Fred sighs as she lets her legs fall open.
“Good girl,” Lilah whispers into the back of Fred’s knee. “Such a good little girl, Winifred.” She trails her tongue up the younger woman’s thigh, stopping at the butterfly tattooed there. Stabs it, like her tongue is a pin. “You taste like... salt.”
Fred’s eyes turn away, toward the window. But her hands... Oh, her hands move down and cup the back of Lilah’s head.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have a tattoo,” Lilah states, licking just the edge of Fred’s clitoris, watching as the other woman’s face contorts in pleasure. “Good girls don’t.”