Luria

EDEN

They called my trailer a fixer-upper, like that excused the rust stains, the water damage, and the maybe-probably asbestos. But I saw the bones of a dream—my dream.

Now? She was perfect. Pink as a crushed candy heart and just as tragic.

And the best part? This trailer sat directly behind Ronnie Cabral's.

The lass I'd been lowkey obsessed with for the past year. And no, this was not intentional. I just happened to catch a glimpse of her one night, fucking around a fire pit with her mates, nearly lit herself on fire, jumping through the flames. By the time I realised she lived out front, I had already signed the papers.

Pure cosmic coincidence.

I made my early-morning debut in ivory kitten heels, slingbacks, a white teddy, and a swan lace robe tied loose at the waist. I do what I want because, after all, I'm the main character in my sorry-ass story. So if it's lingerie outside the bedroom, who cares?

I leaned over the porch railing and surveyed my little domain. It wasn't Versailles, but it had plenty of pizzazz.

The sun was blazing today, and there was no sign of Ronnie. So I moseyed my wee self back inside.

After fussing with the last of my velvet drapes and lighting a clove-scented candle in the bathroom (because yes, even my loo deserves to feel like a séance), I turned to the ancient AC unit, fingers poised to press the dial

When I heard a coded knock.

I didn't flinch. Didn't even glance toward the door.

I had a hunch.

There was only one person I'd met with that kinda gall.

Ronnie.

I let the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder if I was home, just long enough for my lipstick to set. Then I swept across the room and cracked the door open. There she was: baseball cap turned backwards, showing off that gorgeous Pima profile like she knew it was a weapon. Muscles flexing beneath her sports bra, smelling like sun, sweat, and straight-up trouble.

Doe-eyed and cocky.

So damn sexy I nearly forgot to breathe.

"Well, well," I purred, letting one manicured hand drift lazily to the doorframe. "If it isn't the welcome committee."

Ronnie didn't answer, just chewed the inside of her cheek, and gave me that half-smirk, like she knew I'd been waiting on her.

Still, she didn't cross the threshold.

Instead, she leaned against the frame, buff arms folded, head tilted, taking her sweet time sizing me up.

Go on, darling. Enjoy the view.

"You gonna let me in, or you just gonna stand there actin' all cute, like you don't know what the fuck you doin' to me?" she drawled, voice low like thunder rolling off the desert floor. "C'mon, mija... don't make me beg."

I smiled because I could.

"Depends," I flirted, brushing a red curl off my shoulder. "You plan to be good otherwise?"

Ronnie's tongue clicked behind her teeth. "Not particularly."

I stepped back.

"Then come on in, love."

Ronnie stepped inside, as if she were crossing into enemy territory, slow, suspicious eyes mowing across the space, as if she were mapping exits.

That's right, babe. Take it all in.

I let the needle drop on a Lana record, real gentle.

Ronnie made it halfway in before turning, hands braced on her hips like she was fixing to fight or flirt. Couldn't tell which yet.

"Y'know," she said, squinting at my pink enamel kettle, "I shoulda known this was your doin' the second I clocked all the deliveries of pastel pink bullshit."

I smirked. "You say that like it's an insult."

Ronnie raised a brow, stepping closer. "It's not. Just...damn. There's so much pink."

"What? You don't love it?" I purred.

She huffed a quiet laugh through her nose. Then her gaze softened.

"Sit down," I said, already drifting toward the kitchenette. "I'll make us a fruit plate."

Ronnie followed without a word.

I led her to the velvet couch, blush pink and criminally soft, and she sank into it, one leg slung over her knee, hat pulled off and tossed aside.

Christ almighty, she looked like the gayest dream I'd ever seen.

"You catch my ride last night? Stayed on for nine seconds."

Ronnie said it casually, like she wasn't already frying my brain just by talking. Her hands flew over her braid, quick and practised muscle memory in every twist down the length of it. Tight. Precise.

Do me next.

Then she tied it off and slung it back behind her shoulder, right down the curve of her spine, across that ridiculous ass, and my brain ceased working.

Total system failure. Reboot pending.

"I saw the tail end," I said, slicing up a mango and prickly pear, forcing the horny thoughts away. I added a few lime wedges for squeezing, a generous dusting of Tajín, then set the heart-shaped porcelain platter down in front of her and just stared.

Couldn't help it.

Ronnie picked up on it right away.

"You always look at me like you wanna kill me," she said, nabbing a slice of mango and licking the juice off her finger like it was foreplay. "Or fuck me."

Then she ate it, sensually.

I should've just handed her a papaya with no silverware.

My thoughts? Definitely not innocent.

I leaned in, my silver-green eyes locked on her lips.

"And if I told you it's not murder I'm thinking about," I said, "but the other thing?"

Ronnie's gaze met mine, a little cruel, I might add.

"Then," she said, twirling a strand of my hair around her finger, "if you wanna kiss me... or fuck me... maybe you should." She winked.

My reply barely made it out. "And if I do? You gonna kiss me back or shove me off?"

She grinned. "Let's test it."

So I did.

Pounced right into her lap like a trained dog. Straddled her. Pressed my hands to her shoulders. Got real close. Fruit platter? Unfinished. Forgotten.

Ronnie's hands were everywhere.

Our lips met.

Limbs tangled, heavy petting.

It was exactly what I'd dreamed about.

And yeah, I wanted to take her to bed. Let her see how soft I could be. How rough.

But deep down?

I didn't think she could handle me.

Sure, she could ride a bull blindfolded, probably flip me over and make me beg. But me?

I'm different. Not in a cute, quirky way.

In the kind of way that makes people goggle too long before looking away. In the kind of way that makes lovers say Gods, you're intense like it's a compliment, right before they leave.

And I really like Ronnie.

I think I'd be heartbroken if she didn't want me back. But I'd get it. Nobody ever stays once they see all of me, once they realise the softness is just silk draped over a skeleton of weird. And if her ex, Elita, came back? Who's to say Ronnie wouldn't go fucking running?

But I tossed my feelings aside and went for it. What's the worst that could happen? She hates it?

But no, she kissed me right back without a second thought.

I don't know how long we were making out.

Time lost all meaning somewhere between her lips on mine and her hands clutching the hem of my robe, like she didn't know if she wanted to tear it or fuck me under it.

By the time we pulled apart, I was already over the edge. I wanted Ronnie badly.

She'd called me mami in this tone that made me want to give her everything and ruin her for it. I kissed her jaw, her throat, told her she was beautiful, and touched her. But I didn't let it go any further.

Ronnie leaned back slowly, bracing on one elbow, her gaze all glazed and pink with heat. Almond eyes half-lidded, lips parted like she wasn't sure if she was high off the weed or off me.

That Lana album ended, the needle clicking once before spinning into silence.

Ronnie didn't say anything. Just observed me, like she was memorising my body, like she didn't know whether to ask for more or thank me for stopping.

"You okay?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

She smirked, but it was kind. "You always do that to people?"

"What?"

"Make 'em feel like they're floatin' and fallin' at the same time."

I smiled. Didn't answer. Just reached over, brushed the loose dark hair back from Ronnie's forehead, and let my thumb linger at her temple.

"I'm not trying to wreck you," I whispered.

"But you could," she said. "Real easy."

I swallowed. My body leaned toward Ronnie like it had a mind of its own, but I made myself stay still.

"I won't," I promised, even though part of me wanted to. I licked the corner of Ronnie's lips slowly and said, "Wanna see my pool?"

Ronnie blinked, as if I'd just spoken in tongues. "You got a pool?"

"Mmhm," I whispered, brushing a thumb along her jaw. "Above ground. Connected to the deck. Got a flower swing, beach chairs, the whole romantic setup."

Ronnie let out a whistle, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Damn, you really out here livin' like some kinda queer princess."

"And I look hot in a bikini," I shot back with a smirk, rising to my feet and offering her my hand.

She didn't take it right away, just stared. I felt my cheeks flush.

"Prove it, mi mariposa."

I looked over my shoulder, walking backwards, letting the straps of my teddy fall off my shoulders. "Oh, love," I purred, "you're gonna wish you never asked."

I didn't give her the chance to answer.

I gripped her hand and pulled her through the trailer. I had to get her somewhere private, somewhere safe, before she got shy, or clever, and tried to sweet-talk her way out of it.

My bedroom glowed soft pink with the last of the morning light. I pushed Ronnie gently down onto the edge of my bed.

"Sit."

Ronnie did.

I disappeared behind a cherry-blossom divider screen, the one that looked like it belonged in a geisha's boudoir, with delicate wood, painted petals, and just sheer enough to tease shadows. I made sure the light was hitting me just right. I wanted her to see my silhouette. Wanted to tease.

I untied the bow at my bustline, let the slip fall in a puddle around my ankles, and kicked it aside. Then the teddy. I hummed something old and Gaelic, a little siren song passed down through generations. The bikini slipped on like a dream, though I'll admit, I was worried it'd be too small.

And it was. But in that dangerous, sexy kind of way that makes you wanna sin.

I slide the divider aside, slow as honey, and step into the light like I've waited my whole life to be adored.

Take a good, long look, Ronnie.

"You alright over there?" I called, in a sing-song soft voice, ginger lashes batting.

She didn't answer, just let out a breath like I'd knocked it clean outta her lungs.

"You puttin' on a show or just lettin' me suffer?"

I smiled to myself, coy as a kitten with cream, and let my fingers skim up the side of my thigh. "It's Dior."

"The fuck is Dior?" Ronnie asked.

I bit my lip, tilted my head. "Means I look expensive. Means you better act right."

Her jaw dropped as if I'd read from the Book of Revelations. I twirled slowly, my hips swaying.

"Just don't dunk me, okay?"

I took Ronnie's hand and led her out through the screen door, onto the deck. The big rubber duck floated in the pool, keeping watch.

Water glittered at a perfect seventy-two degrees.

I settled under the umbrella like a vintage pinup postcard come to life, rubbed sunblock along my arms and thighs in soft little circles.

Ronnie looked me over like she wanted to devour me. She didn't say a word, just rushed over, took the bottle, and started rubbing it into my back.

Mmmm.

I let the strings slip, held the bikini top to my chest with just my fingertips. Ronnie traced my spine, my waist, the soft curve of my belly, then gently pulled me to my feet and pressed me up against the sliding glass door.

And kissed me.

I fumbled for the handle, all flushed and dizzy, and popped it open with a giggle.

"Change of plans," I whispered.

Ronnie didn't hesitate, only smiled, swept me clean off my feet, easy as breathing, and carried me straight back to my room.

Felt like a fairy tale.

Tossed me on the bed. Then Ronnie was on my mouth everywhere, nipping at my bikini bottoms, and pulled them down slowly.

Kissed every inch.

Then she looked up, eyes blown.

"This okay?" Ronnie asked, tone low, husky, and so damn sexy. "I've been wantin' this all year. Just didn't know if you wanted me back. I was scared."

Aw, baby, don't be scared. I don't bite...hard.

I reached up, grabbed the hem of Ronnie's sports bra, and yanked it over her head. Her braid hung between us.

"Of course it's okay," I sighed. "Just tell me one thing."

She sat up, waiting.

"You over Elita?"

She blinked. Then that smirk broke.

"Who the fuck is Elita?" she said. "Never heard of her."

So I gave in. Indulged.

And let me tell you, the gods knew what they were doing when they made her.

And her body? Christ alive.

So beautiful. As somebody carved Ronnie from the heat of the earth.

She's got these muscles that ripple beneath her skin like tension in a poem, strong, but never stiff. Soft in the ways that count. Tan all over, kissed golden by the Arizona sun. Her chest is small and perfect. Like she was never meant to feed anything but fire, her arms were toned, so strong.

Wouldn't expect much else; the girl rides bulls for fun.

But those thighs? Holy hell. Thick enough to pin me down and hold me there. Hips made to cradle storms. Moves like she was born knowing how to break things, slow hearts, bones, me.

And the body hair? Don't get me started.

It's soft, natural, and dark. Under Ronnie's arms, down her thighs, a faint trail across her belly, curling at her navel. The light fuzz on her jaw, the hair on her arms and back, it's all her. It's everything. She's not just a woman; she's a story. How lucky for me I get to read her, mouth to skin, page by page... lip by lip.

I licked slowly down her belly, testing the waters as one does.

Ronnie let out this breathy laugh and flipped us.

Hey! What are you doing? Let me please you.

Ronnie slid her knee between my thighs, pressing just hard enough to pull a gasp from me, then kissed me again like she was starving for it.

"I didn't bring the strap," she whispered. "Didn't expect to be in this situation, mija."

"I don't care," I told her, pulling her closer. "Mascs deserve to get their happy ending too. Deserve to feel worshipped."

That hit her somewhere soft.

Ronnie smiled into our next sweet kiss before pulling away.

"Now lemme finish what I started."

I crawled down her like I had claws. Slid her shorts down, then her tight little boxers. She held my hair back, almost trembling, like she was scared I wouldn't like what I saw.

Oh, but I did. Very much.

And as a pussy-loving girl, I've always had a soft spot for a lil bush, sexy, natural, reminded me of home. Something about it feels honest. Inviting. I don't know what Ronnie was nervous about; maybe she thought I'd expect something different? Like I'd turn my nose up at it, or prefer her bare?

Please.

I was halfway in love and more than ready to get down and dirty.

I started slowly, letting my lips graze her inner thigh, marvelling in the warmth of her skin. I trailed soft kisses toward her centre, pausing at the top of her mound, then gently kissed along her labia. I lingered just long enough to tease, then traced my way back to her other thigh, letting the sensual anticipation build. She let out a soft moan like it slipped past her lips without permission.

God, I loved that sound.

Yes. That's it. Cheer me on, darling. Let me know if I'm teasing you right.

I glanced up at Ronnie one last time, then swung her thick thigh over my shoulder, locked into position like I was sighting down a rifle, and devoured her like it was the last flavour I'd ever know. My fingers parted her beautiful, mauve labia gently, holding her lips apart in a v shape with two fingers as I worked her clit. Her hand tangled in my hair, shoving me closer, guiding me like she couldn't take it slow, not today.

I went all in.

Ronnie’s soaked. Dripping.

And I'm already addicted.

Oh yes, baby.

Gods, there's nothing like this, nothing like watching a tough, masc lass unravel under my tongue, making her melt, making her feel wanted, and making her feel so thoroughly ruined that she forgets how to hold herself together. Feeling her hips thrust into my face, forcing my face into her goods. And knowing I'm the one doing all this? That I'm the reason for her slow breath, her deep, sumptuous moans?

Mmmm. Yes.

I can hear Ronnie's sobs, her breath dropping, feel her back arching off the bed, and I didn't let up. Her knees were shaking and locking up around my head. I continued licking, twisting my tongue, holding my breath while blowing up my cheeks so I could get the right pressure. I kept it up until I needed a breath.

I swung my head up from between her thighs, took a deep breath and went back to it.

"M-Mami..." Ronnie gasped, slurring something in Spanish or maybe Tohono. I didn't care. I just kept my mouth shut. Tongue working over time. Fast.

Ronnie jerked forward, all muscle and instinct, fingers sliding from my hair. Then she lifted her body, arched beautifully over the mattress like her bones had turnt to smoke. Her nails clawed at the bedspread, probably leaving tracks deep enough to shred it nearly. And she moaned—moaned like an actual woman.

You know how masc lesbians be, always tryna keep it low, groan like a dude, hide anything too feminine.

But not her. Not this time.

I kept at it. I sucked Ronnie's whole cunt into my mouth, released it with a few slow licks that left her twitching, and she patted my head so I'd stop tormenting her.

She tasted delicious. I didn't want to stop.

When I finally let her go, I sat up, wiped my mouth, and looked down at her. I swept my hair back and fanned my chest. Ronnie was glowing. Her braid had come undone and tangled across the pillow, brown eyes shut, full lips barely parted. All that tension she carried in her jaw, her brow, her shoulders was gone— vamoose.

Gods, she looked so fucking beautiful.

I gave her cunt a light slap just enough to make her twitch, then crawled up beside her, still tasting her on my lips.

"Fuck... I can't feel my legs," she groaned, flopping about like a fish outta water.

I smirked. Brushed Ronnie's hair back, touched her cheek, kissed her softly. Made direct eye contact when she finally rolled to face me, eyes half closed, legs still limp and heavy.

"I think it's your turn, mija. lemme take care of you." She beamed and whispered something in Spanish, "Déjame hacerte sentir lo que tú me hiciste a mí."

—Let me make you feel what you made me feel.

And she started with a kiss.

Her hands came to rest on my breasts, soft as clouds, then trailed down slowly and steadily.

The gods knew what they were doing when they made a woman's hands. So gentle. So soft. Like they were sculpted just for this.

Ronnie kept whispering things I didn't fully understand, but felt. I presume she told me I was beautiful, that I'd be the death of her. That she'd do anything in her power to keep me.

And darlings, I believed every word.

I wonder if she will ask me to be hers.

She drew my leg up, pressed my foot to her lips and kissed the whole way up. I got a good view of her body and joked, "I guess your legs work now, huh?"

Ronnie just laughed and started up my other leg. She halted at my knee, put her hand on my lower back, and arched me toward her. I wasn't worried about a thing. I'm from the old country, love. You think we shave? Hardly. I adore my bush. And Ronnie? She buried her face in my cunt like it was the holy grail. Both legs slung over her shoulders, my arse three feet off the bed.

It reminded me of being suspended mid air when I do aerial dance, and that only made me wetter.

She was so sweet.

Until she wasn't.

Next thing I knew, Ronnie dropped her knees to the ground and jerked me toward the edge of the bed. It looked like she was worshipping me from that position, her super-long dark hair spilling over her broad shoulders. Fuck, I had never realised how fucking long and shiny her hair actually was. I wanted to touch it, to play with it, but her mouth stayed locked on my cunt. I had no control

She's pulling me into her. I see her make eye contact; she probably smiles, and soon I'm on the floor under her.

Oh Gods, yes. Thank you.

Ronnie pulls her mouth away, spits on my hole, then down her fingers, and puts them inside of me, whispering the filthiest nothings like they were sacred verses. She curled them just right, moved them in and out, working her healing magic. I can see her thrusting, and I open my hips a bit wider, let her have the whole stage.

(Ifykyk)

Her hair's spilling down between us, and then she's kissing me nastily. She pulls back just enough to muster something about what it's like being with someone like her, how beautiful I am, how this shit is the kinda shit her ancestors died for.

After torturing me further, she flipped me back over, spread my thighs, and went down on me, ate that cunt from behind.

Oh, I wanted to crawl away, but she had me pinned good.

Then, without so much as a warning, Ronnie flips me over again, slides onto her belly, and edges me until I'm nearly tearing her hair out.

"That's right, Mija... Ride my face," she moans. "Mmm." And getting real lewd with it.

I bet her back looks so fucking glorious at this angle. Remind me to put a mirror on the ceiling. Fuck.

We switch. Ronnie grasps me and places me on her beautiful face. Doesn't give a damn that she can't breathe; she just holds me, moans with me, her knees shake, she's losing air by the second, until she finishes me off completely. I scream. I wept. Let out a prayer in Gaelic. And Ronnie pushed me to the floor. She gasped for air, curled up beside me, and started kissing my face, not just once, but over and over.

We lay there for a while, tangled up and quiet, until she shifted and winced.

"Damn," she muttered, "this floor's killin' my back."

She picked me up like a princess, laid me out gently on the bed, and filled the space beside me with her presence. She propped her head up on her hand like she wasn't already halfway in love.

"So..." Ronnie said, real casual. "This means we're together now?"

"Only if you want that."

I was still tryna catch my breath.

"Mija," she said, grinning, "I've been wantin' you since forever. And now you livin' behind me? Might as well move the fuck in to fulfil the whole U-Haul lesbian prophecy."

I looked at her, deadpan.

She cracked, rolled her eyes. "I'm only kiddin'."

"Ronnie?" I say.

"Si, mija?" she replies.

"Shut up and kiss me."