Wedding days were never easy, but Sumia had advanced inconvenience to an art form. Just counting the missteps starting with their escape from the bridal tent, she’d tripped while carrying Cordelia over the threshold to their suite, depositing the two of them into a jumbled pile of limbs, corsets, and gauzy veils into the bridal suite’s thankfully plush carpet. She’d fumbled with Cordelia’s dress, she’d fumbled with her dress, she stripped Cordelia’s underthings with all the dexterity of a drunken monkey, fingers shaking as if she’d never seen a woman’s bra before, much less doffed her own every night of her life since they’d forced her to start wearing one.
Pinned beneath Sumia’s wriggling grip, and suffering what felt like slings and arrows more than the eager exploration of her wife’s fingers, Cordelia decided enough was enough.
Making a face as if Cordelia’s body were an overcomplicated set of furniture instructions, Sumia whimpered, “It’s okay, I’ll—”
Sumia firmed up her jaw and set her shoulders. “I’m fine! I-if I can just—”
“ Sumia! ”
At the rather stern bellow of her name, Sumia instinctually stood to rapt attention—well, before they were brides, finances, or even girlfriends, Cordelia had outranked her in the pegasus corps. Though the mewl of a whimper that spilled past her lips, not to mention the tears now trembling at her lashes, probably wouldn’t have earned her much respect in the training grounds.
“Sumia, love.” She clasped both of her hands around one of her bride’s to halt the awkward, if enthusiastic, prodding. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
“The flower fortunes were right!” Sumia sat back atop Cordelia’s legs and moaned out her grief to the ceiling. “This is all Sully's fault! She wouldn’t let me redo them before the ceremony so I’d get a good one.”
Cordelia couldn’t help but laugh. “ That’s why you were late to the altar? You wanted a do-over with the flowers?”
“You don’t understand!” Sumia offered worriedly, groping the air this way and that, as if appealing to an invisible jury. “You’re perfect . Everything you do is perfect . S-so what would you think of me if I ruined this like I ruin everything else?” Her dark brown eyes shone with tears. Deep breaths between words, the colossal effort of holding them back. “If our wedding night wasn’t perfect too?”
“I’d think we had another two weeks to get it right. It’s not just our wedding night, it’s our honeymoon ,” Cordelia said softly, cupping Sumia’s cheek into her palm. “And if two weeks aren’t enough, we have the rest of our lives to shake out the kinks.” Then, hooking her leg around Sumia’s rear, she drew her close for a slow kiss.
Sumia moaned into the soft advance of Cordelia’s tongue. All at once, she was unburdened. Treacherous thoughts of weakness fled from her mind before the sureness of her wife’s kiss.
Cordelia thought she’d wait a few days before mentioning that was a move from her romance novels she’d always yearned to try.
It was funny, how those moments tended to work out.
Cordelia squirmed a little, sitting up against the headboard with Sumia’s gentle assistance. Their hips met, and gently rocked against one another. Cordelia held Sumia at the small of her back, and at her neck, supporting her weight. Sumia’s nails traced tenderly over Cordelia’s face. Without a thought, they tested how they locked with one another, how they fit. Cordelia’s nose flared with new breath, as their legs intertwined and Sumia’s heat met her own. She tensed all the way down to her toes, their bodies interlocked, and she was paralyzed.
A heartbeat surged so hard in Sumia’s chest it pained her, then her pulse froze. Her nails dug into Cordelia’s shoulders.
“Let’s start…” Cordelia felt her vision go to pinpoints. She had to think just to breathe. “Slow…”
So they did. They rocked with one another, against one another, sharing warmth and wet. Cordelia’s hand at Sumia’s neck tickled upwards, into the piles of her elaborate hairdo, somehow undisturbed through all this. She held on tight, and let herself fall into sensation, as Sumia rode her.
Sumia could hardly concentrate, but instinct proved her much more capable that her conscious mind allowed. Their soft hairs tickled against one each other, thrilling velvet with the rush of skin against skin. Sometimes the slide of hips and thighs, sometimes the thrust of them, sometimes the needy, insufficient grind that made Sumia moan blindly for more. She fell forward, breasts pooling atop Cordelia’s, seeking better sensation, seeking more .
She began to cry out, so Cordelia thought to silence her, but the muffling of lips and tongue lasted only a moment. Short of breath and shorter of thought, Cordelia began to echo those sounds. Her fingers had never left the small of Sumia’s back. They clenched there, pulling, holding, gripping, keeping. Cordelia, brow furrowed in the concentration required just to bear this overwhelming sensation, found it impossible to tell who was doing what, or even who was who. Life became a blur. They seemed to lose themselves to each other. Hands grasped and groped. Bodies collided. Nipples slid over shuddering skin. A full, precious body began to shake. Its lips began to mewl.
Who screamed first? Who dug nails into skin? Who bit down on their lip? Who reached between slick, sweaty bodies to massage them past the breaking point? Who took fistfuls of hair and plunged against the other for those last few, fugue-like moments of their shared climax?
It truly didn’t matter. It almost felt better, not knowing at all.
With the tickle of Sumia’s timid smooches along her collar bone, Cordelia did her best to summon a wry grin, but her body was surprisingly heavy at the moment, and willfully disobedient. How badly she wanted to lift her hand and touch her wife. Still, lips gracing against the crown of Sumia’s head, through her pants of recovery, she managed to say, “Tell that to your flowers.”
Sumia rolled off of her, collapsing into the comforter with an explosion of fluff. Her jaw was slack, her expression dazed. Her right leg still shook, here and there, as the last of the jitters worked their way out of her body. She let her ear fall against her shoulder, regarding her wife like a cautious kitten. “Was that… how you expected it to be?”
“Nope.” And before Sumia could finish her mewl of disappointment, Cordelia corrected. “Better.”
“Flowers can go stuff it!” Sumia chirped.
“Too right,” replied Cordelia, quietly, counting the pebbled spots of light in her vision. She hadn’t expected orgasm to be so… all-encompassing.
But, she felt life returning to her lips, and her senses clearing. Enraptured by the sight of her wife’s blissful squirming beside her, Cordelia felt the desire welling up from her stomach once more, and the strength returning to her limbs.
“Now then,” she said, summoning Sumia’s attention with by fanning herself with a loose hand. Her legs spread, inviting. Her pussy was open, wet, red from friction. Spread fingers framed it, that glistening treasure, in a generous V. Cordelia grinned something wicked. “Care to show me what you’ve learned?”