Nesta had never planned on doing something like this. She never thought she would have found herself at wit’s end, wanting something she couldn’t quite name.
That was a lie. She knew exactly what it was that she wanted, but the words refused to form themselves in her head. In the beginning, she wouldn’t let them, because if she did, she might realize that what she really needed was a thought she had entertained for years, but never acted on. But when they came to her, when she allowed herself the thoughts to form in a string of intelligible words, and then phrases, and then sentences, she first grimaced, and then tried to figure out how to reconcile her new life to an old one that now seemed so empty in comparison, now that she knew what she was missing.
This was supposed to be a temporary solution. She had been single for a while and although she experienced that familiar need, she had not once been tempted to sleep with anyone she had dated, at least not recently. She’d had lovers before, but something had never been quite right with them. So Nesta thought, and wondered, and watched others and herself and came to the realization that what she needed was something decidedly different than the usual posturing from the people she dated and her own attempts at cutting through the bullshit. If she could avoid the uncomfortable first steps and inevitable disappointment, perhaps she could throw herself into a purely physical relationship. After all, that was all she wanted, all she needed. At least in this scenario, it would be clear where they both stood. She had never seen herself taking advantage of this kind of service before, but Nesta figured it was pragmatic, honest, and at least she wouldn’t have to deal too much with small talk or prying into her personal life.
When Nesta entered the apartment, she was greeted by the familiar sound of music coming from the living room. Throwing her keys on the table in the foyer and tossing her shoes off, she made her way to where she knew Mor was waiting. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to shake the tension from her shoulders before Mor could see and comment. She could feel a smile threatening to creep up on her, something that had been happening far too often recently. Rolling her eyes at herself, she entered the living room. It was sparsely decorated - the entire apartment was, really - and Nesta suspected that it was purely for business arrangements. A neutral space, so to speak.
Morrigan was sitting on the couch, reading the book that Nesta had lent her the last time they met. The thought of her book being held and carried by the other woman gave her a thrill she hadn’t quite expected. Knowing that Mor’s fingers would caress the pages, that she would keep it next to her bed - Nesta didn’t partake in silly fantasies, but she imagined the constant reminder of herself that the object would provide. She had played through the conversations they might have about it, the next time they met, and was already regretting when the book would be returned, severing what she tried to convince herself was not a real connection between them.
Mor looked up and smiled softly, unfolding her legs from underneath her. The sight of the distinctive curl of her lips went straight to Nesta’s heart, where she tried to brush it away, to deny that it existed. She had never known another person who could so completely undo her in this way. She was practiced at pretending, in one way or another. Of course she didn’t mind that the restaurant had run out of her favorite bottle of wine. Or course she could handle the way that Elain doted on their father. Of course it would never bother her that her boss had become so overbearing, demanding. She took it all with a blank face or a tight smile, as the situation required. The need for diplomacy was over-rated, and sometimes got her in trouble when she disregarded it, but she generally brushed off the comments and stares. She was used to them, to people not understanding what was behind the intensity of her expressions.
But with Mor… Nesta nearly lost control when it came to her. She didn’t even have to be around her and she would catch herself smiling. A friend had commented last week while they were at lunch, asking her what was on her mind with a raised eyebrow. The mask went back in place. Tucking Mor into a corner in the back of her mind, Nesta reminded herself to be more careful. Letting her thoughts drift there was dangerous, especially given the nature of their relationship.
A permanent fluttering had settled in her stomach, however. One that Nesta would have gladly partaken in, if it didn’t destabilize everything else in her life. When she woke, it was the first sensation she noticed. She worked diligently at ignoring it all day, because otherwise she feared she wouldn’t get any work done. While trying to talk to clients it would sneak up on her and she would lose focus, her eyes getting a glazed look as her thoughts drifted to the woman she paid money to spend time with. It was ridiculous, really. There were a dozen different reasons why Nesta should not get attached. She could have picked any of them at random, and it should have been enough to stop.
And yet she didn’t, and Nesta watched herself with a mixture of curiosity and fear as she found herself, for once in her life, unable to control not only what she felt, but how it manifested itself, the way that it controlled her thoughts and actions.
There was something about Mor that Nesta couldn’t name. She could replay the sound of her moans in her head, knew the signs that she was close to orgasm, knew just the softness of her inner thighs. And yet… it wasn’t real. Nesta couldn’t keep from reminding herself of this fact as she watched the money leave her bank account, a visual reminder of the fact that Mor was not there because they had met in a bookstore, or at the park. She was there to be paid, to perform a service. And Nesta tried her damnedest to remind herself of that fact, every day.
They didn’t see one another that often. After all, Nesta was busy trying to earn a promotion, and Mor had other clients, a schedule. Nesta tried to avoid thinking about the former, while the later kept them from seeing each other as often as she would like. But that first time, when Mor walked into the room, as she had buried her fingers in the blond hair of the woman between her legs, and then afterwards when Nesta opened up to her in a way she never had to anyone, she knew that she was well and truly screwed. She told herself it was because of the transience of their relationship, that there was an odd safety in knowing that it would never go anywhere, but something in the way that Mor listened and responded made her wonder…
Looking across the room at her, Nesta raised a hand in greeting. Mor stood and walked to the bar, pouring them each a glass of wine before saying anything. Holding a glass out to Nesta, they trained their eyes on one another. They each took a drink, eyes traveling, trying to get the measure of one another, for very different reasons.
“How was work?” Mor usually started their conversations, much more adept at putting people at ease. Nesta figured it was part of her job, to make people comfortable. But she still felt sincerity in the concern and curiosity. What a joke, she thought, that a façade could look so honest.
“The usual. I have a trip next week,” Nesta replied.
“Where to?” Mor took a sip from her glass and gestured for Nesta to join her on the couch. They sat facing one another, legs nearly entwined, and Mor placed a hand on Nesta’s knee, caressing it through the fabric of her pants with a thumb.
“Seattle. I’ll be gone two weeks.” She paused for Mor’s reaction, and took a drink from her glass to keep herself from reacting when she saw her mouth tighten slightly. They rarely communicated outside of these encounters except to make plans for their next meeting, but they had become a nearly weekly occurrence. Nesta didn’t want to fool herself into thinking that Mor would miss her, but the thought entered her head anyway. Especially with the way she had stiffened slightly before settling back into her relaxed posture…
“Is it going to be just business? Or will you get any pleasure in there?” Mor asked.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll have a lot of meetings, of course, and I have to prepare for them. We’re trying to get a new client.” Nesta’s voice caught on the word - client - and she took another sip of wine. “I’m hoping to see some of the sites. Pike Place Market. Find some good bookstores.”
Mor laughed, throwing her head back, and Nesta would have been offended if she weren’t concentrating on the feeling in her core that the laughter produced. She watched the laughter take over her body while a smile spread across her own face that made her feel ridiculous. “Of course you are going to find bookstores,” Mor said, grinning and shaking her head. “Speaking of, I’ll keep your book, while you’re gone. We can talk about it when you get back.”
Nesta’s heart skipped a beat. “You know we’ve seen each other every week for months, now,” she said. She was acutely aware of every moment they had spent together and hated herself for wondering if Mor thought of it the same way, but outside the terms of their arrangement. She had no doubt that some records or ledgers somewhere had an accounting of their time together, but she thought of it in purely personal terms, now. She would calculate how many minutes had she been able to watch the way Mor’s blonde waves fell over her shoulder, how many hours had she been able to spend close enough to touch her skin, how many seconds she had until Mor left the apartment.
“Of course I know,” Mor replied. Nesta merely looked at her, gripping her wine glass, unable to respond. “So I should make this count, shouldn’t I?”
Mor set her glass down and took Nesta’s from her hand before leaning forward. She placed her fingers under Nesta’s chin, lifting her face so that their lips met. She paused there, leaving a space between their bodies so that her warmth was just out of reach, effortlessly controlling every movement Nesta made.
Despite herself, Nesta held her breath, waiting to see what Mor would do next. There was another aspect of this that she enjoyed, one she hadn’t expected - to let someone else be in control, to let go of the tension and to trust that she would not be hurt. It had led her to talk afterwards, to say more things than she had meant to say, but there was a comfort there she hadn’t experienced before. And she ended up craving those moments more than all the rest of it.
Mor traced her fingers down Nesta’s arm, pulling away to look into her eyes, barely inches apart. Taking her hand, she stood, waiting for Nesta to follow before walking them to the bedroom. Another thing that she would never get tired of - watching Mor walk before her down this hallway. Today she wore a form-fitting burgundy shift that fell to her knees, yet hid very little of what was beneath. Not that Nesta didn’t already know every inch.
Pushing her to sit on the bed, Mor settled herself standing in between her legs. Nesta looked up at her and tried to control her expression, but the casual dominance radiating from Mor had her ready to beg. Mor leaned down to meet Nesta’s lips again, this time with more insistence. There was nothing but the feel of their lips together, the shape and fullness of Mor’s bottom lip and the way it quirked up slightly when she was amused, when she knew she had Nesta under her control - it was easy to surrender to this, to forget every responsibility and necessity when this existed in the world.
“Tell me what you want,” Mor said, her lips near Nesta’s ear. She acted as if everything were up to Nesta - she was the client, after all - but in reality Nesta would have done anything Mor asked her to. They maintained a delicate balance of power that was constantly tested, and in moments like this Nesta wanted to laugh and say I want you to take everything, all of it.
Instead, she said, “I want you to make me come.”
After Nesta settled herself against the pillows, Mor hiked her skirt up to position herself between her legs. Nesta squeezed her thighs together slightly and Mor pressed her hips forward, pulling a groan from both of them. She slipped her fingers into the waistband on Nesta’s pants, her fingers ghosting just underneath and refusing to go further. Nesta arched her back slightly, wanting to encourage those fingers to wander downward without having to say the words. Instead, Mor’s lips met Nesta’s chin, her neck, her fingers resting just there as she worked her closer and closer to losing control.
Nesta gripped Mor’s wrist tightly, torn between forcing her to act and knowing the wait was building tension. The fluttering in her stomach had been replaced by a veritable storm, the heat between her legs already building to the point that she could feel the wetness between her legs, causing her folds to slide easily on each other as she shifted her hips. She let out a small whine and increased her pressure, but didn’t try to move Mor’s hand.
Mor shook her head at Nesta, gently pulling her hand away from her wrist. Pushing her shirt up, Mor kissed a path down her stomach, sliding her hands underneath the lace bra she wore. She rubbed her already-peaked nipples for only a moment before sliding herself down, lips covering every bit of bare skin she found while Nesta moaned and writhed beneath her. When Mor unfastened the button of her pants and then pulled down the zipper, Nesta whimpered in relief. Another quick motion had her pants on the floor, followed by her panties.
Running her hands slowly up Nesta’s thighs, Mor resettled herself between her thighs. “What is it that you wanted again?” she asked teasingly, allowing her hands to travel towards Nesta’s hips, but not quite reaching them.
Nesta gripped the sheets tightly and allowed Mor’s name to escape her before answering, “Make me come.”
Mor tilted her head.
With a smile, Mor settled herself next to Nesta and they faced one another. She pulled one thigh to rest over her own waist and Nesta shifted her hips forward slightly, trying to find some pressure until Mor reached down, finally, and stroked between her legs. The resulting moan caused Mor to shiver, and she explored already-familiar slick skin. A finger slid down her center, parting her, before she switched to one side, then the other, spreading the wetness across her skin and facilitating her own movements.
Nesta’s leaned her head towards Mor and they met in the middle, foreheads pressed together while Mor brought her closer and closer to an orgasm. When Nesta bucked her hips towards Mor, she slid one finger in in response. She was answered with an eager, breathy yes.
While Mor added another finger, and then another, and increased her pace, Nesta reached around her back for the zipper of her dress. It took a great deal of concentration, given the beautiful woman who was working so hard to make her come, but she managed to pull it down and slide the dress off of Mor’s shoulder just enough so that she could move her bra strap and take her breast into her mouth. Mor moaned into Nesta’s hair, trying to keep up a steady rhythm, but savoring the feel of Nesta mouth on her while her own fingers moved in her pussy.
The two women’s moans and the sound of Mor’s fingers moving through Nesta’s slick were the only sounds in the room for what seemed like hours as they took pleasure in one another. Impatiently, feeling her own release coming, Nesta reached down to pull up Mor’s skirt. She instinctively spread her legs and Nesta thrust a finger past her panties to feel how wet she was before she was stopped.
“Wait,” Mor said, her breathing labored with effort and lust. “Not yet.” She and Nesta looked at one another, their fingers coated in each other’s slickness, Nesta’s forehead beaded with sweat, and for a moment, nothing else existed. And Nesta could have sworn Mor felt the same thing.
Nesta removed her hand from Mor’s panties and brushed hair away from Mor’s face, words threatening to appear on her lips, words she knew would ruin everything in this moment. So she swallowed them down, and closed her eyes, concentrating only on the tension that had nearly reached its peak and placed her hand on Mor’s waist, steadying herself for the orgasm she was nearly at.
As she came, her energy was as focused on the feeling between her legs as it was on the woman lying next to her. The first wave of her orgasm came and a small sound escaped her throat. She was already thinking about how she could make Mor feel the same way, about the way she looked and her breath caught as she got closer and closer to coming, and the thought helped pushed Nesta further into her own orgasm.
Mor, sensing that Nesta could continue, kept up her efforts, her fingers continuing their steady pace. “That’s it,” she whispered against her ear, her thumb circling her clit while her fingers continued their thrusting. Nesta kept coming, the pleasure running through her body and causing her to lose control over every thought and movement. She wanted to tell Mor how beautiful she was, how she thought of nothing but their next meeting; she felt drunk enough on the pleasure to give up every reservation and barrier she had ever had, to surrender all of it to this woman.
But slowly, surely, the last small waves ran through her and Mor removed her hand, pulling Nesta in close to rest against her. Although her heart wasn’t the one racing, Nesta placed a hand on Mor’s chest, wanting to feel its steady beat as her own slowed. To her surprise, it seemed to be going as quickly as her own, though Mor hadn’t come.
They laid together in silence for a few moments, nestled against each other. Nesta could feel her reserve returning, the bricks of the wall she kept around herself building. She wanted to rest, to savor the silence and peace that followed immediately after her release, but she also knew that if she didn’t say the words now, she might never say them.
“I want you to come with me, Mor.” She turned her head and shifted so that she could watch her reactions.
“What do you mean, come with you? To Seattle?” When Nesta nodded, Mor turned her head away, looking at the ceiling. She crossed her hands over her stomach, fingers threading together.
Nesta tried to keep her heart from racing while she waited for a response. She had been terrified to ask, only knowing that she didn’t want to be apart from Mor for that long. The moment she knew she had to go her first thought had been their time together, how it would be interrupted. The next thought had been that she would love to see the city with her. As if they were a couple, as if they cared about each other outside of the minutes and hours that were counted and quantified in ways Nesta didn’t want to think about then.
Finally, Mor spoke. “Why, Nesta? Why do you want me to go?” She turned back to meet Nesta’s eyes.
Nesta had contemplated telling Mor about how she felt, that she wanted to stop seeing her in this capacity. It had taken her merely weeks to come to this conclusion, once she realized that she was far more invested in this woman than she had ever intended to be. For now though, she couldn’t say as much.
“People at work have been wondering why I’m single. So I may have told them I’ve been seeing someone, and that it has recently become serious.” Nesta was ashamed at her half-truths, but she was desperate enough to fabricate this story from almost nothing, if just to be sure she wouldn’t be without Mor’s company for so long. “So anyway, I was wondering if you would just come with me every now and then. Just to be seen with me. So they will leave me alone.” She tried to look away, but Mor’s gaze was calm and calculating, and she didn’t want to stop looking into the familiar deep brown.
A minute passed while Mor considered. Another minute. Another minute in which Nesta thought she might pass out from embarrassment or anticipation, a feeling she was completely uncomfortable and unfamiliar with.
“You’ll go? Really?” Nesta tried to keep the shock and satisfaction from her voice, to keep her excitement in check.
“Yes. Now, let’s make the most of tonight, and tomorrow we’ll talk about the travel arrangements.”
Nesta flinched slightly at the implication of arrangements, but nodded. She pushed herself up onto her elbow to look at Mor before letting her hands wander to the hem of her skirt, pushing it up and out of the way before placing her tongue between her legs.
Tomorrow. They would talk again tomorrow, and Nesta would have a chance to figure out what she was doing then.