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rizzlesregal13 · 2 months ago

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Maybe Using Magic Isn’t That Bad… Not When It’s Just The Two Of Us

***NSFW - MDNI***

Agatha x Reader 💜

With the Saturday night dance party over, and Nicki & Ella finally tucked up in bed, what started as playful teasing quickly turns into something more...especially when your magic gets involved.

A/N: I had no intention for this to decend into smut central… it was supposed to be cute and fluffy… clearly my mind had other ideas. Oopsie 🙈😏

Saturday evenings in our house were always “something”.

Not the “witchcraft and chaos” kind of “something” Agatha revelled in... well, not just that... but the good kind. The kind where our living room became a dance floor, the music was too loud, on this occasion Pink Pony Club, a small disco ball spun, and any sense of decorum flew right out the window.

And tonight...was no exception.

Ella was perched on my hip, giggling uncontrollably as I spun and tipped her in time with the beat. Her little hands clung to my shoulders, her brunette curls bouncing with every move. She wasn’t even trying to dance anymore, she was just enjoying the ride, possibly thinking I was her very own “pink pony”.

Nicki, on the other hand, was locked in an ambitious battle with Agatha, attempting a step-cross-leg manoeuvre that neither of them were doing particularly well at. Agatha towered over him, her longer legs working against Nicki’s as he stubbornly tried to keep up and not trip over her feet.

The result? Absolute, silliness.

“Kid, if I stretch you just a teensy bit, I think we might nail this,” Agatha teased, her blue eyes flashing with mirth.

“Hey! No magic!” I shot her a look, though my amusement was hard to hide. “This is a magic-free dance floor.”

Agatha huffed dramatically, clutching her chest as if I had just shot her.

“You wound me, hon. Truly.”

“You’ll live.” I smirked, twirling Ella one last time before setting her down so she could run to Nicki and Agatha.

Nicki, determined to master the step, dragged Ella into the mix, her tiny feet mimicking his with unwavering enthusiasm. This was what it was all about. Not the spells, not magic, not the thrill of bending reality to our will.

Just this… the four of us.

I watched as Agatha’s expression softened, her ever-present smirk shifting into something… gentler, something unguarded. There were no sharp smirks, no teasing, no wicked little grins that she wore like armour. Just her, just Agatha, playing with our kids. Being soft in a way she rarely let herself be… that very few people got to see.

And god, it kills me how much I love her in moments like this.

Because I know her past. I know she isn’t perfect. I know she’s done terrible things, that she’s hurt people, taken what she’s wanted without caring about the consequences. And yet, here she is, with her arm around our son and daughter making up crazy dances, as laughter ripples out of all three of them, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She caught me watching her, and in true Agatha fashion, cocked a knowing brow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She left Nicki & Ella, and prowled toward me, slipping an arm around my waist before I could protest.

“You were having a moment.”

I rolled my eyes. “I was not.”

“Oh, you so were.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What was it this time? Overwhelmed by my stunning dance skills? Enchanted by my presence?”

“More like overwhelmed by your complete lack of rhythm.”

Agatha gasped. “How dare you.”

I laughed, wrapping my arms around her neck. “Face it, you’re powerful, brilliant, ridiculously sexy… but… you dance like a drunk cat.”

She grinned. “But you love me anyway.”

I sighed dramatically. “Against my better judgment.”

The music swelled around us, but for a moment, it was just the two of us. No magic, no responsibilities—just Agatha, in my arms, her hands resting at my hips like they belonged there.

“I love you,” she murmured, so low I barely caught it.

My heart did that stupid, crazy thing where it forgot how to function properly, missing a beat. Of course I knew she loved me, but those three little words were never something she threw about easily.

“I love you too.”

Nicki’s voice broke through before she could kiss me.

“Ew! Mom and Mama are being gross again!”

Ella giggled, clapping her hands over her eyes.

“We have to do something about their timing.” Agatha groaned, burying her face in my shoulder.

I just laughed, tugging her back into the dance party and the chaos of our two kids, before she could plot something truly wicked.

***

It had gotten late. We’d managed to get the kids in bed fairly hassle free. Nicki had crashed mid-sentence, mumbling something about being the best dancer in the family, and Ella had insisted on one last bedtime story before her eyes, that were so like Agatha's, betrayed her and fluttered shut.

Now, the house was still. Not silent… never truly silent with the lingering energy of two overactive kids, but still enough that I could finally relax. Agatha stood in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine before handing me one, the deep red liquid catching the dim kitchen light as I took a slow sip.

I leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting through the open archway into the living room; a battlefield of discarded blankets, scattered toys, the disco ball still spinning, and upturned cushions.

Agatha followed my gaze, her smirk lazy, knowing.

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

She was right. It could wait. But something about ending the night with the house in disarray made my fingers twitch… my magic spark. So, with a subtle flick, the room righted itself. Cushions fluffed and stacked back on to the sofa, the coffee table straightened, the disco ball stopped and materialised inside the cupboard. The craziness of earlier now looked like nothing more than a memory.

I barely turned my head before I felt it—Agatha’s eyes on me, her smirk widening as she took a slow sip of her wine.

“Using magic, are we?”

I shrugged, pretending I didn’t feel the way her gaze sent warmth curling through me.

“I like waking up to a clean house.”

Agatha set her glass down with an amused chuckle, stepping into my space, her hands resting lightly on the counter on either side of me.

“Mm. Sure. That’s the reason.”

I arched a brow. “And what other reason would there be?”

Her smirk deepened. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you just enjoy it.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping just enough to make my breath catch.

“Maybe it’s not so bad, using what you were born with.”

I rolled my eyes, tilting my head back slightly.

“Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she teased, her lips just brushing against my jaw before pulling back. “I’m just saying, for someone who claims they don’t like usung their magic freely, who would rather do things the “normal” way, you sure didn’t hesitate.”

I huffed, lifting my glass to my lips again. “It’s practical.”

“It’s magic.”

“Magic can be practical.”

Agatha tilted her head, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the countertop beside me.

“And yet, when I use it to summon a bottle of wine instead of walking to the kitchen, you give me that look.”

I bit back a smile. “That’s different.”

She scoffed, feigning offence. “How?”

I swirled the wine in my glass, meeting her blue gaze with a knowing smirk of my own. “Because when you use magic, you always take it a step too far.”

Agatha clutched her chest, staggering back a step.

“How dare you?”

“Example, you magicked Mrs Hart’s garden gnome into an actual gnome, Agatha.”

“In my defence, he was boring, and Nicki and Ella loved it.”

I shook my head, laughing softly as she stepped back into my space. She nudged my glass aside just enough to steal a quick sip before pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“Mm,” she hummed, savouring the wine. “Practical or not, I like it when you use magic.”

I let out a small sigh, resting my forehead against hers for just a moment. “You would.”

She grinned. “Of course, I would.”

I watched as Agatha picked up her wine glass, her fingers curling around the delicate stem. She took a slow sip, eyes locked onto mine over the rim, that ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Then, without a word, she turned to walk away.

What happened next… I don’t think I could have controlled it even if I’d wanted to. Let’s just say that deep rooted instinct “that I was born with” kicked in.

Agatha barely had time to process before she was spinning back toward me, my magic curling around her like an invisible ribbon. She stopped just inches away, her blue eyes flickering with something between amusement and intrigue.

“Oh?” she murmured, head tilting as that wicked smirk continued to play on her lips. “Now who’s taking things a step too far?”

I stepped closer, slow, deliberate, my own smirk mirroring hers.

“Did you think you were going somewhere?”

Her eyes dipped to my mouth for just a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine, her breath steady but charged.

“Maybe. But you seem to have other plans.”

I lifted my hand, magic humming in my fingertips as I plucked her wine glass from her grip without touching it, letting it float over to rest beside mine on the countertop. She watched it land, then turned back to me with an arched brow.

“Oh, look at you,” she murmured, voice dripping with something almost sultry. “Using magic without a care.”

I laughed, stepping in until there was barely any space between us. “Seems you’re a terrible influence.”

“I certainly try,” she whispered, eyes glinting in the low kitchen light.

She didn’t pull away. Neither did I.

Instead, I reached up, fingers ghosting along the sleeve of her deep green sweater, tracing the wool before slipping lower, to the warmth of her wrist. Agatha let out a breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, as I slowly walked her back toward the counter.

Her hands found my hips first, then my waist, her touch familiar, teasing, taunting.

“So,” she drawled, eyes never leaving mine, “what exactly are your plans?”

I grinned, tilting my head slightly as I let my magic flare again—not enough to startle her, but enough to send a playful spark up her spine.

“I thought you liked it when I used magic.”

Agatha let out a low hum of approval.

“Oh, I do.”

“Then stop talking.”

And for once, she actually listened.

I ran my fingers back up her sleeve, slow and deliberate, letting my magic tingle against her skin like the faintest brush of static. Agatha inhaled sharply, her breath catching for just a moment—not because she was surprised, but because she liked it.

I smirked, letting my fingers trail higher, up the curve of her neck, where I felt the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath my touch. Then her jaw, where she tilted her head slightly into it, anticipation curling between us. And finally, across her lips.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, her breath warm against my fingertips.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N,” she murmured, lips parting just enough for her voice to slip through, low and dangerous.

I hummed in response, trailing my fingers back down to her collarbone, then pressing my palm flat against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath it.

“Funny,” I mused, tilting my head. “I thought you were the dangerous one.”

Agatha’s eyes blinked open, dark and smouldering, her smirk creeping back. “Oh, I am,” she purred. “But you… you’re finally starting to realise that you are too.”

I leaned in, close enough that my lips barely brushed hers, our noses ghosting, but not quite closing the distance. The air between us crackled, magic humming, but neither of us were in a hurry to break it.

Then, because I couldn’t resist, I let my magic flare again, just a whisper of power tracing along her skin, making her shiver.

Agatha let out a quiet, breathy laugh.

“Oh, I really like this side of you.”

I grinned. “Thought you might.”

She made a sound—half approval, half impatience, before she finally closed the space between us, her lips pressing against mine in a kiss that was slow but intent, teasing but undeniable with what she wanted.

My fingers curled into the wool covering her body, pulling her in, and Agatha let me—for now. But I knew her. Knew that any second now, she’d turn the tables, take control, push back just to see how far I’d let her go.

That was the game she played, we played.

The one we both loved.

I fingered the hem of her sweater, my touch slow, teasing, before I finally tugged it upward. She didn’t stop me—didn’t hesitate—just lifted her arms to let me pull it over her head and toss it aside.

The moment it was gone, she was on me again, her hands slipping around my waist as she pulled me into another kiss. This one was deeper, more intent, her lips parting against mine as if she had no interest in keeping space between us.

When she finally broke away, her breath warm against my skin, I felt it... A shift, a pulling in the fabric of my shirt that I wasn’t responsible for.

I glanced down just in time to see my buttons undoing themselves, one by one, the fabric falling open to expose my skin.

My breath hitched, heat pooling low in my stomach, and when I lifted my gaze, Agatha was watching me with a smirk—one that matched my own.

“I see we’re not bothering with patience tonight,” I murmured, my voice lower than I intended.

Agatha hummed, reaching out to trace a finger along the navy lace of my bra, her touch featherlight.

“I’d argue I’ve been very patient,” she countered, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re the one who started playing with magic.”

I bit my lip, watching the way her fingers teased at the lace, her gaze dark, considering.

“So what happens next?” I asked, my own hands slipping to her waist, feeling the warmth of her bare skin beneath my palms.

Agatha leaned in, her lips barely ghosting over mine, her breath sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

“Oh, hon,” she purred, her fingers slipping lower, dragging over my stomach with just enough pressure to make me ache.

“What doesn’t happen next?”

I couldn’t stop the involuntary moan that slipped from my lips at Agatha’s words. That wicked, knowing smirk of hers deepened, as if she had expected that reaction, as if she had been waiting for it.

But two could play that game.

My fingers twitched, and with a quiet pop, the button of her jeans came undone. A second later, the zipper slid down in a slow, deliberate motion, the sound filling the space between us.

Agatha’s breath hitched, just barely, but I caught it.

I didn’t stop there.

Stepping back, I let my magic press against her jeans, coaxing them to slip down from her hips, past the curve of her thighs, pooling at her feet.

She didn’t move to stop me. Didn’t move at all, except to lift her feet free. She stood there, her lip caught between her teeth as she watched me with blown, approving eyes.

Oh, she really liked me using magic—especially like this.

“Interesting,” she murmured, her voice like silk, like sin. “You do have a wicked streak, after all.”

I took a slow step forward, closing the distance I had put between us. My fingers found her waist, my touch light but firm.

“You bring it out in me,” I admitted, tilting my head slightly, watching her expression shift... anticipation, desire, something close to pride.

Agatha’s hands found my bare skin, her touch sending a fresh wave of heat through me.

“I love bringing things out in you,” she purred, fingers trailing along the back band of my bra, her magic sparking faintly against my skin, making me shiver.

I swallowed, my own smirk returning.

“Then you’re going to love what happens next.”

Her eyes flickered with amusement, challenge… hunger.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered, lips brushing against mine just enough to tease. “Show me.”

Happily.

I trailed my fingers over her chest, skimming over the soft skin above the fabric of her black bra, feeling the way her breath caught beneath my touch. My magic followed, leaving behind a faint, tingling sensation as it traced between her cleavage, along her ribs, down her stomach, dipping over her hip before gliding up the inside of her thigh.

Agatha let out a breath, her body shivering, reacting slightly under the sensation, but she didn’t stop me.

Not yet.

I smirked, watching her closely, revelling in the way she responded, the way her lips parted just so, the way her pupils continued to grow as she watched me.

When I reached the edge of her panties, I let my magic surge, just a bit stronger, the warmth of it teasing against her, slipping beneath the material.

That’s when I felt it... her fingers curling firmly around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

My gaze snapped up to hers, meeting those sharp, knowing eyes.

Agatha’s grip was firm but not forceful, her smirk just as wicked as before, but now there was something else behind it—a need for her to be in control.

“Ah, ah, not yet” she murmured, tilting her head, her voice thick with something that sent heat pooling low between my thighs. I swallowed, my heart pounding, my breath uneven.

“Stopping me already?”

Her fingers tightened, her smirk deepening. “I never said stop,” she purred, leaning in just enough that I could feel her breath against my lips. “I said not yet.”

A shiver ran through me, her words like a spark catching fire.

Agatha slowly, deliberately, lifted my wrist, guiding my hand away from where I had been heading, dragging it instead up her body, pressing my palm against the centre of her chest, just above her heart.

“Patience,” she whispered, pressing a teasing kiss to my jaw.

I let out a slow breath, my fingers twitching against her skin.

She was going to make me work for this.

I smirked, pressing my body closer, my hips tilting forward against hers, my lips grazing her ear.

“I hope you know,” I murmured, my own voice dangerously low, my magic skirting lightly against her exposed skin, “I never lose.”

Agatha’s laughter was dark, promising.

“Then you’re going to love losing to me.”

I let out a slow breath, trailing my free hand back over her body, fingers brushing over her skin, my magic following like a whisper of heat. Agatha shivered beneath my touch, her lips parting slightly, her grip on my wrist loosening. I could feel it now…the crackling energy between us, the push and pull, magic flaring like a slow-burning fire. It felt reckless, deliciously so.

Because the kids were just upstairs… and they could come down at any moment.

And yet, neither of us stopped.

Agatha’s magic sparked, brushing against me like an invisible caress, and before I could process the shift, I felt it—the clasp of my bra releasing, the straps slipping slightly from my shoulders.

I inhaled sharply, looking up to find her smirking, blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“That was very smooth,” I murmured, feigning nonchalance as I let my own magic tease along the edge of her panties in return.

Agatha hummed, her fingers toying with the loosened strap of my bra, dragging it down just enough to expose more of me.

“I do try.”

I swallowed, my body heating under her gaze.

“And if the kids...”

Her lips brushed my ear, then to the spot where my ear met my neck, her magic pressing against my skin, firm and knowing.

“They’re asleep,” she murmured. “You worry too much.”

I let out a breathy laugh, even as a shiver ran through me. “One of us has to be responsible.”

Agatha leaned back slightly, her smirk widening as she took me in. She traced her fingers down the valley of my now exposed breasts, then lower, down over my stomach, just above my waistband.

“You could stop me?”

I exhaled sharply, meeting her gaze, the challenge clear between us.

I could… was I going to… absolutely not.

Because right now?

I wasn’t feeling very responsible.

I barely had time to process the flick of her fingers before I felt the cool air against my legs—my jeans weren’t undone, they were gone. Just… disappeared, like they’d never existed.

I gasped, my body tensing for half a second before I caught the wicked glint in Agatha’s blue eyes.

“Really?” I breathed, half-laughing, half-reeling from the abrupt removal. She smirked, eyes trailing over me now that I was left in nothing but my panties.

“You were taking too long.”

Before I could throw some snarky reply back at her, she was on me again, her lips trailing hot, deliberate kisses down my chest.

I sucked in a breath as she pressed in closer, her bare skin warm against mine, her hands roaming—one resting against my lower back, the other teasing over my hip, her fingers just brushing the lace of my underwear.

The living room, the kitchen, everything else faded to the background.

It was just her. Just us.

And I wasn’t thinking about the kids, or responsibility, or even the reckless way we were tangled up here, barely clothed, not caring about anything else but this.

Agatha’s mouth found the curve of my breast, then my nipple, her teeth scraping lightly before she soothed the spot with her tongue, pulling a gasp from me.

I dug my fingers into her back, tilting my head as she kissed lower, teasing, deliberate.

“I knew you’d like that,” she murmured against my skin.

I let out something between a laugh and a shaky breath.

“I hate how smug you are.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss just above my navel.

“No, you don’t.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers threading into her dark waves as her lips trailed even lower.

No.

No, I really didn’t.

I thought she was going to drop to her knees... god, I was ready for her to.

But then I felt it—my feet lifting from the floor, my body moving, guided by something unseen but all too familiar. Before I could even gasp, I was placed onto the cool surface of the kitchen counter, thighs spread wide, my balance steady only because she wanted it to be.

Agatha stepped between my legs, hands running up my thighs, and I knew she had done this on purpose—to see me, to make sure I knew exactly what I looked like right now, open and wanting, the evidence of it soaking through the thin lace of my underwear.

Her eyes glanced low as she took in the sight, and god, the way she looked at me... like she had just won a game we weren’t even playing... made the heat between my legs burn even hotter.

I swallowed hard, my breath uneven.

“You could’ve just asked,” I murmured, my voice rougher, more ragged than I intended.

Agatha hummed, dragging her nails lightly along the inside of my thighs, making me shiver.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Her hands inched higher, her fingers pressing just enough to make me squirm, but not enough to satisfy. She was toying with me, drawing this out, enjoying the way my body responded to her.

I let out a shaky breath, reaching for her, gripping the back of her neck to pull her closer.

“Agatha—”

Her smirk deepened, and I barely had time to react before her lips were on mine, hot, claiming, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

And just as I started to sink into it, our tongues fighting for dominance, just as I was about to beg her to do something, I felt it.. another pulse of magic.

A beat later, my panties were gone.

I moaned, the sudden coolness making me shiver, making me ache. My body was so hot, so wound tight I thought I might snap from nothing more than the way she was looking at me.

I spread my legs wider for her, an offering, a surrender. God, I was hers and she knew it. I would let her do anything.

And she was enjoying it—relishing the way I melted for her, the way I was already undone before she had even really touched me.

Her fingers trailed higher, slow, deliberate, teasing the inside of my thigh, her touch light enough to make me want, to make me need her. And then—finally—she stroked me. Just the barest drag of her fingers through my wet folds, and my hips jerked instinctively, desperate for more.

But she didn’t give it me.

She was toying with me, dragging this out, revelling in the way I responded to just the teasing touches of her left hand, the way my breath hitched, the way my thighs trembled under her.

I let out a whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like I could ground myself, like I could will her to give in.

Then I felt it.

Not just her fingers… but her magic.

It pulsed through me, against me, inside me, invisible but undeniable, like a current sparking through every nerve in my body.

I gasped, my back arching, my head rolling back as a husky moan tore from my lips.

It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before—so intimate, so deep, touching something in me that was beyond the physical.

Agatha hummed, pleased, her fingers still stroking, circling, her magic still pressing, teasing, building.

“Oh,” she murmured, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something possessive. “You really like that, don’t you?”

I couldn’t answer her.

I could barely breathe.

“Agatha,” I moaned, my hips moving instinctively, chasing more—more friction, more of her, more of whatever spell she was weaving around me… inside of me. God, what was she doing to me?

The pleasure was overwhelming, sharp and sweet all at once, twisting inside me until I forgot everything else—where we were, how loud I was being, how reckless this was.

I knew I should be quieter, knew I should at least try to keep it together. But all I could feel was her—her fingers sliding through my slickness, teasing me open, her magic pulsing in a way that sent hot sparks licking up over my clit. She was dragging this out, savouring every reaction, every damn sound I made. She stepped back slightly, just enough to watch, her blue eyes locked onto where her fingers were playing with me, spreading me, owning me.

I whimpered, my body twitching with need, and she smirked—knowing, utterly devastating.

“I think…” I managed to breathe, my voice uneven, shaking, “it’s not just me that likes this…”

Agatha let out a low, approving hum, her fingers pressing just a bit deeper, just a bit firmer, making me gasp, but not giving me enough.

“Mmm,” she murmured, tilting her head, her eyes still fixed on me, watching every little movement, every little reaction. “You have no idea.”

“Please, baby,” I moaned, my voice desperate, needy. Any restraint I might have had was long gone, tossed out the window along with my inhibitions.

I needed her. Inside me. Not teasing, not playing, not making me fall apart inch by inch—I needed her to take me.

Agatha smirked, her fingers still tormenting me, tracing the edges of my entrance but never quite pushing inside. Her magic rippled through me again, that slow, electric pulse that made my body tremble, made my breath hitch.

I whimpered, hips arching, trying to move against her, trying to take her deeper myself.

But she just tsked, keeping her touch just out of reach.

“What do you want, Y/N,” she murmured, voice silky, but dangerously in control.

I moaned, my body aching with need. God, she knew exactly what I wanted, knew exactly how desperate I was.

And she was thriving in it.

I bucked my hips again, trying to push her fingers inside me, but she stayed firm, just barely pressing, just enough to keep me on edge.

“Use your words,” she purred.

I whimpered again, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tight my knuckles turned white.

“Agatha, please,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “I need you inside me. Now… Just… fuck me.”

Her smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering across her face.

“There you go,” she murmured, leaning in close, her lips brushing the side of my face. And then—finally—she gave me what I wanted.

I had no idea how I didn’t wake the kids. Jesus, the noise that left me—the desperate, broken moan that ripped from my throat as she finally gave me what I needed.

Her fingers.

Her magic.

Inside of me, stretching, filling… fucking me.

Agatha’s left hand was buried deep, her ring and middle fingers deep, sinking in all the way to her engagement and wedding band, the cool metal pressing against my entrance, a constant reminder of who I belonged to.

Fuck.

It was consuming. Unlike anything I had ever felt before, like every nerve in my body was attuned to her, to the way she moved inside me, thrusting, twisting, curling her fingers just right, hitting that spot that made me see stars.

I barely registered the way I clung to her, my nails dragging down her back, my thighs trembling against her sides. All I could focus on was her, the way she was watching me, blue eyes gleaming, drinking in the way I was falling apart beneath her, around her. She fucking loved this…Loved the way I writhed, the way I gasped her name, the way I had lost any semblance of control.

“Agatha,” I choked out, my breath ragged, my body burning.

I could feel it, building inside me, higher and higher, like I was standing at the edge of something I might never come back from.

She curled her fingers again—fuck, right there—her magic pressing at the same time, flooding through me, deep, touching something I couldn’t even name.

"Oh, baby—right there,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Don’t—”I didn’t even know what I was begging for.

More? Mercy?

I couldn’t control myself. The way I was acting, the way I was moving, chasing her, chasing this, my body desperate, needy, starving for more of her.

The need for her to fuck me like she never had before.

And god, she knew it.

But fuck... she was doing it on our kitchen counter.

The thought should’ve made me laugh—should’ve made me pause, should’ve reminded me that the Nicki and Ella were just upstairs—but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

Not with her inside me.

Not with her fingers pushing, curling, twisting in ways that made my body tremble, made me forget everything but the pleasure she was pulling from me.

The sound—the obscene, wet sound of her fingers moving inside me filled the room, mixing with my gasps, my moans, the quiet murmurs of encouragement from her lips.

“That’s it, baby,” she purred, her voice as dark as her magic, her free hand gripping my thigh, keeping me spread wide for her. For her to see. For her to take. “Let me hear you.”

I let out a strangled moan, my hands scrambling against the counter, my body arching. I couldn’t control it anymore, couldn’t stop the way I moved against her, how I chased it, chased her.

“Fuck… baby…” I gasped, barely able to breathe. “I—”

I didn’t even know what I was trying to say.

That I was close? That I was hers? That I was about to come apart so completely, I wasn’t sure I’d ever put myself back together again?

It didn’t matter.

Because she knew, and nothing was going to make her stop.

“Feel me inside you,” she whispered against my mouth, her breath hot, her voice thick with dark amusement, with possession.

Her fingers pumped deeper, curling just right, her magic rippling inside me in a way that made my body shudder, my breath come out in desperate, choked gasps.

“Squeeze me, baby.” Her lips brushed mine, her smirk infuriatingly smug as she felt me clench around her. “That’s a good girl”.

I was so far gone.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond her—her fingers fucking me open, her magic thrumming through my veins, her body owning mine in a way that I never wanted to end.

The pleasure was blinding, all-consuming, twisting tighter and tighter, coiling in my stomach, in my thighs, in the very marrow of my bones.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my hands gripping at her—her shoulders, her arms, anything to anchor me as my body tensed, trembling.

I was going to come.

God, I was going to come so fucking hard for her—from her, because of her, because of her fingers, her magic, her voice in my ear telling me to let go.

And when it finally snapped—when the pleasure crashed over me—I moaned her name, as if it was fresh out of a porn movie.

That was one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had.

Holy fuck.

I was still trembling, my body shuddering with aftershocks as Agatha’s fingers worked the last of the pleasure from me, coaxing me through it. My hips still jerked, my body still reacted to her, even as I collapsed forward, my head resting against her shoulder.

I let out a breathless, satisfied laugh—maybe from the sheer bliss of it, maybe from the slight embarrassment of how completely I had let go.

And then, realisation hit me like a brick to the face.

I had been so loud.

“Shit,” I gasped, lifting my head to look at her, panic flickering through the lingering haze of pleasure.

“I wasn’t—”

“—quiet?” Agatha finished, her smirk wicked, amused. “No, darling. You really weren’t.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands, but before I could wallow in my mortification, I felt the slow, deliberate slide of her fingers pulling out of me. My body ached at the loss, already missing her touch.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she lifted her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean.

I swore my soul left my body.

She hummed, deliberate, slow, as she licked every trace of me off her fingers. My breath hitched, my stomach flipping, my already sensitive body twitching at the sheer filthiness of it.

Then she grabbed my jaw and pulled me into a kiss, her tongue sliding into my mouth, teasing, letting me taste myself on her.

And—fuck.

It was different. Not just me—but her, her magic, something dark and electric and entirely Agatha lingering on my tongue.

When we finally broke apart, I was dazed, spent, and still shaking from what she’d just done to me.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her smirk deepening. “The kids wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

I raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

She lifted a hand and subtly flicked her fingers.

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t—”

“Oh, it was just a little sleeping spell,” she purred, grinning like the devil.

I gaped at her.

“Agatha!”

She shrugged. “You were being loud, darling.”

I groaned, dropping my forehead back against her shoulder, already knowing this had set a precedent for it becoming more than a one-time thing.

“It would be a shame to waste it,” Agatha murmured, leaning into me, her bare skin pressing against mine, warm and tempting.

“Would it now?” I teased, though my voice lacked conviction.

I was still not entirely thrilled about the magic she had used to keep Nicki and Ella asleep, but… god, was I torn.

Because the way she was looking at me?

The way my body still hummed from her touch?

I wanted her.

Again.

And again.

She slid me down off the counter, my legs unsteady, still trembling from my release. I gripped her tight, my body weak but aching for her all the same.

Agatha hummed, amused. “A little wobbly there, hon?”

I huffed, gripping her tighter. “You know damn well why.”

She smirked, proud of herself, too proud, and before she could get another word out, I flicked my wrist.

Magic surged between us, wrapping around our bodies, and in an instant, we were no longer in the kitchen.

We were in our king-size bed—Agatha beneath me, sprawled out, panties now completely gone.

She let out a low, pleased hum, her smirk widening as she stretched out, utterly unbothered by the sudden shift.

“Oh,” she purred, blue eyes glinting, “look at you. Using magic like it’s going out of fashion.”

I merely arched a brow, pressing my body flush against hers, trapping her beneath me.

I leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, slow-burning kiss, my hands trailing down her stomach, teasing but intentional.

As I broke the kiss, I let my fingers drift lower, my magic sparking against her skin as I smirked down at her.

“So,” I murmured, my voice low, my touch dangerously close to where she wanted it. “Where were we?”

I trailed my fingers lower, slow, teasing, the anticipation thrumming between us like a live wire.

Then I felt her.

And—Jesus. She was soaking.

A sharp inhale left my lips as my fingers dipped between her thighs, sliding against her wetness, between her folds, feeling just how wrecked she already was.

I lifted my gaze, meeting her eyes, my breath catching at the pure, unfiltered desire burning in them.

“Oh,” I murmured, my fingers teasing through her slickness, not quite giving her what she needed yet.

“Look at you.”

Agatha let out a breathy laugh, her smirk still in place, but her body twitched at the contact, her hips subtly shifting, needing more.

“Surprised?” she mused, though her voice was a little rougher, a little less composed than usual.

I grinned, pressing my fingers against her just a little more firmly, noting the way her breath hitched, as I brushed her clit.

“Pleased.”

I slid my fingers through her again, slow, deliberate, watching her expression shift, watching her lips part, her chest rise and fall just a bit quicker.

“God, baby,” I murmured, my voice dark with satisfaction, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Agatha hummed, but this time, there was an edge to it.

“You did put on quite the show,” she murmured, her tone taunting, but I could feel the tension in her body, feel the way she was holding herself back.

I smirked, leaning down, brushing my lips against her ear as my fingers pressed deeper, teasing at her entrance but not pushing inside…just yet.

“Do you want me to return the favour?” I whispered, my breath warm against her skin.

Agatha swallowed, her hands tightening where they rested against my hips, her nails digging in just slightly.

But she was still playing the game, still trying to hold her ground.

So I waited.

I kept teasing, barely giving her what she wanted—until, finally, she let out a soft, frustrated moan, her hips arching, her magic flowing against mine in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

Her voice was rough, low, almost a growl when she finally said it.

“Fuck me.”

I grinned against her skin.

“Oh, baby, I intend to.”

And then I slid my fingers inside her, and Agatha gasped.

God, she was so tight around me.

Nothing—nothing—felt better than this.

Than her.

Her heat.

I started moving, slow at first, deliberate, knowing full well it wasn’t enough, knowing it would drive her crazy.

Agatha let out a low, frustrated noise, her hips twitching, trying to take more, trying to set the pace herself.

But I wasn’t going to let her.

Not yet.

I wanted to feel her break, wanted to hear her beg, wanted to pull her apart the way she had done to me.

I pressed my lips against her jaw, nipping her with my teeth, teasing, dragging my fingers slowly out before pushing back in, keeping the rhythm achingly slow.

“Patience, baby,” I murmured against her skin, mocking the words she had said to me earlier.

Agatha let out a breathy laugh, sharp and knowing, but I could hear the edge of need beneath it.

“Oh, you’re playing dangerously, hon,” she whispered, her nails digging into my back, her magic thrumming against mine.

I grinned, pressing my thumb against her clit, just lightly, just enough to make her body twitch beneath me.

“I thought you liked that,” I murmured, thrusting deeper, still keeping her waiting, still teasing her with every slow movement.

Agatha let out a shaky breath, her walls tightening around me, her hips shifting restlessly.

Then she turned her head, her lips brushing against my ear, her voice lower, rougher, more raw than I’d ever heard it.

“Stop fucking teasing me,” she growled.

I shivered, the pure desperation in her tone setting my blood on fire.

Mmm—fuck.

I couldn’t deny her anymore.

Not when she sounded like that.

Not when she felt like this.

So I broke, curling my fingers deep inside her, pressing hard against that spot that made her body jerk, that made her gasp so loud I knew she didn’t care if the sleeping spell held or not.

I fucked her.

Hard.

And god, she love it.

I thrust hard, my fingers driving deep inside her, my thumb pressing against her clit at the same time… a warm burn starting to spread through my wrist.

The moment I did, I felt it—my magic crackling between us, wrapping around her, inside her, like an invisible pulse of heat.

Agatha’s moan was wrecked, raw, her body arching up into me, her head tilting back, exposing the long, perfect curve of her throat.God.

That sound.

That deep, desperate, uncontrollable moan that came from her lips as I fucked her with my fingers, as my magic pulsed through her body.

I felt a rush of heat between my own thighs, felt my own wetness drip down, my body aching from just hearing her.

From watching her come apart.

From knowing I was the one doing this to her.

She was so close, I could feel it in the way she clenched around me, in the way her hips jerked without rhythm, her body chasing more, more, more.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” I gasped, my breath coming out in ragged pants, my own pleasure building just from watching her fall apart.

Agatha’s hands clawed at me, pulling me closer, as if she needed to anchor herself, as if she needed to feel all of me as she unraveled.

Her voice was shaky, breathless, so fucking close to breaking as she gasped:

“Don’t stop—!”

And god help me, I wasn’t going to.

The wet, slick sound of my fingers moving inside her filled the room, mixing with her breathless, broken moans. Fuck, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

I never lost my rhythm, I kept thrusting, kept pushing as deep as I could, my fingers scissoring inside her, stretching her, curling to hit that perfect spot that made her body jolt against mine.

She was so damn close—I could feel it in the way she tightened around me, in the way her thighs trembled, her nails digging into my skin, her head thrown back in complete surrender.

“That’s it, baby,” I murmured, my thumb pressing harder against her clit, rubbing fast, tight circles, my lips, my tongue brushing against her throat as I encouraged her.

“Come for me. Let go, Agatha.”

She tried to speak—tried to say something, but all that left her was a strangled, wrecked moan as her body seized, her muscles tensing, her magic crashing against mine in wild, uncontrollable waves.

I felt the exact moment her release came —the moment she shattered around me, her walls pulsing tight, squeezing my fingers so hard it nearly stole my breath.

Her cry of pleasure was raw, undone, her hips jerking, her body writhing as she rode out her orgasm, my fingers still deep inside her, drawing out every last aftershock.

She was so gone, so completely wrecked beneath me, and god, I had never felt so powerful, so fucking addicted to the way she fell apart for me.

Her breath was ragged, her body still trembling, and I couldn’t stop myself—I leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, slow kiss, tasting her moan, owning it.

When I finally pulled back, she was dazed, her beautiful blue eyes hazy, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

I smirked, satisfied, dragging my fingers slowly out of her, loving the way her body twitched from the loss.

She swallowed, blinking up at me, her expression unreadable for just a second—then her smirk returned, lazy, dangerous, so fucking Agatha.

She let out a breathy chuckle, still wrecked, and rasped “…God Y/N, I knew you had it in you.”

I smirked down at her, utterly pleased with myself, my fingers still glistening from her.

“Oh? And what exactly did you think I had in me?”

Agatha let out a breathless, satisfied laugh, her hands still lazily resting on my hips as she blinked up at me, her eyes still looking hungry.

“Oh, you know,” she drawled, tilting her head, her smirk lazy and self-satisfied, but I could still see the aftershocks running through her body. “A bit of wickedness. A little bite.”

She exhaled, still catching her breath, her fingers brushing idly against my bare skin.

“But this? I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” She trailed off, eyes flickering down to my very smug expression, before licking her lips.

“So?” I prompted, dragging my slick fingers up her thigh, teasing, making her twitch.

Agatha hummed, fake considering, before her smirk turned sharp, wicked.

“Merciless.”

I grinned, leaning down, brushing my lips over hers, just barely giving her what she wanted.

“Oh, baby,” I murmured, dragging my fingers up her stomach, watching her shiver under my touch. “I learned from the best.”

Agatha let out a slow, dark laugh, her fingers tightening on my waist.

“I really should’ve corrupted you sooner.”

I bit my lip, mocking thoughtfulness, my fingers trailing back down, dangerously close to where she was still warm and wet for me.

“Oh? So you admit I’m better than you thought?”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, her smirk growing wider.

“I never said better.”

I flicked my fingers, letting my magic spark just enough to tease her, to make her gasp, her hips twitching again.

“Oh, I think I just proved otherwise.

”Mm,” she murmured, voice hoarse, amused, completely smug. “You really are full of surprises.”

I huffed a soft laugh, pulling her closer, my arms wrapping around her, our bodies naturally melding together, skin still warm, still buzzing from everything we’d just done.

She let out a content sigh, tucking her head against my shoulder, comfortable, relaxed, so effortlessly Agatha.

I let my fingers trace absent patterns up her side, across her ribs, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple.

“You can take the sleeping spell off the kids now,” I murmured, my voice teasing but pointed.

Agatha hummed again, this time slower, considering.

“Mmm,” she sighed, stretching just slightly, her bare legs tangling with mine. “Maybe I’ll leave it on a little longer.”

I snorted, turning my head to look at her, eyebrow raised.

“Oh? Is that so?”

She grinned, her fingers trailing lightly down my own side, casual, innocent, but I knew better.

“Well,” she mused, thoughtfully mocking me, her breath hot against my skin, “you did just discover how much fun magic can be.”

I smirked, shifting just slightly so our bodies pressed even closer, heat curling between us again, despite the exhaustion settling in.

“Maybe,” I murmured, my lips brushing hers, “using my magic more often isn’t such a bad thing…”

Agatha let out a low, pleased hum, her smirk widening as she nipped at my lip.

“Not when it’s just the two of us.”

Also on AO3 - Writtenwhiledreaming 💜 (Third chapter of No! You Can’t Hex A Four-Year-Old).

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rizzlesregal13 · 20 days ago

Text

When Tight Muscles, Result In Loose Morals

***NSFW - MDNI***

Carla Dunkler x Fem Reader 💜 Slow-burn, smutty as hell one-shot!

This idea has been a brain worm for weeks! All because of the below Carla GIF! And because there is a significant lack of Carla smut out there!😏

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have a thing for Carla Dunkler.

And sure, it started innocent enough… she was your beautician, your once-a-month indulgence between PTA meetings, the endless conveyer belt of making lunch and dinner, and your daughter, Harper’s relentless extracurriculars.

Carla was loud, unapologetic, usually smirking at something that would make the average Mom gasp… but somehow, between juggling work and being a single parent you kept coming back.

It wasn’t just the massages, though God, the woman had hands. It was the way she made you feel seen, how she flirted without pressure, like she knew every woman in the room had a repressed wild streak, and she was always one inappropriate joke away from dragging it out.

But everything shifted that night.

Amy Carson’s “innocent” PTA takeover gathering, that ended up turning into a full-blown house party with wine flowing like water and the rules getting tossed out like those red plastic cups.

You should’ve left after the second glass of rosé.

Instead, you saw her.

Carla was in the centre of it all, leaning up against the wall, like she was holding court.

You recognised the two other Mom’s. Sarah Matthews was stood in front of Carla, followed by Rebecca Jones leaning in. Laughter turned to gasps. Jaws dropped. And you… you couldn’t stop starring.

You’d meant to look away, but couldn’t. Not when Carla’s hand was in Sarah’s hair. Not when her mouth moved to Rebecca’s neck. Then Carla pushed them together, having them make out in front of her.

And… like a punch to the gut… she looked up.

Right at you.

That damn smirk slid across her lips.

Your heart flipped, your breath caught, and like a goddamn coward, you bolted.

You haven’t seen her since. Until today. You’d thought about booking to see someone different, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Now you’re sitting in the waiting room of the health club, legs crossed tightly, trying to look normal. Like you didn’t fantasise about her more times than you’re proud of. Like your face isn’t burning just remembering the way she looked that night, owning the room, owning you with just a look.

“Well, well…”

Her voice wraps around you like velvet and tequila.

“Look who decided to crawl out of hiding.”

You glance up, and there she is, in her black tunic uniform and flip flops, hair in a sleek tight pony, like a goddess in disguise. Carla leans in the doorway, eyebrow cocked, amusement tugging at her mouth.

You stand, smoothing down your shirt. “Hi, Carla.”

She tilts her head, taking you in. “Been what… five weeks? Six? Thought maybe you’d finally traded me in for a nice, quiet Swedish masseuse.”

You laugh, awkward. “Never. You’re the only one who knows how to get the knots out… Just been busy,” you offer with a weak smile. “Harper’s schedule exploded. And—”

“And you’ve been avoiding me,” she finishes bluntly, stepping aside to let you pass.

You walk past her, pulse thumping in your ears, and mutter, “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

She chuckles. “Sure you haven’t.”

You follow her through the familiar hallway, dim lights, soft music, the scent of eucalyptus and orange blossom drifting by like colourless smoke. The therapy room is exactly how you remember, low-lit and intimate, the massage table waiting in the centre, like it knows…

You hover awkwardly near the edge. “Same routine?”

Carla nods, moving around the space with practiced ease. “Unless you want me to change things up.” Her gaze flicks up to meet yours, deliberately. “I can be flexible.”

Your breath catches. You know she’s flirting. She always flirts. It’s part of her charm. But this time, something lingers under the surface — something just that bit bolder.

You clear your throat. “No, um… same’s good.”

She smirks and steps toward the door. “You know the drill. Strip to your comfort level. Face down.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

You stand there a moment, heart racing. The heat that crept up your neck at that party is back with a vengeance, blooming across your chest now. You peel off your clothes slowly, down to your underwear, unclipping your bra and slide onto the table, chest down, trying to quiet your racing thoughts.

And then you hear the door open…

“You good?”

“Mmm” you mumble out, your face down in the cradle.

Carla moves with smooth liquid confidence around the bed. You feel her at your side, her presence electric even before she touches you.

Then come the towels… warm and weighty, tucked carefully across your back and thighs. Her fingers brush the waistband of your panties as she secures the towel. It’s casual. Professional. Maybe. But your breath hitches anyway.

Next it’s the oil. Warm, familiar, and soothing as she pours it onto your back… then her hands follow.

She starts slow, just like always. Her thumbs dig into your shoulders, working the tension from your muscles with practiced pressure. But the rhythm feels different today. Softer. Slower. Lingering.

Her palms slide over your ribs, down your sides. You feel her knuckles brush the swell of your breasts, and every nerve in your body lights up.

You close your eyes tighter, biting your lip.

You shouldn’t feel this. Not here. Not now.

But her hands keep going. Down to your lower back, her thumbs brushing dangerously close to the curve of your ass. You can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, involuntarily, like you’re answering a question she hasn’t even asked.

And she feels it. You know she does.

She leans down slightly, her breath brushing your ear. Her voice is husky, but laced with something thick and sweet.

“You sure you’re comfortable?”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

“…I am now.”

She doesn’t say anything right away, just carries on, her hands roaming the flat of your back, heat seeping into your skin.

She finds the knot without hesitation, like she’s been waiting for it… like she knows where you hold the tension from all those never ending teams meetings, the failed dates, and the chaos of life you pretend doesn’t weigh you down.

Her thumbs press deep, just under your right shoulder blade, and with one slow push, it pops free.

The sound that escapes you isn’t something you meant to make… more moan than sigh, soft and cracked open with surprise.

Carla freezes for half a second.

“That feel good?” she murmurs, low, close.

You swallow. “Yeah,” you breathe, voice unsteady. “Really good.”

But good isn’t the word. Not even close.

Because you should be relaxing… that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? Letting go. Drifting off. Coming undone in a safe, soothing way. But your muscles aren’t melting. They’re coiling.

Her hands are moving, but not away. Deeper. Slower. Like she’s mapping you. Learning you.

And suddenly your mind is not here.

It’s at that party.

It’s rewriting it… only it’s not Sarah Matthews pressed up against Carla. It’s not Rebecca Jones being pulled in close.

It’s you.

You standing there with a glass of wine and flushed cheeks, as Carla walks across the room like she always knew you’d let her. It’s your hair she’s fisting, your lips she’s kissing, hungry and smug, the whole party fading around you.

“Jesus,” you whisper into the cradle without meaning to.

“Hmm?” Carla’s hands are on your lower back now, thumbs drawing slow circles, dangerously low.

“Nothing,” you mumble. But you know she heard the break in your voice.

Then she moves.

Her hands slide down to your legs… her touch starting just above your ankles, working upward with firm, methodical strokes.

Your calves twitch under her palms. Not from pain. From awareness.

She hits the back of your knee, the skin there extra sensitive. You jerk a little, a breath caught in your throat.

“Ticklish?” she teases softly, but there’s something else behind it.

You manage a laugh. Barely. “A little.”

But when her hands keep climbing, to the soft flesh of your thighs, there’s nothing funny about it.

Your breath hitches again as she works the muscle. A slow, rhythmic pressure that feels like she’s building something inside you, something you can’t hold much longer.

She’s so damn close. So high on your thigh you can feel the edge of her pinky brush your underwear.

You should be sore. That’s what a deep-tissue massage does. You should be aching where her hands are digging in. But you’re not.

God you’re buzzing.

Warm. Fuck, Wet.

You bury your face deeper into the cradle, as if that could hide the truth: the fact your body is begging for more.

This is crazy.

But you don’t move.

Because if she keeps going, if she dares to push just a little further… there’s nothing on earth that would make you stop her.

And you both know it.

Your lips press together in a tight line, eyes squeezed shut against the flicker of something that feels far more dangerous than arousal…. Need.

It’s pulsing low in your stomach, spreading out like heat beneath your skin, wrapping around your thighs, tightening your breath until every inch of you is tingling with it.

Carla’s fingers are so close. Her palms slide up your inner thighs again, slow, deliberate, her thumbs sweeping outward, then dragging back toward center. And each time, she comes a little nearer to the edge of your panties.

You’re wearing the light blue ones; the soft cotton kind you always reach for when comfort matters more than style. But now, now they feel like they’re betraying you. Because they’re clinging too tightly. Damp in a way you know she’d notice if she just looked.

And if she touched…

God.

You grip the edge of the massage table like it might anchor you.

Carla’s hands pause at the curve of your hips, her thumbs brushing slow circles just above the elastic. She makes no move to go lower. Not yet.

“Still comfortable?” she asks, her voice dipping into that too-casual tone that doesn’t fool you for a second.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Mhm.”

“Hmm.” The sound she makes is thoughtful, amused. “You’re awfully tense for someone who comes here to relax.”

“I’m… trying,” you manage, though your voice barely cooperates.

“Want me to stop?”

You hesitate — and it’s not lost on her.

Carla leans forward, her lips suddenly close to your ear, her breath warm and taunting.

“I’ll take that as a no.’”

Your mouth opens, closes.

Because no. You don’t want her to stop. You want her to go further. To slide her fingers beneath that blue cotton, to finally, finally touch where the need has settled so thick and heavy it’s making your pulse echo in your ears.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t move lower. Doesn’t press her luck.

Instead, she shifts her hands, trailing them back down your thighs, fingers spread wide, dragging her nails just lightly enough to make you shiver.

She’s teasing you. Purposefully.

And you can feel the smirk she’s not even trying to hide anymore.

You open your eyes, blinking hard into the cradle, your breath coming shallow. She’s giving you every chance to pull away, to draw a line…. To stop this.

But you don’t…. You won’t.

Because part of you wants her to keep circling it. To test you. To see what you’ll do when the teasing becomes unbearable…. Because Christ, it nearly is.

And from the way her touch lingers, the way her hands keep returning to the highest point of your thighs…just shy of scandalous… Carla knows.

She knows exactly what’s happening to you.

And she’s loving every second of it.

You feel her shift beside you… a rustle of towels, the soft slide of linen over skin… and then her voice again, low and smooth.

“Alright, babe. Roll onto your back for me.”

Your heart kicks at the word. It’s probably nothing, just Carla being Carla… but the way it lands in your chest feels far from casual.

You move slowly, turning over, and she helps with the towels, lifting and tenting them just enough to maintain that veil of modesty… even if the fabric’s barely clinging to purpose at this point.

Your chest is covered again, but only just. The towel settles across your sternum, warm and thin, doing very little to hide how hard your nipples have become under it.

You shift slightly, trying to settle, but instead of relaxing, your hips push subtly into the table, your thighs pressing together.

The pressure doesn’t help… or maybe it helps too much… but you can’t stop the motion. The slick fabric of your panties clings to you, damp and utterly unforgiving.

Carla catches it. Of course she does.

“You sure you’re okay?” Her voice softer now.

You open your eyes, meet hers for a beat too long, and offer a breathless, “All good.”

She watches you a second more, like she’s not buying it but isn’t ready to call you out…

Instead, she moves behind you, fingers returning to work. Carla’s hands slide to the back of your neck, kneading gently, then sweep forward over your shoulders. She brushes along the front, her fingertips grazing just below your collarbones…dangerously close to where the towel dips.

You let your eyes drift shut again, but only for a second.

“So,” she says, her tone casual, but it cuts through the haze like a scalpel, “about that party.”

Your eyes fly open. You don’t move. You can’t.

She doesn’t see your expression, your eyes are still facing the ceiling, her position behind you hiding the way your lashes flutter, the way your mouth tightens slightly as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Don’t react. Don’t flinch. Don’t let her know she’s under your skin more than she already does.

But she’s quiet for a moment, her hands still gliding along your exposed chest.

“You saw me, didn’t you?” she says, softer this time.

Her fingers, her nails trail lightly across your collarbones again, slower now, and it’s like every nerve in your chest is connected directly to her touch.

You breathe through it.

You want to lie. To laugh it off. But you can’t.

“…Yeah.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Just the soft melody of spa music and the wet drag of oil across your skin.

“I saw you, too.”

Her voice is closer to your ear now. She’s leaned in, her hands never stopping their slow, teasing path.

“You were watching me. Did you think I didn’t notice?”

You feel the heat creep up your neck again, your thighs pressing together without thought.

“I wasn’t trying to be obvious,” you mutter.

“Oh, babe,” Carla whispers, lips barely brushing your ear. “You were adorable.”

Your breath catches.

Her hands have shifted again… one splayed across the top of your chest, the other tracing just above the towel’s edge.

“You left so fast,” she continues. “I thought maybe you were jealous”.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because your entire body is on fire, and if she goes even a single inch lower…

“Or you were turned on,” she says, and it lands like a match to gasoline. Her voice calm, knowing. As if it’s always been obvious — like the towel barely covering your body, the flush in your cheeks, the way you pressed into the table, didn’t already scream it.

And she’s not wrong.

You were turned on then… back at the party, watching her mouth on Sarah and Rebecca like it was nothing, like it was just for fun.

But now?

Christ, now?

You feel it thrum through you, low, deep and all consuming.

Finally Carla’s fingers move, slow but deliberate, sliding beneath the towel. Her touch grazing the curve of your breast, soft and slick with oil. The pad of her thumb brushes your nipple and your back arches without permission, a small, breathless moan escaping before you can stop it.

It’s like she’s reached under your skin and flipped a switch.

You can’t lie here anymore. Can’t just let her tease you until you break in silence.

So you move.

You sit up, quickly, deliberately. The towels shift with you, but not well, one falling to your lap, the other slipping slightly off your shoulder. But you don’t fix them.

Carla steps around the side of the table, coming to stand in front of you.

You expect surprise. Some flicker of shock or second-guessing.

But she’s not surprised… not in the slightest.

Her expression is steady, the corner of her mouth curling, her blue eyes darkening with certainty.

God, she knows.

She’s known this whole time… how badly you’ve wanted her, how hard you’ve tried to pretend otherwise. Every shift of your hips, every held breath, every stuttered word since the moment you walked into the room — she’s felt it. And now?

Now she’s asking for it.

“Why did you run?” she asks, her voice low but sharp as a blade.

You look at her. Really look. Her cheeks flushed, eyes locked on yours like she’s reading every thought in your head.

You swallow hard. “I…”

But she’s already stepping closer. Just a breath away. Close enough that the heat of her skin is touching yours, even without contact.

“Have you been thinking about me?” she asks, softer now. “Is that why you haven’t been in?”

The truth hangs in the space between you, raw and real.

You nod, lips parting with the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I couldn’t stop.”

Her lips twitch into a knowing confident smirk. Not cruel, not mocking. Just… Carla.

“Good,” she murmurs, fingers reaching up to gently pull the towel from where it rested against your shoulder, letting it fall to the floor.

She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even pretend not to drink you in.

“Because I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

She steps in. Her hands slide to your thighs, then your hips, then up your waist, slow and reverent, until she’s cupping your face.

And when she kisses you — finally, finally — it’s not gentle.

It’s claiming.

Teeth. Tongue. Heat. Her hands pulling you flush against her body, your fingers digging into her arms as the last of your restraint melts away.

And this time, you’re not running.

Not a chance.

You don’t hesitate. No more second guessing. No more pretending this is just a massage, just a crush, just harmless.

You push away from the table, the last towel slipping completely from your hips, forgotten on the floor. Your skin is buzzing, flushed, every nerve wired and waiting for her.

Carla watches you move with that same smirk, like she knew you’d get here eventually. But even she’s caught off guard when you step right into her space and push her back… not roughly, but with enough force to show you’re done playing shy.

Her back hits the cabinets with a soft thud, and she gasps into your mouth as you kiss her, deep, hot, and hungry.

Her hands are in your hair immediately, tugging, guiding, as her tongue slips into your mouth in a way that makes your knees buckle.

This.

This is what you wanted that night at the party. This heat, this pull. Not watching from across the room… being in it, tasting her, touching her, feeling her melt against you.

She kisses you like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting just as long, like every teasing pass of her hands during the massage was foreplay for this.

Her mouth trails from your lips to your jawline, then lower, hot kisses painting down your neck. You tilt your head back without thinking, giving her access, your fingers trembling as they find the hem of her tunic top.

You slide your hands underneath, palms meeting bare, warm skin. Her stomach is soft, smooth, muscles twitching under your touch as you glide upward.

Carla groans against your throat as your hands find the curve of her waist, then her ribs, until you reach the swell of her breasts, covered only by a lacey black bra that’s more suggestion than support.

You press your body into hers, kissing the shell of her ear. “Take this off,” you whisper.

Carla doesn’t need to be told twice.

She pulls her top off in one clean motion, dropping it somewhere behind her, then reaches behind her back to unhook the bra. The straps fall from her shoulders, and then she’s there — bare, flushed, and every bit as turned on as you are.

You step back just enough to look at her.

Her chest rising and falling. Her lips swollen and red. Her nipples tight from the cool air and your hungry gaze.

“You gonna stand there and stare,” she murmurs, voice thick and teasing, “or are you gonna touch me?”

You step back in, cupping her breasts in both hands, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, loving the way she gasps… the way her body presses harder into yours, her hands flying to your waist, dragging you closer.

Her mouth finds yours again, deeper now, dirtier.

You rock your hips forward against her thigh and she feels it… the soaked heat between your legs rubbing onto the fabric of her trousers.

She moans into your mouth, fingers digging into your hips.

And just like that, whatever thin thread of restraint still existed?

Snaps.

Carla breaks the kiss like it costs her something. Her breath is ragged, pupils blown wide — but she pulls away anyway.

You barely manage to whimper her name before she’s halfway across the room. Her hand wraps around the lock on the therapy room door, and with one sharp click, she turns it.

It’s such a simple thing. But the sound? The deliberate nature of it?

It does something to you.

Heat pulses between your legs so fast and sharp it makes your thighs clench.

She turns back slowly… her gaze dark, dangerous, and you feel your whole body pull toward her without even moving.

Carla walks straight back, silent, determined, and when she reaches you, her hand wraps around your wrist and pulls.

You gasp as she spins you, your bare back now pressing to the cabinets where she’d just been. You barely have time to breathe before she’s lifting you, firm hands on your thighs as she guides you up and back, your ass meeting the edge of the counter.

You open your legs for her.

It’s not even a question. It’s instinct. A Hungry permission.

And her eyes drop instantly to the soaked patch between your thighs.

Dark blue. Spread wide and unashamed against the soft light blue cotton.

Carla’s gaze lifts back to yours, and you can feel what she sees; the wild heat in your expression, your bottom lip bitten raw, your chest rising and falling like you’ve run a mile.

You want her to see it.

You need her to.

Her fingers trail slowly up your thigh… teasing, featherlight, leaving goosebumps in their wake… before brushing over the damp fabric.

“Fuck,” you moan, hips jolting at the first real contact.

Carla groans low in her throat. “God, baby…”

She does it again. A firmer stroke this time, the pad of her finger pressing right against the soaked center.

“Carla—” your voice breaks, already gone.

But she leans in before you can finish, her mouth crushing yours, tongue claiming you completely, devouring the noise you make as her hand slips under the waistband of your panties.

There’s no teasing now. No more slow build.

Her fingers slide straight between your hot slick folds… and she swears into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Your head falls back against the cabinet as you gasp, thighs spreading wider, offering more, wanting to give her everything.

Her fingers dip deeper, gathering you, coating themselves in everything you’ve been holding back since that damn party — then she drags up, slow and deliberate, over your clit.

You jump, the contact feeling white-hot.

“F—fuck,” you breathe, your voice breaking around it.

She kisses down your neck, biting gently at the skin there as her fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” Carla murmurs, voice rough against your ear. “Touching yourself, wishing it was me?”

You can’t lie.

“Yes” you whisper as your hips grind into her hand.

Her teeth scrape your collarbone. “You’re gonna come so hard for me, baby.”

And from the way her fingers slip lower, push inside you with maddening ease, curling just right — Fuck, you already know she’s right.

Your fingers grip the edge of the cabinet so tight your knuckles have gone white, like holding on to something solid will keep you from unraveling too fast… but it’s useless.

Carla’s working you open with her slender fingers, slow at first, then deeper, surer. Her palm presses just right, her thumb teasing your clit in smooth circles, and you’re already on the edge.

Your other hand claws down her back, nails dragging along bare skin, making her groan into your neck as she fucks you with her fingers like she owns every inch of you — because right now, she does.

“Fuck, Carla,” you gasp, the tension in your body snapping tight. “It feels so good. I’m—”

You’re so fucking horny for her. It’s been building for weeks — no, months — and now it’s rushing out of you in wet, slick sounds that fill the room every time her fingers drive back in.

And she’s loving it.

“Yeah?” she growls against your skin. “You gonna fall apart for me babe?”

She pushes your shoulder gently, and you let her guide you, leaning back on your elbows on top of the counter, breasts arching forward as her mouth finds your nipple.

She sucks it into her mouth, tongue swirling as she pinches the other between her fingers.

You cry out… your whole body jerking.

But her fingers never stop.

In and out, harder now, faster, and so wet you can hear it.

“Fuck, listen to yourself,” she murmurs, her voice vibrating against your chest, and it makes your thighs shake. “You’re dripping for me.”

You can’t stop the moan that rips from your throat, you’re too far gone, your whole body wound up and begging for release.

Carla pulls her mouth from your breast and leans up, pressing her lips hard and desperate against your neck, your pulse point, whilst her other hand clamps over your mouth just in time.

“Shh,” she breathes against your cheek. “You don’t want the other clients to hear you, do you?”

That hits you square in the chest — because fuck, she’s right.

You’re in the spa. Her workplace. There could be someone in the next room over, getting a facial or a hot stone massage while Carla has you bare and wide open, grinding against her hand like you’d die if she stopped.

That only makes it hotter.

You whimper beneath her palm, your hips lifting off the counter, legs shaking around her as she fucks you with those strong, perfect fingers.

And then it hits — fuck it’s all-consuming.

You come hard, biting down on your lip to keep from moaning so fucking loud, your body pulsing around her hand, wetness flooding her fingers, your whole world narrowed to the space between your legs and the woman wrecking you with nothing but her hands and that damn mouth.

Carla holds you through it, slowing only when your body starts to tremble, when it’s too sensitive to take anymore.

She kisses you, deep and messy, letting her hand slide out with a wet, obscene sound.

Then she smirks against your mouth. “Guess we’ll need a longer appointment next time.”

You’re still breathless, your body spent and your panties a lost cause, but you manage a smile.

She laughs… low, raspy, satisfied… as you slide off the counter, legs trembling and barely holding you up.

“You good?” she teases, still breathless, a little smug. “Need me to carry you out of here?”

But you don’t answer.

Because you’re not done.

You need to feel her. Need her shaking under you, moaning for you.

Carla’s still catching her breath, chest rising and falling, when you move toward her — something wild and unrelenting in your eyes. She sees it, and her smirk flickers into something hungrier.

You push her gently, but with purpose, guiding her backward until the back of her knees bump the edge of the massage table.

She sits, lips parted, legs naturally falling open as you step between them.

This time, you’re in control.

And she knows it.

Your fingers find the cotton tie at her waist of her wide leg trousers. You undo the knot slowly, looking up at her through your lashes as you do.

She’s watching you like she might combust on the spot.

You drop to your knees.

Carla swears under her breath, hips twitching forward, like just the sight of you kneeling for her is enough to undo the balance she had before.

You tug the trousers down, rough with need, and she lifts her hips immediately to help, so eager you could cry.

You throw them to the side, not caring where they land.

Your eyes move up her thighs… to…

She’s wearing a little black thong.

Of course she is.

Like hell would Carla Dunkler wear something comfy, something boring. No, it’s tiny, lacy, and cut high, hugging her hips and doing absolutely nothing to hide the slick sheen between her thighs.

You groan softly, your hands sliding up over her thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of that sinful little scrap of fabric.

“Jesus, Carla…” you whisper, your voice thick. “You’ve been teasing me in this?”

She leans back on her palms, blue eyes full of fire. “You like?”

You smirk, lips brushing the inside of her knee. “I’m about to.”

You hook your fingers under the band of her thong, dragging it down torturously slow, watching as her wetness pulls away, the fabric soaked through.

“Fuck,” you murmur. “You’re so wet.”

“You did just put on quite a show,” she breathes, her voice rough now, cracking at the edges.

And then your mouth is on her… hot, open, hungry… your tongue licking through her folds, tasting her, claiming her.

She gasps, loud and sharp, one hand flying into your hair.

You moan against her as her legs fall wider, hips rocking, already losing herself in you.

You’re not stopping.

Not until you’ve had her shaking, breathless, begging — just like she left you, and from the way she’s panting your name like a prayer, you’re damn close.

You drag the flat of your tongue from the base of her soaked slit up, slow and heavy, drinking her in. Carla’s hips jerk, a loud, breathy “fuck” tearing from her throat as you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, firm and deliberate.

Her fingers twist into your hair, nails scratching over your scalp, steadying herself through you as her thighs tighten around your shoulders.

She’s already dripping, already right there, but you want her wrecked.

Undone.

Ruined for anyone who isn’t you.

So you don’t hold back.

Your tongue flattens again, licking hard and fast in a steady rhythm, and then you change it…flicking your tongue over her clit, circling, teasing, until her thighs start to tremble.

You pull back just long enough to breathe, lips slick with her and swollen, voice low. “You taste so fucking good.”

Carla looks down at you like she might explode, chest heaving, her hand never leaving your hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

You smirk. “Wasn’t planning to.”

You press in again, but this time, you shift.

You slide two fingers into her without warning … god she’s so hot, tight, wet — and her whole body arches off the table, her hand yanking at your hair in a mixture of surprise and need.

“Shit!” she cries out, voice cracking.

You curl your fingers, searching, finding that soft, spongy spot inside her that makes her hips grind down hard against your face, your tongue.

Her breath is ragged now, coming in short, stuttering gasps, and you know — you know — she’s close.

You glance up, and the sight of her… flushed, mouth open, her head tipped back as she rides your face like she was made for it, lights something wild in you.

So you give it to her.

Harder. Deeper.

Your tongue focuses on her clit again, lips locked around it, sucking and flicking, your teeth gently grazing, while your fingers fuck her fast, wet, filthy — obscene sounds filling the room as you take her apart… thrust by thrust.

Her thighs start to quake.

You feel it in your mouth, around your fingers. The tension, the build. She’s nearly there.

“Come for me,” you groan against her. “Come on, Carla. Let me feel you.”

That’s all it takes.

Her whole body seizes as she moans, her orgasm crashing through her like a wave, flooding your hand, your mouth.

You don’t stop. Not until she’s shaking, wrung out and twitching, her grip on your hair going slack as her body falls back onto the bed, breathless and fucked-out.

You finally pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, panting.

Carla’s chest is heaving, her blue eyes glazed, lips parted. “Holy fuck,” she whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grin, rising slowly to your feet, body still humming from your own high and the one you just gave her.

You lean over her, pressing a kiss to her jaw, then her lips… letting her taste herself on your tongue.

“Then it’ll be one hell of a way to go.”

The room is quiet now. Heavy with the weight of what just happened, and the heady scent of sex, heat, and essential oils clinging to the air.

Carla’s still lying back on the massage table, legs sprawled, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. Her dark hair mussed, cheeks flushed, lips bruised from kissing.

You’re standing between her thighs, steadying yourself on the edge of the bed, your fingers still slick from her, your mouth still tingling from the way she came undone.

You both start to laugh at the same time… quiet, breathless, borderline hysterical.

“Jesus Christ,” Carla says, dragging a hand over her face, “I’m never gonna be able to use this table again without getting turned on.”

You lean down and kiss her bare shoulder, before taking her hand in yours and pulling her up right. “Good. You’ll think of me.”

She groans, running her hand down her face.

Eventually, you both start to shift, limbs heavy, sticky, satisfied. You reach for the towels on the floor, wiping yourself down and passing one to Carla, who’s still grinning like she’s won a game she didn’t know she’d been playing.

She slides off the table with a dramatic groan and wobble in her knees. “Okay, maybe we went a little hard.”

You smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Carla grabs a clean towel from the cabinet and starts spritzing the air with a citrus spray like her life depends on it. “This room reeks of sex.”

You laugh, adjusting your panties, now dry, and somehow, salvageable as you search for your bra. “Yeah, that eucalyptus diffuser’s not fooling anyone right now.”

“Not unless they think it’s part of some very sensual essential oil blend,” she says, still spraying the room like she’s trying to drown out a crime scene.

You’re both half-dressed, still flushed, when there’s a knock at the door.

A sharp, distinct knock.

You both freeze.

Carla whips her head toward you, eyes wide, mouth forming a silent fuck.

You grab your shirt, pulling it over your head in record time, and shove your feet into your shoes while Carla practically dives for her top, hopping on one foot as she wrestles with her trousers.

Another knock.

“Carla?” a voice calls through the door. You think it might be Renee, the spa coordinator. “You’ve got a 2:15!”

You shoot Carla a look. “It’s definitely not 2:15 yet.”

She checks the clock. “Shit, it’s 2:13. Two minutes is not enough time to get this room back to holy ground.”

You both scramble, Carla rubbing down the table with wipes and a fresh sheet, you grabbing the towel that still smells very much like sex and shoving it into the laundry bin like it’s contraband.

She sprays again. A lot.

“Carla?” Renee’s voice is closer now. “Everything okay in there?”

Carla clears her throat, loud enough to sound like she’s not out of breath. “Yep! Just finishing up with a client… I’ll be right out.”

You both freeze again, then look at each other… and laugh.

Because there’s no way this room doesn’t still smell like what you did.

“I should go,” you whisper, biting your lip and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Carla looks at you… really looks… and then reaches for your hand, pulling you back in for one last, slow kiss.

“Come back next month,” she murmurs against your lips.

You grin. “You’re gonna pretend this was a one-off?”

Carla chuckles, smirking. “Nope. I’m gonna pretend it’s part of a new package deal.”

You kiss her once more, heart pounding for a whole new reason now, and walk to the door, turning the lock, just as Renee opens the door.

You smile at her, and walk past as if nothing out of the ordinary happened - that you hadn’t just been utterly ruined.

You hear Renee say something about the diffuser smelling strong today.

You smile to yourself as you walk out into the sun.

Yeah.

Strong, and totally worth it.

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