PIXILATED

Author: Rabid/Raeann

Special Thanks To: Keswindhover for her donation and her patience.

Beta Babes: Caia and Zyrya

Couple: W/T

Rating: R

Season: 4

Raison d’etre: Writercon. Kes bought my services and she wanted a W/T fic with new love blooming and library inside info. Thank you Kes for your support of the scholarship fund at Writercon…one of my dearest cyber-friends is making the trip thanks to you and the other generous people who bid. Hope you enjoy this little attempt of mine to say THANKS!

Summary: Just prior to THIS YEAR’S GIRL, Willow talks Tara into transferring her work-study job to the library where Willow volunteers for credit. But when something goes wrong in the stacks and Buffy is too busy with Riley to help, Willow may just bite off more than she can handle.

PART TWO

Diffused sunshine from the library’s central skylight helped Tara pick her way across the reading area. She scrambled over piles of fallen books until she reached the spot where she’d last seen Willow. The shadows in the aisles were impenetrable from the far side of the room but once she entered the darkened space between the tall bookshelves Tara’s eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom. The long tunnel of heavy tomes ran arrow straight and empty, narrowing with distance. There was nothing remarkable about the paired rows of shelving.

Coming to grips with the space sent a new prickle of fear along Tara’s skin. She had expected to find Willow crumpled in a heap on the floor. But there was only a dusting of fine blue particles. To stave off a sudden chill, Tara crossed her arms over her chest. She glanced up and down the aisle.

Willow had vanished. Tara eyed the blue powder dusting every surface. Was this silt all that was left of Willow? Tara reached out a tentative finger to trace a line in the dust on the nearest shelf. Her vision blurred with tears. Her arm and hand felt heavy. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Willow?” she whispered.

“Tara?”

The whisper had a strange timbre, throaty and full of drunken glee. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

Tara’s tightly drawn nerves jangled like keys on a ring. She twitched in response to the soft call and jerked around, her eyes darting wildly. A darker shape twisted in the lesser gloom at a break in the aisle. It was Willow. Tara knew her even in silhouette. But why would Willow be whispering and hiding? The lithe figure swayed seductively, ducking back into thicker darkness. Tara narrowed her gaze to a distrusting squint as the shadow crooked a beckoning finger.

“Willow,” Tara called again. Using the sharp tone she sometimes used with the chickens back home, she layered a demand under her plea.

Willow’s breathless giggle floated in the thick air. It was a merry sound, a dancing sprite of happiness. It drew Tara along like a will-o-wisp, hurrying her feet. She trotted to the spot where Willow had appeared and then vanished, turning to follow the narrow corridor between two sections of the library. Deeper and deeper she went, deeper into the stacks, further from the light.

The carpeted floor dampened her footsteps. Willow’s laughter skipped ahead of her for a time and then faded away until the only sound coming to Tara’s straining ears was the faint susurration of the air-conditioner. The stillness settled like a heavy cloak. A faintly musty cocoon of arcane knowledge wrapped around her. Leather-bound tomes with yellowed pages crouched patiently on their shelves. The shelves towered high overhead, straight as the trunks of oak trees. Tara glanced nervously over her shoulder. Overhead signs pointed out the path in this enchanted forest, informing her that she was in Bound Periodicals.

Any witch worth her salt knew better than to follow an enticing figure into the woods. These were always charms set to snare the unwary. Tara stopped to think. Biting on one knuckle as she considered, she thought about retracing her steps. She could call the magic shop Willow had told her about, the Magic Box. The formidable Mr. Giles and his Slayer would know what to do. As she stood debating the wisdom of such a course of action something soft dropped from the sky and settled across her face.

The effect was disconcertingly like walking into a spider’s web. Stifling a shriek, Tara clawed at the diaphanous material until her mouth and nose were clear of it. She hurled the clinging thing away from her with force but it was so light it caught on the air and wafted to the ground close to her feet. Silver threads glittered up at her. Tara felt a burning sting in her throat as her breath tore against the sudden tightness there. Several seconds ticked by before her pulse slowed enough to allow further investigation of the thing.

When she felt calmer, Tara leaned over to peer at the tangle of cloth, poking at it with the toe of her shoe before bending to pick it up again. She turned her find this way and that until it unfurled into Willow’s blouse.

What the…? Why would Willow remove her blouse?

Tara could think of no reason. She examined the garment again, seeking some explanation. It wasn’t damaged. There were no missing buttons or torn seams. It had been carefully removed and placed in Tara’s path. There was no evidence of a struggle but Willow stripping off her blouse in the upper reaches of the U.C. Sunnydale Library made even less sense than the game of hide-and-seek she and Tara were playing.

Craning her neck, Tara searched the surrounding bookshelves. There was no further sign of Willow. Tara called again and, receiving no answer, puffed out an exasperated little grunt. This was maddening. She couldn’t spend all afternoon wandering up and down empty aisles. Resolutely gripping the shirt in one fist, Tara turned to retrace her steps. The librarian would know what to do. She would find her and try explaining what had happened.

Before she’d taken a dozen strides the alluring peal of mirth rang out again. It was a sweetly refreshing sound, definitely Willow’s laugh. Tara stumbled to a halt, every sense straining to locate the source of the laugh. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears and she struggled to control her breathing. There was nothing to fear. The logical explanation for Willow’s odd behavior was the one offered earlier by Spike: fairy dust had narcotic properties.

Willow had been at ground zero for the puff of blue dust. It followed that she was not in her right mind. She needed a friend, someone to keep her out of trouble. In her current state, she could do something rash and she wouldn’t want to be discovered by strangers.

Realizing she had no other choice, Tara stiffened her spine, determined to search until she found her friend. Clutching the soft silk blouse to her breast, she followed the lure of Willow’s giggles along a trail of cast-off clothing. The next item she found was a shoe. She nearly missed the sweater, despite its bright colors, because it was tucked between two over-sized books on a high shelf. Spotting it from the corner of her eye, Tara backtracked and stood on tiptoe to retrieve it.

Tension tightened her shoulders, making them ache. Awkwardly hugging shoe, shirt and sweater, she searched for the next clue to Willow’s whereabouts. By the time she found her skirt, six aisles over, Tara was tired of the treasure hunt. Squatting to pick up the skirt, she shifted the rest of the clothing to make room in the crook of her arm. The skirt was old denim, patched and butter soft.

As Tara’s fingers curled into the fabric she could feel the warmth that lingered in it. Willow was close, only minutes ahead of her now. Tara’s concern was briefly eclipsed by an image, brilliant in her mind’s eye, of nearly naked Willow. She would be soft and warm as well, her legs gloved in thigh-high white tights. The memory of Willow’s long, sleek legs made Tara swallow convulsively. She was cursed with a vivid imagination and her mental picture was startlingly detailed.

Imaginary Willow still sported a bra, in addition to the tights…something in peach satin seemed right. And of course her panties would match. There would be a slip or camisole, possibly, and presumably she would be wearing her other shoe. Tara gave her head a swift shake. What if one-shoe-wearing Willow ran into a teacher or the security guard or some horny jock? What if she was completely nude? Could they rely on the kindness of strangers, given Willow’s state of mind and resultant state of undress?

Tara didn’t think they could. Feet scuffing static cling from the carpet, she hurried along. As she neared the end of the seemingly endless stacks, natural light brightened the aisle. She blinked and struggled to orient herself. Where was the light coming from? Long, narrow windows graced all sides of the library, but did they look out from the stacks? Tara thought there were offices or storerooms. She wondered what direction she was facing. She knew a fire escape stepped down the north side of the building.

Hopefully, Willow hadn’t found a way outside. In her current state of mind she could be dancing around in the common square fountain without a stitch on. Panicked by the thought, Tara ran the short distance to the end of the aisle. A fire door with a small pane of glass in the middle broke the monotony of the nearest wall. She crossed the yard wide swath of carpet, feeling oddly exposed. When she touched the metal door a slight spark of static electricity nipped at her fingertips. Pressing her forehead against the window, she peered down the fire escape.

No gathering crowd stared up at her or followed after a spectacle. The rust-colored stairs lead down to the ground and, in the shadow of the library, a stretch of empty campus; grass, sidewalks and stumpy evergreens landscaped into regimental symmetry edged the parking lot. Tara closed her eyes, relief relaxing her shoulders. The chill of the glass against her cheek was sobering. What was she doing? This was crazy.

Willow was obviously under some magical influence, and for the first time Tara wondered if the pixie dust had affected her, too. She glanced over her shoulder, down the long corridor between the shelving and the wall. Nothing stirred. The eerie silence raised the hair on her arms. She might have been alone in a world of books.

A flicker at the corner of Tara’s eye made her turn just as Willow slithered around the end of a bookshelf a few feet away. She stretched her arms over her head until her back arched seductively. Tara stared, openmouthed. ‘Nipples,’ her overstressed mind commented. She made note of them. They were covered in sky blue lace, not peach satin, but they were peaked and pointing and just as luscious as Tara had imagined.

She swept a critical eye down Willow’s form, noting how reality differed with her earlier fancies. Real Willow, she noticed, wasn’t wearing her other shoe. She wasn’t wearing anything at all beyond the lacy blue bra and a low-rise mockery of boy’s briefs in the same material. The third thing Tara noted was Willow’s legs. They were better than she’d remembered…lithe, strong. They seemed to go on forever.

Tara’s eye traced the barely curving line of Willow’s legs, from ankle to hip. Her mouth watered slightly at the thought of how those legs would feel intertwined with her own. Willow smiled as if reading Tara’s mind and cocked one knee forward. Tara moistened her lips. Her palm itched to slide along that exposed inner thigh. She longed to walk her fingers up the sweet valley at the apex of Willow’s leg and then to slip under the band of lace guarding her milky skin.

Would it be so very wrong? Just to let one finger sample the satin glide into wet heat? Just to have one taste of Willow? One kiss? Was it the latent result of inhaling pixie making her so light-headed? Or was it only Willow magic?

Panicked by the rapid tempo of her heart and the direction of her thoughts, Tara squeezed her eyes shut. She felt as if she was floating. Sucking in air, she chided herself. Of course it would be wrong to take advantage of her friend’s inebriation. Willow wasn’t gay. She was pixilated, momentarily confused.

‘She probably thinks I’m Oz or that guy from Chem. Lab she was telling me about last week.’

Eyes still tightly closed, Tara stomped on her desire, kicking and shoving it toward the back of her mind.

“You found me,” Willow breathed, too close at hand. The proximity snapped Tara’s eyes open. “I knew you would. My clever Tara.”

‘Okay…she knows it’s me but…that doesn’t mean she wants to…’

“Wi-wi-llow?” Tara said, making the name a question of motives. She tried to say more but her suddenly dry mouth was even less under her control than usual.

Willow’s eyes sparked with a dark fire, like lightning against purple clouds. She had pushed lazily away from the bookshelf and was slinking toward Tara. “You’re a very pretty girl,” she said.

The suggestion behind her words was a slow pull of silk over bare skin. It made Tara wet and breathless. Her body felt unwieldy yet weightless at the same time. She tried to sidle away but her knees were shaking and she only managed to take a few stumbling steps. Willow circled to easily cut off her escape.

“I think we should go back to the others, to the stairs,” Tara said, stammering so much she could barely make out her own words.

Shifting her burden of Willow’s castoff clothing, she pointed toward the center of the building. The movement brought Willow’s attention to bear on the armload of spoils. She broke out of her prowl to cock her head.

“My clothes,” she said.

“Yes!” Tara thrust the bundle toward her. “Here.”

Willow studied the items and then carelessly plucked her shirt from the knot of cloth. The rough snatch caused the rest of the rescued clothing to spill to the floor. Tara grabbed in vain at the falling things. Her efforts seemed to amuse Willow, who chuckled saucily. Holding Tara’s eye she held her shirt up like a veil between them then let it drop and waft down to join the other garments. Without sparing her clothing another glance, Willow stepped over the heap to close on Tara.

“I was hot,” she said, lower lip pouting prettily. “I’m still hot.”

She brushed her fingertips over her bare midriff. Tara’s gaze followed Willow’s hand down. Her stomach clenched and twisted, keeping time with the slither of fingers as Willow sashayed closer. Their hips touched and their bodies seemed to zip together.

Willow pressed in until her lips were a few centimeters from Tara’s ear. Her whispered question tickled. “Aren’t you hot?”

Folding her elbows to her sides and praying for pockets to appear so she could tuck her hands away from temptation, Tara gargled out a negative. “No! I’m not…not h-h-ho…warm. Cold…it’s cold in here.”

She wanted to shove Willow away. More than at any other time since getting up that morning, Tara wanted to escape this immensely complicated situation. But she didn’t trust her own impulses. If she touched Willow…if she allowed any contact…she might never stop touching her.

Tara had no intention of taking advantage of her friend but her heart craved another skim of Willow’s lips along her cheek. Her tongue longed to taste and her arms ached to wrap around Willow’s slender waist. Despite her protests, Tara didn’t want this thrilling intimacy to vanish, as it certainly would if she called out for help or pushed away. Internally conflicted and mutely rooted to the carpet, she could only duck her chin to avoid Willow’s eye.

Hair veiled Tara’s face. Frustrated, Willow pulled back, clicking her tongue in reproach. She used the rounded tips of her nails to trace along Tara’s forehead. As her hand drifted, thumb pressing into a swallow-wing brow, her splayed fingers combed honey-colored strands out of Tara’s eyes. The easy familiarity of the gesture sent a tiny shiver dancing over Tara’s skin. Her pulse skipped and a deep ache throbbed under her breastbone.

A clenched fist of pleasure squeezed her heart, making her insides coil tighter with each ragged breath. Her knees locked and her nipples strained against the serviceable cotton of her bra. Willow nuzzled her cheek, snuffling like an animal. Tara’s insides liquefied. She imagined other animal sounds they might make, panting and howling. She caught herself thinking about the black lace teddy hidden in a drawer back at her dorm room and squirmed in an effort to break away from the disturbing reactions of her mind and body.

The bid for freedom made Willow’s eyes flash. She carried Tara to the wall, fisting her hand to tug firmly at the tresses in her grip. Tara stopped struggling. The hair pulling didn’t really hurt. It was a light discipline, a reminder of Willow’s innate power. She could and would have her way. With anyone else Tara would have been frightened by the show of aggression. But Willow’s dominance set her treacherous body singing. She felt fragile and feminine like some fair maiden about to be swept off her feet. Sensing her submission, Willow eased her grip, backing away.

“You are hot,” she whispered before leaning close again to glide the tip of her tongue along Tara’s lower lip.

The unexpected caress sent a prickle of sexual heat to Tara’s core. An oily jumble of wicked thoughts hardened the tips of her breasts. “Oh!” she exclaimed on a soft breath. Her hands clutched at Willow’s shoulders, seeking some sense of stability. Willow was snaking back and forth, hips rocking left and then right.

Tara’s thoughts jumped and skittered like droplets of water on a hot skillet. How like the Hellmouth to embarrass Willow and ruin their friendship while granting her a cherished fantasy. The brief pleasure of this heady encounter wasn’t worth the loss of Willow’s companionship. And Tara was genuinely worried about her friend. She didn’t want to take advantage of Willow’s fragile state of mind. As the sober one, the one with more worldly experience, Tara knew she should take charge of the situation. But she wasn’t good at taking charge.

Still, it couldn’t get too out of hand, she realized. Willow was in virgin territory. She might be pixilated but she wasn’t gay. Any gayness that happened would require Tara’s cooperation.

‘We can’t do this,’ Tara thought. The freshman cliché of it all made her cringe. ‘Drunken indiscretions? We can’t. It’s the pixie dust. It has to be. And Willow will hate me if I don’t stop her.’

But Willow wasn’t waiting for Tara’s guidance or even her expressed permission. She was having no trouble with the lesbian aspect. Tara knew she was working from the global guidebook for sex: kissing, touching and creative use of tongue. The knowledge made Tara sick at heart. This wasn’t real. She knew it but she couldn’t pull away.

Filled with blue-dusty confidence, Willow was pressing intoxicated kisses on every inch of Tara’s exposed skin; face, hands, throat, and there was nothing novice about her straightforward approach. She licked, nipped and nuzzled. She slithered down Tara’s body, lap-dancing sans lap. Her stiffly peaked nipples traced fiery lines down Tara’s torso.

Desperate to avoid too much intimate contact, Tara wriggled from side to side but her hip circling shimmy was more evocative than disobliging. She kept bumping into Willow parts, soft ones and hard ones, ones with rough, demanding fingers. Tara bucked away from those fingers as slick heat trickled down her inner thigh.

Willow still held the reins of Tara’s hair but it was her other hand that was sapping any will to escape. It stroked from neck to waist to breast to back. Tara grew dizzy trying to follow the path of meandering fingers. Then Willow’s knee entered the equation, shoving between Tara’s tightly clamped thighs, making her jump. She tried to shy to one side but she was lifted into the saddle by an arm snaking around her waist.

Tara’s skirt louvered up like a Roman blind. Cloth bunched around her hips and cool air tickled her exposed skin. Balancing on tiptoe, she steadied herself with both hands on Willow’s upper arms as the knee rocked hard into springy flesh. A tiny groan escaped Tara’s lips. She turned her face into Willow’s neck and thrilled to the string of light kisses Willow dropped along the curve of her jaw.

“Made you wet,” Willow said, stirring silken blond hair with her words.

She started sucking lightly over a pulse point, all the while rubbing with her knee. Her mouth glided in a wet arc across the bridge of Tara’s collarbone. Her teeth pinched skin as her knee pumped back and forth. Her fingers seemed to be everywhere at once, plucking at Tara’s clothing, opening buttons and tugging at snaps.

Breathing quick and heavy, Tara braced against the wall, her elbows knocking into it with each thrust of Willow’s knee. She felt trapped, as much by her own need as by Willow’s body blocking her getaway. Lost in the dream come true, she mentally directed Willow’s free hand to her waist and thought she must have spoken aloud when a second later Willow was fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

‘How does she know?’ Tara wondered and then gasped as long, slim fingers found their way to her skin.

After pushing boldly under the velvet hem, Willow’s fingers circled as if momentarily confused. They seemed to Tara to be sinking into her increasingly insubstantial flesh but the hesitation offered some brief clarity. Seeing an opportunity to voice her protest, Tara focused her thoughts. But before she could speak Willow’s fine-boned hand claimed a breast, kneading it with firm assurance. The contraction of Tara’s areola under Willow’s swirling palm was so abrupt it pained. Tara’s mouth opened on a soundless wail as she arched into the sensation.

Her tongue found Willow’s mouth in a kiss born from desperation. She was parched for a taste of inexperience…something, anything to slow this slide to perdition. Willow stilled as Tara entered her but started a happy puppy wriggling when Tara’s hands locked behind her neck. Willow’s slightly parted lips were crushed as Tara plunged into the inviting warmth beneath with savageness almost alien to her. The thrust of her tongue was a twisting stab, making the kiss sting in its first moment. But in the space of a few ragged breaths Tara’s ferocity melted away. Her grip slackened and her mouth filled with sighs. Time seemed to be slowly dripping past, a beaded string of honeyed moments.

Willow combed her fingers free of Tara’s hair, her hand sliding down to cradle the nape of Tara’s neck. She pulled Tara forward, backing toward the stacks. Tara peeled from the wall, pliant, asking only another kiss. They started moving through the library.

There was a dream-like quality to their staggering progress down the aisle of books. Willow danced in and out of Tara’s grasp. As she twirled away, her hair floated in a disordered red halo. When she was very near, her lips were soft and looked glossy pink. They carried an unexpected tang. Tara caught Willow close again and lingered over her flavor, trying to decipher it. Grapefruit, she decided. There was a citrus boldness; sweet and tart at once, like lemonade. Lip-gloss, Tara thought and then remembered Willow’s ever-present Altoid candies. She smiled without breaking the kiss.

Willow smiled, too. They stumbled into a bookcase, making a bar-graph out of the tomes. Coming up for air, Tara was dazzled by the grin that sparkled in Willow’s green gaze. Mischief glittered in her eyes like dew on new leaves.

“You wanna…?” she whispered.

Struck momentarily dumb Tara could only nod her acquiescence. She didn’t need Willow to specify further. Whatever it was she had in mind, Tara did indeed ‘wanna.’ A faint blush of delight set Willow’s milky complexion aglow. Her fingers fumbled for a hold on Tara’s wrist.

As Willow started towing her deeper into the darkened library, Tara let her gaze drop to the sway of blue clad hips. Her fingers twitched eager to explore. She could readily imagine this new, bold Willow taking her in deep. It was all she could do not to act on the impulse in the middle of the aisle. Her mind was full of naughty images, chiefly Willow stripped and bucking under her busy tongue. Tara bit her lower lip, holding her impulses in check as Willow gave a fierce tug on her arm and turned them toward an unknown destination.

Willow led the way, along the seemingly endless rows of periodicals, to a door in the west wall. It opened into a tiny and sparsely furnished room. There was harsh overhead lighting, a desk and two ladder-backed chairs. Willow’s missing shoe was nested in the tangle of her white tights under the edge of the desk. Tara hesitated on the threshold, hanging back to observe before she entered the room.

When she finally moved forward, Willow released her grip. She followed Tara into the room, shutting the door firmly behind them and setting her back to it. The muffled thump and metallic click of the door closing made Tara start and spin around. Willow smiled like she’d just cast a spell for an unlimited supply of chocolate cherries.

“Willow…I….” Tara began, trying to coordinate her tongue and mind.

“I know you’re scared,” Willow interrupted. “And maybe there should be talking. But could you just be kissing me now?”

A shower of electric sparks seemed to wash over Tara. Her mouth felt as dry as the sawdust and peanut shells on the floor of the Bronze. Chin tucked to her chest, she bobbed her head. Eyes shadowed, she stared up at Willow for a moment and then shuffled across the few feet of carpet to take her into her arms. It was an awkward embrace, full of pointy elbows and pinched parts. Tara shifted her hold a few times, whispering Willow’s name over and over like a protective chant. Between syllables, her full lips caressed Willow’s upturned face, passing gently over closed, fluttering eyelashes. Her fingers fanned in the slight curve of Willow’s lower back and then slid lower to press their hips together.

Willow made a mewling noise and pushed away from the door, causing Tara’s gentle kisses to heat. As they stumbled toward the desk, Tara patted up the length of Willow’s back. Working one-handed, she blindly unhooked the fastenings on the blue lace bra. One satin strap slid down, baring a pink and white breast and Tara lowered her head to nuzzle the swollen tip before sucking it into her mouth. Her hands glided through the curve at Willow’s waist and then trailed down to span narrow hips. After a few long pulls on the pink peak in her mouth, Tara transferred her attention from the bared nipple to the covered one, nipping up cloth and skin in the gentlest of bites.

Willow groaned, fingers feebly plucking at Tara’s clothing. A drawing sensation in Tara’s chest swirled down to her groin and she broke away panting. Willow was leaning heavily against the small desk, one hip half on the desktop. Tara drew her gaze up from the wet traces of her saliva on Willow’s bra to the green eyes staring at her. The look of longing in those eyes was enough to make Tara start stripping off clothes. Her skirt and blouse hit the floor in quick succession but before she could finish undressing Willow reached for her, drawing her in again.

One of Tara’s hands shoved at the waistband of Willow’s lacy shorts, easing them over her scant hips. Tara’s other hand clawed into red hair, nails biting deep. Willow gasped but didn’t struggle. If anything, she suckled harder when her mouth found Tara’s throat, sliding her tongue back and forth, making wet, random circles. The room filled with the musky perfume of their mutual need.

‘She’s gay,’ Tara thought, in wonder. ‘She must be. You can’t fake this…can you?’

Willow started fingering herself through the bunch of lace that Tara was trying to wrestle down her legs. Tara moved to help, letting Willow’s hand guide her. Once she learned a few of Willow’s secrets, experience kicked in and she added twists of her own. Willow’s knees eased open with the pleasure.

“We need the shorts off,” Tara said, speaking over Willow’s guttural groan. Lashes shyly veiling her hungry gaze, Tara nodded toward the tangle of Willow’s fingers and her own. “I can do more…more for you. If…if you want.”

Tiny fires burned in Willow’s eyes. Seizing the sides of her underwear, she hurriedly complied with Tara’s request, wriggling free of the twisted lacy shorts. As she leaned forward, her bra slipped from her shoulder and dropped to the floor. Tara yanked her own underwear off with equal eagerness. They came together in a moment, all silken skin and soft moans.

Tara gave an urging lift at Willow’s waist so she popped up onto the desktop. She scooted back, her bare bottom leaving a streak of moisture on the polished wood. Tara followed the wet line with her fingertips, walking them like spiders, along the desk, up Willow’s thighs and then into her glistening folds. Willow opened wide to let her in. Tara bent at the waist to kiss her way from Willow’s navel to her breast. Seizing a nipple in her teeth, she pinched it lightly, all the while feathering her tongue against the sensitive peak. Willow used a leg to hook her closer, demanding more.

Tara straddled Willow’s other leg. Humping along it, she scrabbled for and found one of Willow’s hands. Moving carefully, she guided exquisitely long fingers to her own strip of damp curls. She positioned Willow’s fingers on either side of her clit before releasing her. Once she was sure her message had been received, Tara sought out a similar arrangement in Willow’s short hairs. While their tongues danced the tango they delved into each other.

Tara circled and slithered her fingers until Willow grunted out a harsh breath and her whole body jerked. Tara felt Willow’s busy hand flutter weakly, losing its place. Her mouth fell slack, lips trailing wetness along Tara’s cheek and then down to the cap of one shoulder. As her head butted against yielding flesh, her hips started eagerly bucking up and down, forcing Tara’s fingers in deep. Tara rubbed furiously.

She added her thumb to the work of her fingers and Willow arched off the desktop to grind into her. Her legs were wrapped around Tara at the hips and one hand had clamped down on Tara’s shoulder, supplying the leverage she needed to buck and bend. When she came her nails cut tiny crescents into Tara’s skin. The rush of fluid over Tara’s fingers created an answering spurt of sticky warmth in her own core.

Tara thrilled to the dazed expression in Willow’s pleasure-drunk eyes. ‘She’s beautiful… whipping like a tall, straight tree in a wind…willow bending for me.’

With a twist of her body, Tara sent them both tumbling to the floor. She had to have a taste of the slippery flesh melting in her hand. Right and wrong no longer mattered to her. As they rolled across the carpet, she slithered around until she was pressing her face to Willow’s swollen mound. Willow gave her easy access and Tara slurped noisily at the fresh shimmer of come on pink skin.

Focused on this hungry pursuit, Tara barely noticed Willow guiding her leg over into a straddle. But she tingled to the tips of her toes when Willow’s mouth found her clit and started mimicking her lick for lick and nuzzle for nuzzle. It was heavenly, the flat drag of Willow’s tongue, the suckle and the tentative probe. Tara pushed up onto her hands and knees the better to revel in the sweet sensations. She rocked gently back into Willow’s mouth.

The sizzling work of Willow’s tongue was slightly inept but what she lacked in experience she made up in enthusiasm. In a very short time she had Tara humming and burbling in spasms of joy. Tara’s breasts bobbed as she rocked in the cradle of Willow’s body. She could feel the slippery water-slide sensation of on-coming orgasm and she braced an arm against Willow’s raised thigh for stability. Her erect nipples brushed along Willow’s belly each time she pumped forward. The satiny contact added to Tara’s mounting arousal. Reaching down and back, she took Willow’s hand and urged her to more stimulating contact.

When Willow took the hint and dipped a finger into her, Tara gasped and coiled tight. She shuddered, body undulating with the surging in her veins. When she climaxed, the spray of her salty fluid jetted full onto Willow’s face. She heard Willow giggle and then felt her lapping up the sticky residue. Tara thought she might come again from simply having Willow between her legs. Willow continued pumping in and out and Tara rotated her plump hips in spasmodic delight, enjoying the pulse of her come-slicked inner walls as they tightened around Willow’s finger.

It was a slow orgasm, a series of tiny earthquakes. As soon as she could concentrate again, Tara slipped her tongue into Willow’s ready groove determined to return the favor.

“Oh, baby,” Willow hissed.

“You like that?” Tara asked, giving a muffled chuckle.

“Oh, baby,” Willow repeated with a throaty laugh of her own.

Tara used the pads of her fingers and the tip of her tongue to bring Willow to another soaring release. She kept the pressure on without penetration, giving Willow a fully external experience. Willow repeatedly assured her she’d never had it so good.

After the screaming and thrashing subsided, Tara dropped her hip to the carpet, carefully easing her knee over Willow’s head. Jackknifing her body, she kissed her way up Willow’s tranquil form until they could wrap around each other face to face. They both scrambled to get even closer…tongues and hands stroking…lips caressing…teeth nipping. Willow slapped Tara’s behind, making her squeal. Catching Willow’s giggle in her mouth, Tara tasted the good humor on her tongue. Willow shivered and moaned.

They climaxed together once more, from the bliss of naked flesh entwined, before Willow’s drunken desire was spent. Murmuring nonsense, she cuddled into the curve of Tara’s arm and fell into a deep sleep. Tara felt like weeping and singing at the same time. Neither option seemed fruitful. Instead, she indulged her need to learn all about Willow. She explored, caressing Willow as she slept, sliding silken strands of hair through her fingers and finding soft hollows. After a time, she turned onto her hip, easing Willow onto her back to better study her flawless white and pink skin. Willow sprawled on the floor, angelic in slumber and Tara placed occasional light kisses on her sleep-parted lips.

She imagined herself a heroic princess stumbling into a dozing castle to awaken the beauty. But Willow didn’t stir even when Tara whispered tender words into her ear. And at last, Tara too succumbed to the languor of an afternoon of delight. As she drifted in a pleasant haze, just short of sleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of Willow’s chest, she counted each breath and tried not to think about the morning to come.

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