It's Not Love! 18+ (GirlxGirl)

Maude

I let go of her and push her left leg up so she tips onto her back. I crawl back up and lay beside her, she opens her eyes and smiles giddily at me, then, panting still, she turns on her side and crosses her arm over my body, taking her hand down to my crotch. She breathes heavily into my ear while weaving under my underpants and finding my clit. I inhale sharply as she starts to circle her finger on it, I feel myself get wetter and wetter. I turn my head and collect her lips in mine again, she'll be able to taste herself on me. She adds pressure and speed, round and round she goes, it's simple but effective. I move from her lips and moan, she kisses down my neck and puckers the skin - great, a hickey, just what I needed -. And at the top of the build, I grab a fistful of the duvet and scrunch my face. Gasping until it passes and I open my eyes to see Maude, hand teetering at the waistband of my pants, staring at me, in the dark a twinkle in her eye catches. I kiss her, grab her hand and suck her fingers clean. She strokes the hair out of my face. 

"You're so sexy," she whispers. 

"You're beautiful," I whisper back.

She rolls onto her back and we lie there like impaled starfish. People are laughing at a joke downstairs and a glass breaks, a man yells, a dog barks, traffic from the highway is just audible in the far distance but the only sound I'm really listening to it Maude's breathing - gradually regaining normality. The regain of breath control a good measure of time for me, it varies from person to person but it always marks the end. When they're back to breathing how they would when reading the paper, you know it's ok for you to leave. 

I sit up with my legs over the side of the bed, Maude sits up too, she flicks on a light on the bedside table and it fills the room with a dim, warm light. I look over my shoulder at her, her breasts still uncovered. They're... so nice. I stare at them for a little to long, she covers them with a hand and laughs. 

"Eyes up here, buddy."

"Sorry," I laugh. "They're very nice."

"That's..." she laughs, a real head flicked back laugh. "That's so gay."

"It does what it says on the can." 

She laughs as I cross the room into the ensuite, flick on the light and clean myself up. From the toilet, I can see my backpack still in the middle of the room, I breathe an unnecessary sigh of relief. Maude appears beside me in the mirror while I fix my hair, her bra is back on, skirt too. 

"Did you want to come here tonight?" she asks in a way usually reserved for when you're having fun but your friend is sitting in the corner. 

"Sure," I reply, moving back into the bedroom to get dressed. I sit on the edge of the bed and check my phone, nothing urgent, a couple of business messages, a couple of pleasure messages. To be honest, I didn't want to come. I'm still a little high, the tired kind, and wanted nothing better than to just curl up and have a sleep but I couldn't do that to Maude. She's apart of the youthful group of Hollywood who think that all drugs are 'dirty' but mine, and if I blew her off on short notice then I'd be quickly replaced by someone else for the rest of her parties. See, these types of celebrities don't actually think drugs are 'dirty', they just tell themselves that so that when they gather in their little groups to talk about the newest trend and compare themselves, it seems like a tragedy that anyone in the headlines could abuse their bodies. 

Anyway... I'm here now. And I do like Maude, she's cool... and hot. 

She comes out of the bathroom and smiles at me. "Can I get some stuff off you?"

"Of course." I open my bag and we exchange money for product, she tucks it into her bra and replaces her shirt. 

"Ok, we should probably get back already."

"I'd say so." It seems like I'm mad, I know that, but I'm not, just tired. You should never seem to enthusiastic around celebrities anyway, then they start to walk all over you and you'll never make any money. 

I lift the backpack onto my shoulder and we leave the room, the music instantly growing louder as we leave behind the cosy scene of the crime. She talks pointlessly as we descend back into the party, about food and plans for the weekend and I nod and talk back politely, planning in my head the most reasonable hour to leave and then as the first floor becomes visible and I scan the guests for familiar faces, I freeze.

My heart locks, then rapidly chases after the missing beats. My stomach swoops to a pit of utter blackness, cold, slick sweat greases the back of my neck and palms. 

A skinny, almost emancipated man in ripped denim jeans and a large white dress shirt smiles at me from the kitchen where he leans cooly against the bench. His smile is smug and menacing, made even more threatening by his blond slick backed hair and gaunt face. 

I know who he is and he definitely knows me.