The church bell faded into the hum of the neighborhood, and Eleanor let her eyes close, the phantom weight of that future pressing down on her chest. She floated in the dark behind her eyelids, the scent of Willow's sleep-warm skin her only tether to now.
Then the tether moved.
A shift of muscle, a deep, waking breath. Willow's head lifted from her shoulder. Eleanor kept her eyes shut, feigning sleep, wanting to live in the denial a moment longer. She felt the weight of Willow's gaze on her face.
Fingers, cool and gentle, brushed a strand of dark hair from Eleanor's forehead. Then they were gone. The bed dipped, the sheets rustled, and for a heart-sinking second Eleanor thought she was leaving. But the movement rolled toward her, not away.
Willow's body settled over hers, a familiar heat and weight that pinned Eleanor into the mattress. It was deliberate, slow. Eleanor's eyes flew open. Willow was looking down at her, auburn hair falling around their faces like a curtain, blocking out the room. The mischievous glint was back in her blue eyes, but it was sharper now, edged with something deliberate.
"You're thinking too loud," Willow murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but utterly present.
"I wasn't thinking anything," Eleanor whispered, her hands coming up to rest on Willow's hips.
"Liar." Willow bent down and kissed her, not with the softness of before, but with a consuming focus that stole the air from Eleanor's lungs. It was a claim. When she pulled back, she smiled. It wasn't a gentle smile. "My turn."
Eleanor's protest died in her throat as Willow's hands pushed the worn cotton of her sleep shirt up, over her breasts, gathering it under her arms. The afternoon light, stronger now, painted her skin in gold. Willow just looked, her gaze traveling down Eleanor's body with a possessiveness that made her stomach clench. Then she leaned down and took a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue flicking until Eleanor gasped and arched off the bed.
But she didn't stay there. Her mouth moved lower, across the soft curve of Eleanor's belly, her teeth grazing the skin just enough to make Eleanor jump. Willow's hands hooked into the waistband of Eleanor's underwear, the simple cotton shorts, and pulled them down in one slow, torturous motion.
The air was cool on Eleanor's exposed skin. She was already wet, achingly so, a stark vulnerability laid bare in the plain light of day. Willow saw it. She hovered there, between Eleanor's thighs, just looking. The tease was palpable, a static charge in the air.
"Willow," Eleanor breathed, a plea and a reprimand all at once.
"Shh." Willow placed a single finger, just one, at Eleanor's center. She didn't enter. She just pressed there, a firm, maddening point of contact, and slowly dragged it upward through the wetness, then back down. The friction was exquisite, insufficient. Eleanor's hips gave an involuntary jerk, seeking more.
Willow smiled that sharp smile again and removed her hand.
She replaced her finger with the heel of her palm, applying a steady, circular pressure that made stars burst behind Eleanor's eyelids. It was good, so good, but it was the wrong kind of touch. It kept the climax at a taunting distance. Eleanor thrashed her head against the pillow, a frustrated sound tearing from her throat. "Please."
"Please what?" Willow's voice was calm, conversational, even as her other hand came up to squeeze and knead Eleanor's breast.
"Inside. God, just… feel me."
Willow, finally, slid two fingers inside. Eleanor cried out, a raw, ragged sound. But Willow didn't move. She just kept them there, buried to the knuckle, letting Eleanor feel the full, stretch of it. Then, with agonizing slowness, she began to curl them, a lazy, searching motion that brushed against a spot so sensitive Eleanor saw white.
She fucked her like that, with that same deliberate, measured pace, for what felt like an eternity. In and out, a maddening drag. Each time Eleanor's body tightened, rushing towards the edge, Willow would slow, or change the angle, or pull almost all the way out, leaving her empty and trembling. It was cruel. It was perfect. Tears of frustration welled in Eleanor's eyes.
"You're going to break me," she gasped.
"No," Willow said, her own breath coming faster now. "I'm just reminding you." She leaned forward, her mouth close to Eleanor's ear. "I'm not gone yet."
With that, she withdrew her fingers entirely.
Before Eleanor could even form a curse, Willow lowered her head between her legs. Her tongue replaced her fingers, but the teasing was over. This was a reclaiming. Willow's mouth was hot, hungry, and relentless. She licked and sucked with a focused intensity that shattered every thought in Eleanor's head, that burned away the future and the past until there was only this: the wet slide of tongue, the press of lips, the building, unbearable pressure coiling at the base of her spine.
Eleanor's hands fisted in Willow's hair, not guiding, just holding on as the world narrowed to a single point of sensation. She was babbling, half-words, promises, prayers. The climax, when it finally broke over her, was less a wave and more a detonation. It ripped through her, violent and complete, wracking her body with shudder after shudder. A broken cry was torn from her lips, loud in the silent room.
Willow didn't let up until the last tremor had subsided, until Eleanor's grip went slack in her hair and her body sank bonelessly into the mattress. Only then did she crawl back up, settling beside her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She was flushed, her eyes dark.
They lay there, side by side, breathing hard. The scent of lavender and sex was overwhelming. The posters of naked women on the walls seemed to watch them, silent and knowing.
Eleanor's heart was a wild drum against her ribs, slowing gradually. The emptiness she'd felt before was gone, filled with a liquid, trembling warmth. But underneath it, the truth remained, solid and cold as a stone at the bottom of a river.
Willow turned on her side, propping her head on her hand. She studied Eleanor's face. "There," she said softly, all the sharpness gone from her voice. "Now you're here."
Eleanor looked at her daughter—the sweat on her upper lip, the defiant set of her jaw, the love and the goodbye already tangled in her gaze. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and traced the line of Willow's cheekbone.
"I'm here," she echoed, the words feeling like a lie and the only true thing she'd ever said.