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Stevie Grayson opens the door to none other than Victoria Grayson. Without acknowledging the other woman's presence, she merely turns away, dismissing the inevitable dramatic entrance that she knows Victoria would like to enact. She folds her arms, and walks towards the window to survey the darkened coastline, hearing the click of the lock as Victoria shuts the door behind her.

"This visit seems long overdue, Victoria. I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

She turns only when the silence that follows her statement has drawn out far too long for her liking. She knows that by turning, she is in fact playing into Victoria's hand. But she doesn't play games now, her sobriety has taught her that much.

But when she turns, the space behind her is empty. Wide eyes scan the room to find Victoria seated cross-legged on her bed, wrapped up tightly in a trench coat, with that trade-mark deathly grin. Her trademark blood red lipstick so very bright in contrast to the dark lengths of hair which surround her features. Stevie feels a shiver up her spine. This, is dangerous.

"Well, make yourself at home. Old habits die hard I suppose."

"Oh Stevie. Always so sarcastic. I suppose becoming a lawyer hasn't helped, has it. All that unlady-like ball-busting behavior."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Victoria. Although, you have just remained a trophy wife over the years. Aside from collecting a few paintings, and giving away Grayson money, what have you done again?"

Victoria un-crosses and re-crosses her legs as Stevie talks, tracking the other woman's glances at her stocking clad thighs as they move. She takes in Stevie's power pose- hands on hips and her chin tilted defiantly. And Victoria's grin becomes predatory.

"I'm glad you've returned."

"What?" Stevie questions, completely taken off guard. An ability, she hates, that Victoria still possesses.

"Well Stevie, you do know how much I like a challenge. I've been waiting, and watching. And tonight is the night: to test your sobriety. I brought along a friend or two, after all."

Stevie watches eyes narrowed at Victoria pulls two bottles from behind her.

"If you think that I'm going to give up years of sobriety because you brought a few bottles of booze to my room, you have another thing coming lady."

"Don't worry, dear. I'll persuade you." Victoria simpers with a delighted laugh. The sound of which send chills down Stevie's spine.

And Stevie can't help but remembering the last time she heard that ingratiating laugh. Flashes of strip poker and hard liquor flowing, with soft urgent kisses and pliant flesh. Bruises and headaches, heartache and a night never mentioned again. And suddenly Stevie is scared.

So scared that she grabs the bottle of vodka- her old friend- from Victoria hand and smashes it violently against the bedroom mirror. Her chest is heaving. No, she is not scared of the booze. But she is scared of Victoria. A different kind of sobriety at stake.

Stevie watches the vodka splashed as it drips down the wall onto the shattered shards of mirror below. Closing her eyes, she thinks of the woman on her bed. The likes of whom she'd clearly tried to avoid over the years. Oh she's had dalliances in her time away from the Hampton's, men and women. But none had compared to the individual on her bed. A different kind of addiction.

When her breathing subsides, Stevie put her hand to her forehead, and says quietly, "I think you better leave, Victoria. I won't be tested." In her periphery Victoria rises, and so Stevie marches ahead to let the woman out. Hopefully out of her life, for good.

But when she gets to the door, Stevie is once again alone. Stevie can't help but pinch the bridge of her nose. Damn this woman. Damn her. And trails back to the bedroom, where she spies Victoria, once again at her leisure.

Victoria has dismantled the trench coat that was wrapped around her body. She sits, poised lavishly in a black lacey bra and panty set. Stevie tries to stop her eyes from tracing their way from Victoria's satin panties to the garters holding up shear stockings. But no mean feat, so dark straps tight against exposed creamy flesh compel her gaze.

"I know you want a taste Stevie."

Victoria looks like the cat whose got the cream. At ease amidst her display of feral sexuality.

In response Stevie folds her arms, leaning against the bedroom door frame nonchalantly.

"We're not girls anymore Victoria. And unfortunately for you, I'm not blind-drunk either."

"Playing hard to get Stevie? Perhaps that makes you all the more enticing. You may not want the alcohol, but you certainly want me."

"Don't flatter yourself Victoria. I don't know what you want, but I won't sign the house over to you and I'm not after Conrad. I'm not playing your games anymore. I'm not interested, I haven't been for quite sometime."

"It may surprise you, but I'm not interested in any of those things Stevie."

"Well then, Victoria, please explain to me why you're dressed like a two-dollar escort on my bed."

"You know as well as I do why I'm here Stevie."

"Victoria, I didn't realise that over the years 'desperation' had become your go-to move. Although, I'm not suprised."

"Oh, but you're mistaken my dear. This is not desperation." She says, smoothing her hand along a stocking-clad thigh, stopping to fiddle with the lacey edge near the garter.

Stevie's eye's narrow, lips pouting dangerously. "Well then, what is it?" Sarcasm inherent in her tone.


At this Stevie laughs, but the sound is unnatural, a deflection, a hollow sound, echoing from distrust and insecurity.

"You're joking."

"I am not."

At Stevie's disbelieving stare, Victoria quietly says, "I never forgot that night Stevie."

"Oh please Victoria," she tries to sound nonchalant, but her stomach is writhing. "We were girls. Drunk and half-naked. Conrad passed out and the rest of the party dissipated. It meant nothing..."

Slowly Victoria rises from the bed, stalking at a deathly pace as Stevie continues to wave her hands in the air in front of her, trying to reiterate her point. And then Victoria is in front of her, chest thrust forward, eye's unmoving from her own. Stevie falls silent only when Victoria takes one of her hands, every so softly in her grasp and guides it downwards until Stevie is cupping Victoria's panty-clad sex. Her very moist panty-clad sex.

And then Victoria is leaning towards her, her breath hot against her ear as she says in her most husky voice: "You may deny it, but I won't. I want you Stevie. I've wanted you since that night. I've always wanted you."

Stevie can't help the fluttering of her fingers against Victoria's sex as she hears these words. Nor can she help the groan that these words illicit from deep within her, or the gasp as Victoria attempts to grind down upon her roving fingers. Fingers that glide against soaked satin.

And then Victoria is kissing her, and she's drunk. She can't claim sobriety anymore. Not when the subject of her deepest addiction is pressing her against the door frame, ruining her with touches and moans.

Stevie's hands skim upwards, smoothing along the softness of Victoria's abdomen. She cups a lacey ensconced breast, enjoying the weight of it in her hand. Victoria's hands are in her hair tugging unmercifully as she claims Stevie as her own. She can feel a hardened nipple puckering through the lace, which she decides to deftly pinch. In response, Victoria rip's the dress from Stevie's body. All the while, as their kiss continues, lipsticks smearing together unapologetically.

This is not a smooth coming together of bodies, but a clash of two powerful oceans, meeting amidst a storm of emotion and passion.

And its Stevie, who's shuffling them towards the bed. This is no longer a battle of wills or pettiness. This is pure unbridled desire. And it's engulfed them both. Stevie can help but let a hand trail to Victoria's ass, while Victoria begin's to unclip Stevie's bra.

The last time she had touched Victoria, she had done so through a drunken-haze, and at the time it had shaken her to the core. But this, this was like delving into insanity.

When Stevie straddles Victoria on the bed, Victoria immediately flips them over. This is how it had always been. This is all they know, topping one another. Dominance at its finest. In truth it doesn't matter who will win, because in this scenario they both will. They are equals.

So Stevie looks up at the woman above her, a smirk of defiance in place. Victoria may have topped her, but she let her. Besides, Victoria has come to her, declared her desire for her. Her grin increases as Victoria reaches behind her an unclip's her own bra, flinging it to the side. Dusky nipples pucker deliciously, as her breasts rise and fall with Victoria's laboured breathing. She watches Victoria's hands move to cover her own where they rest on Victoria's hip. Victoria makes sure they never loose contact with her body as they deftly slide upwards until both hands cup full soft breasts.

She watches as Victoria's eyes close in rapt pleasure, chest heaving steadily against the palm of her hands. She squeezes the flesh, to the sound of Victoria's moan. Oh, so glorious. And then Stevie's leaning forward, biting down upon Victoria's collar bone, before tracing her way down towards a deliciously pert awaiting nipple. She wishes she had some self control, that she could resist plundering Victoria. But she can not. The nipple in Stevie's mouth becomes half Victoria's breast as she suckle's mercilessly, Victoria's fingers threading through her hair, pressing Stevie against herself.

Stevie's other hand maintains it's grip upon the other breast, squeezing periodically before it makes it's way down to slip into Victoria's soaked panties. Two fingers lightly trace along the slippery folds of Victoria's sex, avoiding slipping within as Victoria herself grinds down animalistically. And Stevie takes a moment to look into Victoria's hooded eyes, as her fingers slip seamlessly inside the woman in her arms. She watches Victoria's expression, eye's and mouth widening, as she curls her fingers upwards. Rubbing that secret spot of tender pleasure, that billows at her touch.

Victoria's eye's start to close as Stevie's thumb doubles the sensation, stroking exquisitely at her clit, but Stevie halt's her administrations. And Victoria's glares in response, her hand tightening were it clutches a Stevie's shoulder. "Don't stop." A decidedly, less demanding and more desperate statement from Victoria. "Then look at me, Victoria." Stevie re-iterates this statement with a wiggle of her fingers, within the tight confines of Victoria's pussy.

And so Victoria locks eye's with Stevie, the challenge accepted as she rises slowly and grinds down once again as Stevie resumes her fucking. Victoria's croons and moans as Stevie twists and twirls inside of her, eye's clenching and twitching open often to maintain their eye contact. And then Stevie is biting down upon her nipple, staring up at her with those wide eyes of desire, hatred, love. And she's thrown over the edge. She can feel arousal release and flow over and around Stevie's hand, clenched tightly within her.

'God, how she's missed making this woman cum' is Stevie's only coherent thought. She watches as Victoria cries out in ecstasy, again and again. Staring wonderingly, at this goddess in her arms, she takes a moment to awe at the muscles fluttering and clenching moistly around her fingers. Conrad was a fool to ever let this woman go, and so was she.

And then Victoria is collapsing in her arms, completely vulnerable, she rests her cheek against Stevie's shoulder as she nuzzles against her neck. "That was..." And Stevie responds quietly with a "So were you."

They stay like that for quite sometime, afraid, both so terribly afraid to break what's between them. Victoria knows that having Stevie touch her is only half of what she wants. She wants to touch Stevie, she wants to brand her and mark her as her own. But Stevie is more complex than any man she's ever been with. These past few hours are the perfect example. Victoria's aim was to fuck Stevie, not have the tables turned. Not cum intimately in the woman's arms as she whispers sweet nothings in her ear, staring at her, into her. No, the problem is, Victoria has just given herself to Stevie Grayson. Surrendered. Submitted. Victoria Grayson submits to no one.

With renewed resolve Victoria is pushing Stevie back onto the bed. Tearing off Stevie's panties as she begin's to fuck her unforgivingly. She's swallowing Stevie's moans as she kisses her, gathering the moisture she finds from Stevie's sex, to smear upon her breasts. Where Victoria licks and nibbles, as stevie mewls beneath her. She makes her way down toward where her fingers are curled inside Stevie. She's had enough foreplay, their foreplay begain the minute Stevie returned to the Hampton's. And so without pause or preamble Victoria slips her lips around Stevie's swollen clit, licking gently at its length as it jumps and twitches. She can feel Stevie's hand pressing her head against her sex. Is there no greater heady sense of power? And so with her other hand Victoria grabs Stevie's breast, desperate for another connect, another claim. She feel's Stevie wrap her other hand over her own as the massage and grip her breast together, in time with the thrusts and sucks that Victoria is delivering below.

Victoria's hummed pleasure shoots along Stevie's clit and sends the woman over the edge, stiffening as she gushes over and onto Victoria's waiting tongue. There can be no greater pleasure, Victoria decides, than kissing someone with there own orgasm fresh upon you tongue. And so Victoria climbs up Stevie's sated body and kisses her, before snuggling against her.

They will make love again this night, of that they are both certain, Stevie needs to repay Victoria for that kiss alone. She knows she will make Victoria drink the forgotten bottle of Champagne on the floor. Stevie will not partake herself, but to watch as the sparkling liquid courses down and over Victoria's body will be enough, the throb of her clit making her achingly aware of her desire.

They will not talk of their relationship, or what lies between them. For now they will have this night, and perhaps a few more. But hopefully not 20 or 30 years in between. And so Victoria cups Stevie's sex possessively as Stevie clutches her ass. And they lie, staring at one another, a million things unsaid, a million desires unspoken. But they have the night.

The End.