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Delaney’s mouth found hers again, swallowing the helpless sound that tore out of Claire. Their lips met messy and urgent, tongues sliding.

Claire leaned hard into the touch, hips canting forward without permission, chasing the pressure of those clever fingers.

Delaney broke the kiss just enough to rest her forehead against Claire’s, breathing hard. “You’re so wet already,” she whispered, voice rough with wonder.

Claire shuddered again, eyes squeezing shut for a second as fresh heat flooded through her. She didn’t trust herself to answer. She only rocked into Delaney’s hand once more, letting the motion say everything she couldn’t quite admit out loud: that she had been aching for this, for her, longer than she wanted to count.

The jeans were too tight, too restrictive.

Claire broke away long enough to shove them down her hips, kicking them off. Delaney did the same, her movements hurried, desperate. The denim pooled at her feet, and she stepped out of her jeans, leaving her in nothing but a pair of black lace panties.

Claire’s eyes raked over her, taking in the long lines of her legs, the curve of her hips, the way her dark waves spilled over her shoulders. Delaney was beautiful, and for tonight, she was hers.

Claire reached for her, pulling her close again. The heat of Delaney’s skin against hers chased away the chill of the room, the friction of lace against lace grounding her. Delaney’s hands found her waist, then lower, gripping her ass and pulling her flush against her. Claire’s mouth found hers again, sliding her tongue along Delaney’s lower lip. They tasted of whiskey and anticipation, and Delaney’s body fit perfectly against her own.

Claire’s hands slid down Delaney’s sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. Delaney lifted her hips, letting Claire pull them down, and then she was naked, pressed against Claire in a way that left no room for doubt. Claire’s own underwear followed, the lace joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. The air was cool against her shoulders, but she barely noticed it.

Delaney’s hands found her hips, guiding her backward toward the bed. Claire went willingly, her legs hitting the edge of the mattress. She sat down, pulling Delaney with her, and Delaney straddled her lap without hesitation.

The position put them at eye level, Delaney’s dark waves framing her face, her hazel-green eyes dark with want. Claire’s hands found her waist, then slid up her back, pulling her closer. Delaney kissed her slowly, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The mattress gave under their weight. Claire’s hands roamed, tracing the long line of Delaney’s back, the curve of her ass, the way her skin felt under her fingertips.

Claire shuddered as Delaney’s fingers found her nipples, teasing them through the thin fabric of her tank top. The friction sent sparks straight down to her core.

Claire’s hands found the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, tossing it aside, her bra seconds behind, joining the pile of clothes on the floor.

Finally, there was nothing between them.

Delaney leaned down to capture her lips, and Claire closed her eyes, memorizing the weight of Delaney straddling her thighs.

“Touch me,” Claire rasped, arching into the feeling as Delaney’s hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks.

“Like this?” Delaney whispered, her breath warm against Claire’s chest before her lips closed around one nipple, her tongue teasing the tight flesh.

Claire tangled her fingers in Delaney’s hair, holding her firm against her skin. “Yes—right there,” she gasped, the sharp ache in her center tightening into something fierce and demanding. “Don’t stop.”

Delaney’s mouth kept working her, and the ache built until Claire had to move. She wanted her hands on her. Needed to give it back. Claire slid her hands down Delaney’s back, fingers tracing the line of her spine, and found the curve of Delaney’s ass, gripping hard. Delaney’s hips jerked forward, pressing down. Claire pushed back, grinding upward, catching Delaney’s moan in her throat.

Delaney’s hips moved in time with Claire’s. “God, Claire,” she breathed, her voice rough. “I need⁠—”

Claire didn’t let her finish. She flipped them, pinning Delaney to the bed, her body covering hers. Delaney’s legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. The contrast of Delaney’s paler skin against her own tanned arms struck her. Claire braced her weight on her elbows, looking down at the actress spread beneath her, completely undone.

Delaney’s hands found her hips, guiding her. The rhythm built between them, slow at first, then faster, more insistent. Delaney’s breath came in short pants, her hips rising to meet Claire’s. The bed frame groaned a quiet protest, mixing with their ragged breathing.

Delaney’s fingers dug into her hips, her back arching off the mattress. “Claire,” she gasped, the word splintering. “Please.”

Claire didn’t need to be told twice. She slid her hand between them, fingers finding Delaney’s center. She was drenched, slick with readiness. Delaney inhaled sharply as Claire’s fingers found her, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. Delaney’s hips jerked upward, chasing the contact, and Claire slid two fingers inside her.

Delaney groaned, her hips rocking into Claire’s hand. Claire anchored her thumb against the swollen nub, matching her pace to Delaney’s urgent movements. The walls clamped tight around her fingers, hot and slick, and Claire watched Delaney’s face—eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed, lips parted.

Delaney’s fingers tangled in Claire’s hair, pulling her down. Their mouths messy and desperate. The pace quickened until Delaney’s breath broke into short, desperate sobs, her body tightening under Claire’s weight.

“Claire,” Delaney cried out. “I’m⁠—”

Claire swallowed the last of her words as Delaney’s body bowed.

“God—Claire⁠—”