Time & Tide - Original Wattpad Version

Chapter Twenty-Nine: In Which Jessie Is Hurt

"Jessie," she gasped as I let the fingers of my good hand trail through her pubic thatch, collect up the moisture that was already beading around the lips of her labia, tease her clit.

"In the name of Christ, woman, I beg you," Margaret hissed, dropping one hand away from her face to grab my wrist and press my knuckles against her entrance. The other hand she used to reach back and push my mouth harder against her skin. "Stop teasing me and fuck me."

I couldn't help the quick thrust, the way my pelvis surged forward, pressing my own clit hard against her warm bum, the back of her drawers. I moaned into the skin of her shoulder, obliging her and curling two fingers inside to press at her g-spot. Margaret jolted and keened, head arching back, so I could slip my other hand down the front of her dress and pinch a nipple between my mobile thumb and forefinger.

"Jessie, Jessie," she whined, fist in my hair, biting the back of her hand to try to stay quiet, grinding down on my palm to get friction on her own clit. "Yes, I love you, oh, I love you--"

"I love you too," I said, flicking her clit with my thumb and she bucked again and whined and was coming hard and fast on my hand.

God, fucking yes, I thought. Gorgeous. "Margaret, you're gorgeous," I said out loud. "Gimmie a sec and I'll--"

The door to the bedroom opened. Without a knock.

My first, sex-stupid thought was I forgot to lock it.

"I left my walking shawl in the trunk by mistake, do you--" said Rose as she stepped over the threshold, then stopped dead in her tracks. She looked, suddenly, like she was going to be sick.

Margaret scrambled to push her dress back down.

"Shit," I whispered.

Rose slammed the door behind herself in horror, stepping back into the hall, and called through the door: "Get dressed!"

Margaret and I scrambled to make ourselves decent, and I washed my hand quickly and was still shaking off the water when Rose slammed back in. The door opened so violently that it bounced against the wall before nearly smacking back into her arm. She caught it and kicked it shut behind her, more aggressive and angry than I'd ever seen staid and steady Rose Goodenough before.

She raised a sharp finger at me and pointed at a chair by the fireplace. "You. Sit and be silent."

With no idea what was to come next, no idea where she was going with this, I sat and was silent. Margaret Remained standing in the middle of the room, though, back straight, chin upthrust, expression proud and haughty and just daring her sister to order her about too. Rose looked like she was going to try to, then snapped her mouth just, balled her hands by her sides, and paced a furious circuit around the room. Her eyes bounced over everything, as if looking for hidden sex toys or lavasious texts, or whatever else she had decided two women who liked to fuck were likely to indulge in. She sneered and snapped, grimaced and groaned, horrified by her own imaginate of fears, and Margaret and I stayed silent, defiant in that silence, waiting.

Without having to voice it, in a single meaningful glance, we communicated to each other that we would not be bullied, not be cowed in this.

Rose paced over to the window, looked out at something, sneered, turned around, paced back to the door where Margaret and I stood watching, slammed it closed, turned and did another circuit of the room, then finally stopped at the foot of her bed.

"I do not know what to say," she finally admitted. Her voice was tight, her teeth clenched together so hard that the sound barely escaped. "If my father were alive he would be shamed."