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decadence of decay

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Charlotte's on her knees, naked and ripe, sinking softly into the feather-white sheets. She bites her lip, inviting Becky onto the bed with the motion of a slender finger, inviting her into the one place where she lets everything go. Her hair falls around her face, golden and delicately soft, and Becky just can't resist. She presses her lips against Charlotte, shivering at the wet smack that marks their warm embrace. Their hands move over one another, exploring bare skin.

When they break apart, the heat rising to Becky's cheeks mirrors the dusky rose peeking out from Charlotte's deep tan. They look at each other with eyes of fire and hearts of glass. There's something fragile in this space, something delicate and elusive, something that can slip away if one of them turns their back.

Becky worries her tongue behind her teeth. All at once, she tries to devour Charlotte and everything that she has become. A queen. A goddess. A bloody good fuck.

Charlotte leans back. She winks before dancing her fingertips over her knees. Becky's breath catches. Charlotte takes her time, agonising seconds that just do not seem to pass as she slowly, deliciously, teasingly, spreads her legs.

Becky moans.

That pretty, petal-coloured pussy glistens with Charlotte's arousal, which looks like honey against the dark blonde curls. Charlotte places an index finger on her bottom lip, dipping the first third past the opening and into her mouth. Her playful eyes never leave Becky's slack-jawed gaze.

"Fuck," whispers Becky.

Charlotte traces the outline of her pussy with a wet finger at that same, torturous pace; Becky watches the goosebumps break across her flesh as she shivers at the contact, at the anticipation of what's about to happen. She slides into herself, gasping, her pert mouth forming a perfect circle. Becky squeezes her thighs together. Charlotte's breasts sway as she fucks herself on that one finger, rolling her hips, teasingly slow before picking up the pace.

Becky wants to do something. She wants to squeeze those plump breasts, pinch those pink nipples; she wants Charlotte to gasp at her touch, to melt under her words, to beg for Becky's help to come. Charlotte moans lowly; Becky drags her gaze away from those perfect tits to see Charlotte's added another finger, pumping in and out, and the wet, slick sounds of her fucking herself are getting Becky just as turned on.

She reaches out, fingertips brushing the hard nubs of Charlotte's nipples; Charlotte seems far away, out of her reach, and as Becky calls out her name, that elegant body in the midst of an inelegant act melts into smoke.

Becky awakes with sticky thighs and tears in her eyes. Charlotte fades from the corners of her vision; she blinks, reluctantly, and watches the dream fade away. They've fucked, of course – she knows exactly where these scenes are coming from, and she wants to re-enact them right now, God, more than anything else.

But Charlotte's a different person these days. She's a goddess with no interest in mere mortals. She doesn't need Becky's sloppy kisses or wandering hands, doesn't need obscenely late nights of fucking in the tour bus, giggling all the while. Charlotte has moved onto better things. One day, Becky thinks she can do the same.

It overtakes her now and then, these sudden bursts: she knows they will pass, eventually, as all dirty dreams and ex-heartaches do, but right now, in the moment where curdling emotion spreads through her body, Becky chokes back the empty urge to scream.