against my skin, heightening my awareness of every exposed inch. "Please," I gasp out.

"That's it, be a good girl and beg for me," she says. The approval in her tone is intoxicating, more binding than the ropes that tie me down.

Amy's hand trails along my thigh, her touch scalding. Her fingers dance across my skin. "You're so open like this, so ready for me," she says, her words dripping with satisfaction.

I'm open, displayed for her. "Amy, please," I find myself repeating, each word a note strummed on the tight wire of my longing.

She leans over me, her hair cascading around her face like a curtain of power. Her flingers slip into me. It’s divine, and I moan, my face inches from hers.

"What do you say?" Amy voice is a whisper in my ear.

"Thank you," I breathe out, the gratitude mingling with my need.

"Good girl," she praises, and the words are like a key turning inside me, unlocking a flood of heated desperation. Amy's fingers are deeper in me then, assertive and knowing.

I am laid bare, in body but in soul. Amy's dominance is unwavering, a force that demands my submission and rewards it with shivers of pleasure that ripple through my bound form.

Her fingers pull away, and I arch towards her, craving more contact, more of anything she's willing to give. "Amy, please," I plead, feeling the desperation bubble within me.

"You're so beautiful when you beg," she whispers, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "But patience. I want to savor you."

I let out a whimper, frustrated by the waiting but electrified by her control. “You can savor me as much as you want, please just touch me,”

Amy moves down my body, her gaze never leaving mine. "Look at you, so eager," she says, a hint of tease in her voice.

Her hands are on me then, warm and confident. She thumbs my nipples, playing with my breasts almost casually. "You love this, don't you? Being at my mercy, waiting for whatever I choose to give you," she says as her fingers trace patterns on my skin.

"Yes, Amy, I do. I love it," I confess, the words spilling out amidst ragged breaths.

She rewards my admission with a firmer touch, her fingers pressing on my nipples, leaving me gasping and writhing against my bonds. "I knew you would. You're such a good girl for me," Amy murmurs. She leans down to replace her fingers with her lips.

I'm lost in her, in the sensations she evokes and the words she speaks. "Amy... I can't..." My voice breaks, the intensity of my need overwhelming.

As she continues her teasing, her fingers dancing along my inner thighs, her lips on my nipples, and my body responds with an eager, almost desperate intensity. The building pressure within me is a need, a tide that swells with every whisper, every touch. I'm so attuned to her that the peak looms close.

Then, abruptly, the touch ceases. The absence of her fingers is a cold void, a sudden cliffhanger that leaves me straining against the ties that bind me to the bed. I push against the restraints, a physical manifestation of my frustration and the raw need that Amy has stoked to a fierce blaze within me.

The restraints hold firm.

Amy reaches into her backpack, her hands rummaging before emerging with something held between her fingers. In her hands is a small purple pouch with an ornate drawstring. She draws a svelte dildo from its depths with a reverence that borders on ceremony. The sight of it, gleaming dimly in the ambient light of the room, sends a fresh wave of excitement coursing through me. My breath catches in my throat, eyes wide with anticipation, body alight with desire.

She parades the instrument before my eager eyes, the delicate dance of her hands allowing the anticipation to swell within me. “I kept this next to a little warming pad,” Amy informs me with a mischievous smile. I can only grunt in response, a primal sound betraying my frustration and eagerness as I shift my hips closer to her, the craving within me growing more insistent.

With deliberate slowness, Amy runs the dildo across my skin, its gentle warmth tantalizing against skin. She traces it along my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts, a tactile whisper that draws a shiver from my core. It skims across my belly, a tease that is both torturous and tantalizing, deliberately avoiding the throbbing center of my need. Fuck, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

Then, in a moment that seems both an eternity and an instant, she brings the dildo to her lips. With a seductive gaze locked onto mine, Amy runs her tongue along its length, her mouth enveloping it. Holy fuck. I moan.

She runs it along my folds, a tease that feels like the brush of a petal, deliberately skirting around my clit, a near touch that's almost maddening in its avoidance.

Mercifully, Amy guides it to my entrance, the pressure firm yet gentle. The slow insertion is maddening, each inch draws a deeper, guttural moan from my lips. The feeling of being filled, stretched…

Amy begins to work the dildo in a rhythmic pattern, in and out of me."I want you to feel everything," Amy whispers, her voice divine. "I want you to have a g-spot orgasm," she whispers.

The dildo moves within me, a push and pull deep inside me. I’m completely at Amy’s mercy as she works me. I couldn’t stop the thrusting even if I wanted to, and the thought thrills me, setting my skin on fire. Each motion is a call that my body answers with rising moans, involuntary responses that build with the increasing tempo.

Amy's other hand joins in, gripping each nipple in turn with a firmness that borders on pain, a delicious agony that only heightens the pleasure.

"Yes, yes, yes..." I chant the affirmation, a mantra that punctuates the rhythm Amy has set. The words spill from my lips, spilling into the room like an offering to the gods of ecstasy.

Amy responds to my pleas, her movements gaining urgency. The pace quickens, the strokes of the dildo becoming more insistent, more demanding. She’s fucking me with the dildo now, pressing it into me hard and fast. The tension within me coils tighter, a spring wound to the brink of release. The G-spot orgasm is a deep, mounting pressure, a sensation that swells from within. I’m going to lose control.

I am on the cusp, teetering on the edge of an abyss that promises a fall into pure, unadulterated pleasure.

As the pleasure builds to its peak, Amy shifts her position, bringing her face to my sex. Her breath is a warm whisper against the apex of my thighs just before her tongue makes contact. The sensation is electric, a spark that ignites me.

The dual assault of sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave that leaves no room for thought, only the primal urge to surrender to the swell. The orgasm that crashes over me is a supernova, exploding from the core of my being and radiating outward in waves of ecstatic release. I am shattered, undone by the force of it, my body a vessel for the raw energy that courses through me. My back arches off the bed, straining against the ties, my voice echoing off the walls. Amy maintains contact with her tongue, licking at my clit and holding the dildo deep inside me as I buck.

I pant, still spread out, still vulnerable for her as she extracts the dildo from my quivering pussy. I’m covered in a gentle sheen of sweat, and my legs are trembling slightly. As the ripples of my climax ebb away, Amy's touch becomes a gentle rain, soothing the aftershocks that reverberate through my spent body. Her kisses are tender benedictions, placed upon my skin with a reverence that feels like healing. Slowly, the world begins to piece itself back together, centered around the sensation of her lips on my body.

With careful movements, Amy undoes the ties at my arms, releasing me from my bindings. My limbs, free now, are heavy with the weight of spent passion, but they find the strength to move. My hands roam over the contours of her leather-clad body. They trace the slick material, down, down, until they encounter the warmth of her bare skin. I stroke her body gently.

Amy checks in then, asking how I’m doing, or something. I’m too blissed out to really be articulate, and my response is a series of blissed-out noises, the language of a soul still floating in the afterglow of ecstasy. Words are beyond me, but my touch speaks volumes.

"I'm going to ride your face, and I want your hands free," Amy is telling me, pulling me out of my bliss.

"Yes, darling," I manage to say, the words a soft echo of surrender. The night is far from over, and I am Amy's to command.

Amy positions herself above me, and I can feel the heat radiating from her core. The leather hugs her form, a dark sheath that accentuates the curves and contours of her body. As she lowers herself, I am acutely aware of my own vulnerability, my legs still splayed wide.

The leather ensemble creaks softly as she moves. The material slides against my skin, a tactile reminder of the barrier that still exists between us. She is clothed; I am naked. She is in control; I am at her mercy. The disparity is intoxicating.

She settles over me, her sex pressing against my mouth, demanding yet without force. The taste of her is immediate, and I love it. My tongue finds her, and the sensation seems to reverberate through us both, a shared shiver of contact.

Slowly, Amy begins to rock her hips, grinding against my face with a rhythm that's both primal and precise. Each movement is a slow burn, a building tension that I can feel in the air between us and in the quickening of her breath. She's a silhouette against the dim light, an embodiment of desire, and my tongue is the canvas upon which she paints her pleasure.

Her hands find anchor in my hair, tugging slightly, an assertion of dominance that sends sparks of pleasure radiating from my scalp down my spine. I am open and exposed, my body a landscape over which she claims dominion. As she rides my face, her moans and gasps fill the room.

The climax, when it comes, is a slow unfurling, a bloom of release that spreads through her in waves. Amy's body tenses, her control finally giving way to the force of her orgasm. It washes over her, her grip in my hair tightening to the point of pain before slackening as she shudders and sighs above me.

Eventually, after riding out every wave, her lips against mine, Amy dismounts. She’s sluggish, awkward, her movements languid in the aftermath of her climax. She lowers her body to mine, her breath still coming in quick, uneven gasps. Her lips find my nipples once again, her tongue tracing delicate patterns that reignite the embers of my arousal. The tenderness of the act is a stark contrast to the raw intensity that came before.

"Ready for round two?" she murmurs between kisses, her voice husky with the remnants of her own pleasure.

My body thrums with the echo of her words, the promise of continued exploration, of further surrender. "Yes, darling," I whisper back.

All I can think as her tongue finds my clit once more is that I hope I can keep up.

That’s a first.

≋ ≋ ≋

The gentle light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room where we lie entwined. Like that first morning together, I awake before her. The soft rhythm of sleeping breath still drifts from Amy. Her form is nestled against mine, a nakedness that held such command last night feels close, even just a bit vulnerable this morning.

I untangle myself carefully, mindful not to disturb the peaceful tableau. The cool morning air brushes against my skin as I slip into a robe, a shroud of modesty against the day's beginning. I grab my toiletries caddy and pad to the bathroom.

The rituals of morning provide a backdrop for reflection as minty paste foams over my teeth. Memories of the night before bubble up, each moment worked into my skin, a reminder of pleasure given and received, of boundaries explored, pushed, and respected. Yet as I stand there slaying my morning breath, I'm faced again with the deeper questions that have taken root in my heart.

I know what I don't want: a friends-with-benefits situation. The very idea makes my heart clench within my chest, a categorical rejection. There's too much between Amy and me, too much intensity and care for something so casual.

But how do I navigate this? Do I play it cool, maintain a facade of nonchalance to avoid coming on too strong? Maybe if I keep my feelings in check, I can protect myself from heartbreak. I realize with a start that I don’t really know what Amy wants out of this.

Ethan's advice echoes in my mind, his words serving as a lighthouse in the fog of my uncertainty. I think… I think I should just talk to her. Speak my mind. Define the relationship. Sure, it could lead to rejection, but I can’t go on like this.

I spit into the sink, watching as the toothpaste swirls away with the water. With it, I feel a resolution solidifying within me. I will talk to Amy. It's a risk, but one that feels utterly necessary. We’ve shared our bodies; it's time to share my truth. Our connection deserves that much. And so do I.

With a deep breath, I wipe my mouth and steel myself for the conversation to come.

Stepping back into the dorm room, the scene before me stops me in my tracks. Amy is curled up, the picture of serenity, swathed in my sweater again. It hangs off her shoulders, oversized on her, a soft embrace that's somehow both innocent and intimate. The sight is disarmingly adorable, and my heart does somersaults, a gymnast vaulting over the balance beam of my emotions.

"Good morning," she says, her voice a melody that seems to fill the sparse room with warmth. I want to hear her say that every morning.

"Mornin'," I reply, setting down the bathroom caddy. My hands feel suddenly awkward, unsure of where to rest or what to do.

Amy's gaze is inquisitive as she watches me, her head tilting slightly to the side. "You alright?" she asks, a flicker of concern passing over her features. The oversized sweater sleeves dangle over her hands, an endearing sight that only amplifies the nervous energy I feel.

This is it, the moment of truth.

"Can we talk?" I ask, my voice betraying none of the trepidation that's doing somersaults in my stomach. I sit down on Laura's bed, facing her square.

She nods, her expression softening with concern. "Of course, Jo. What's up?"

I take a deep breath, and it feels like I'm on the edge of a high dive, peering into a deep pool of vulnerability below. "I'm worried," I start, and then the words just start pouring out, "that you might only be into me because of... you know, how good we are together... physically. Because I’m so hot."

She opens her mouth to speak, but I'm on a roll now, and I can't stop the avalanche.

"I mean, we click, right? We have fun, and I love hanging out with you. It's not just... that other stuff, for me. I like you, Amy. Like, really like you. And not just because you're hot, which, by the way, you totally are," I say, a nervous chuckle escaping me as I gesture to the sweater that is far too big for her petite frame.

I'm rambling now, words spilling out as I try to explain the depth of what I feel. "And it's not just the sex, which is amazing, by the way, but it's also how you get all excited about space and the universe, and how you scrunch your nose when you're focused, and your laugh... and I know I don’t know stuff about space or complicated board games or fantasy books or..."

I'm flailing, I know it, but I can't help it. "I just want to make sure that I'm not just a... a sex thing for you. Because you're definitely not just that for me, not by a long shot. And I mean I understand if I am just a sex thing to you, because before I met you it was pretty much all I ever talked or thought about, but like, with you, I feel like I get more sex and I’m even more into sex but also like I’m into you, and that’s more than sex."

There, I've said it. I lay it all out, my heart thudding in my chest like it's trying to escape. I look at her, really look at her, trying to gauge her reaction, hoping I haven't just torpedoed the best thing I've had in a long time. Well, ever.

Amy's laughter fills the room, a warm cascade. I have a flashback to the cabin where I laughed at her like that when she was worried. It's a sound that carries both reassurance and affection, disarming my fears in an instant.

"Jo, of course not!" Amy exclaims, her eyes shining with sincerity and something deeper, something that seems to reach right into my chest and unclench the tight knot of anxiety that had formed there. "I love so many things about you. More than just your body, which I adore, by the way."

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face, a sheepish, relieved grin that feels like the sun coming out after a storm.

As she speaks, Amy closes the distance between us, each step a statement of intent, a physical punctuation to her words. "I love the way you speak your mind," she says.

"I love the way you listen to my nerdy things and encourage me," she continues, a step closer, her presence a growing warmth.

"I love the way you're comfortable in your own skin," Now she's only a breath away, her words a whisper that dances across my skin.

"I love the way you uplift everyone around you," Now she's close enough that I can see the dark flecks in her eyes.

“... even if they don’t want your type of uplifting.” Amy imitates my eyebrow pumps, and I laugh, turning my face away from her. She’s so close it’s overwhelming.

"I love the way you saved me from that asshole when we first met, without a second thought," There's a fierceness in her gaze now, a reflection of the protective fire she's seen in me. Her hands go under my chin, turning my face back towards her.

"I love the way you make me feel," Her hands find my cheeks, cupping my face with a tenderness that sends shivers down my spine.

"I love the way you accept every part of me, so casually, without even a thought," her thumbs stroke my skin, and I can feel the barriers between us crumbling, the last remnants of my doubts dissolving under her touch.

"I love you." The words hang in the air, a confession, a revelation, a promise.

And then we're kissing, a fireworks kiss that bursts in my chest, igniting a cascade of color behind my closed eyelids. It's a kiss of passion, of affirmation, of shared vulnerability and strength. It's a kiss that seals the words we've spoken, an exclamation mark on the feelings we've laid bare.

In this kiss, there is no beginning or end—only the infinite loop of our connection, a love that encompasses both the fears we've overcome and the future we've yet to write.

As the fervor of our kiss subsides, I reach up to cradle Amy's face, my fingers tracing the lines of her cheekbones with a delicacy that belies the strength of my emotions. "I guess that settles it, huh?" I say, my voice a soft murmur that carries the weight of our newfound understanding.

Amy's eyes lock onto mine, deep pools reflecting a myriad of feelings that we've just shared. She nods, her lips curving into a smile that's both content and expectant. She looks at me, waiting. She raises one eyebrow in a question, a slight smirk on her face.

A moment of realization dawns on me, and I can't help but laugh, a joyful sound that feels like it's been waiting to burst forth. "Oh! I love you too!" I exclaim, and we're drawn back into a series of passionate kisses, each one better than the last.

"You know, it would absolutely drive Laura nuts to know we were making declarations of love on her bed," I say.

Amy's laughter punctuates the sentence. It’s such a beautiful sound, She rolls her eyes in mock exasperation, the gesture highlights her Amy-ness so perfectly that it sends another wave of affection through me. "You're going to tell her about this, aren't you?" she asks.

"Yup," I confirm with a nod, my smile unwavering. "But I think she won't mind." After all, what are roommates for, if not to share in the big moments, even if they’re across the world when they happen?

A mischievous glint sparkles in Amy's eyes as she reaches for the sash of my robe. "Well, she probably will mind if we do this on her bed," she says with a playful tone that fires me up again as she tugs the robe off my shoulders.

I nod, a willing accomplice. "Definitely will mind that, but I can wash the sheets," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

With a shrug that conveys a nonchalance neither of us truly feels, Amy leans in close, her breath warm against my ear. "She'll get over it," she whispers.

Our lips meet, and the rest of the world falls away as we begin to make love.

≋ ≋ ≋

Afterward

This, my second book, finishes its serialized publication just one month shy of the otherworlderotic first year anniversary.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed it!

Special thanks to my partner, who remains a constant source of inspiration, and helps me find the joy in my own life. Joy that I reflect in these stories!

Thank you also to my editor, Steven Ogilvy, for your work, and for showing me what my prose can become.

Thank you to the pre-readers, the Discord commenters, and the typo-finders that give the work that professional polish!

And thank you to the Patrons who directly fund this work!

Book two is finished, and there’s so, so much more to write…

With love,

Theo Hartley

Josephine on Fire by Theo Hartley

Published by Hartley Publications LLC 1900 W Nickerson St. STE 217 Seattle, WA, 98117

© 2024 by Hartley Publications LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

First Edition, 3/1/2024

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Hartley Publications LLC does not necessarily endorse the views expressed in this story. Any references to real people, events, establishments, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity and are used fictitiously.