London Twist: A Delilah Novella

moved her lips against Delilah’s. They were so full and soft and hesitant… not at all like a man’s. Delilah could feel Fatima’s breath against her face, and realized the woman was as excited as she was, and even more frightened. The thought excited her more. She wanted to reach down and touch herself, but was afraid it would be too much.
    Fatima opened her mouth and kissed her harder. Delilah felt a burst of surprise and delight. She opened her mouth, too, and their tongues met, touching, teasing, tasting. She turned her head and pressed forward and opened her mouth more, letting Fatima’s tongue all the way inside. God, it was delicious, she couldn’t remember a kiss that tasted anything like it. She heard Fatima moan… or was it her? She moved her head to the side and kissed Fatima’s neck, her collarbone. She put one knee on the floor, pulled the robe opened further, and kissed lower, lower, her hands dropping inside the robe and taking hold of Fatima’s hips. Her mouth found a nipple and she sucked on it. Fatima gasped and her hands came to the back of Delilah’s head, pulling her closer.
    Suddenly the halter and sarong felt like a diving bell. Delilah pulled back, crossed her arms, and pulled off the top. Even before it had cleared her head, Fatima was leaning forward, reaching for her, and then her hands were on Delilah’s breasts, touching, caressing, exploring. She took Delilah’s nipples between her fingers and gently squeezed, and Delilah felt the shock of the sensation all the way down to her toes. She seized Fatima’s face in her hands and this time the kiss went on and on, headlong, passionate, unrestrained. It was extraordinary, electrifying, she felt like they were making love just with their mouths.
    Somehow she managed to open the sarong and get her panties off. She thought she’d never been so wet. Still with one knee on the floor and the other leg on the couch, she broke the kiss and took one of Fatima’s hands. She guided it closer, closer, looking into Fatima’s eyes, and when the woman’s fingers touched her Delilah gasped from the pleasure of it. She moved Fatima’s hand, showing her how she liked it, moaning “
Oui, oui,”
in rhythm with Fatima’s caress. She felt one of Fatima’s fingers slide slowly inside her, in, out, the pressure there, then gone again, then back, teasing, satisfying, teasing again. It was maddening. She couldn’t stand it anymore and she couldn’t stand that it might stop. She leaned back, pulling Fatima by the hand with her. “I want you to taste me,” she said. “Please. Please taste me.”
    Fatima put her free hand on Delilah’s chest and pushed her all the way onto her back. The armrest was under Delilah’s head now, and she watched as Fatima leaned in and moved down, down, her fingers still touching, probing, and she kissed Delilah’s belly, her fingers still moving, moving, then lower, and finally, finally Delilah felt her tongue, her teeth, the pressure of her mouth. God, had she ever felt anything so simultaneously gentle and intense? She lifted her hips and put a hand on Fatima’s head and moaned “
Oui, oui,”
coaxing her with her hand and her voice, showing her what she liked, what she craved, what she needed. And Fatima obliged her, eagerly, her tongue flicking, her fingers probing. She reached for Delilah’s nipples, pinching them, rolling them, making her insane. Delilah felt her orgasm building and whispered,
“Oui, ma chérie, oui,
like that… just like that, don’t stop, make me come like that,” and Fatima’s tongue moved faster and she squeezed one of Delilah’s hands in her own. Delilah grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer and ground against her face and then she was coming, the intensity of it hitting her like a shockwave, and as it rolled through her body and redoubled in strength she arched her back and gripped Fatima’s hand and heard herself cry out, “O
ui, pour l’amour de Dieu, oui, oui!”
    She came for what seemed like forever. Finally she collapsed back to the couch, her orgasm ebbing, her mind still reeling from the surprise of it, the violence with which it had taken her. Fatima crept forward, kissing Delilah’s belly, then her neck, then held her in her arms.
    “My God,” Delilah breathed. “You are so sweet.
    Fatima’s face was buried against Delilah’s neck. “I can’t believe I did that.”
    “It was beautiful.”
    “I’m glad.”
    Delilah took her by the