Interlewd - The Princess and the Rebel

This was a bad idea.

Such a bad idea. She was laying in her bed, buried in a nest of pillows, and was keenly aware that Deadline was just one room over.

It was stupid. The woman was a professional. She was just staying over for the night because it was more convenient. That was all.

Sure, there might have been some light flirtations there, at the end, but she didn’t know for sure. Deadline didn’t go around waving a lesbian flag, and Francisca herself was hardly so open about such things. It behooved someone in her position to be a little more demure and polite about such things.

Demure. Calm... professional.

So, so very bothered at the moment.

She lived with two bodyguards on rotation. They often checked in on her in the middle of the night. And so she’d always found that the best time to take care of any needs was in the shower, where her privacy was assured.

Francisca needed a shower real bad.

She groaned faintly and turned, laying on her side. It might have been the alcohol still burning in her veins or just the excitement of the day, but she was feeling far too energized to sleep, even though, objectively, she was tired.

She refrained from pulling out a phone, or connecting to any apps on her eyes. That would just keep her awake for longer.

Then there was a shift. Not a creak. Her penthouse was a little too nice to be creaky, but she heard something nonetheless and sat up in bed.

Someone was at the door. A thin, lithe figure, lit only by the light spilling in from the windows in the living room. “Hey,” the figure said. “Can’t sleep?”

Francisca reached over to the side and flicked her bedstand light on. It illuminated the room in soft yellow light, enough to see Deadline by the door.

Deadline who wasn’t wearing nothing, as she’d claimed, but...

The woman was in a thin camisole. The shirt only covered her from the belly button up, and was so sheer that it didn’t hide much, not in the soft light. Francisca could see every curve of her breasts, the way her nipples poked at the fabric.

She swallowed and looked down, eyes following the curve of the woman’s hips and stomach. Her panties were red and about two sizes too small. They were pinching in the skin of her hips and buttocks. They were so tight that it left a gap exposed just below the mons pubis

Deadline was shaved..

Francisca darted her eyes up, trying to meet Deadline’s, but her pretty purple-blue eyes were almost impossible to make out in the dark. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. Artfully tangled.

Love this novel? Read it on NovelBin to ensure the author gets credit.

“Can... can I help you?” she asked.

“Hmm,” Deadline said. It was a throaty, almost moan-like sound that sent a shiver down her back. “Yeah. Maybe. It’s going to sound stupid.”

“No. Is something the matter?” She sat up in her bed, starting to pull the covers aside.

Deadline glanced back, catching the light of the windows behind her. “It’s a little too bright out there. I feel like I can’t sleep without the dark.”

“Oh. that’s understandable,” Francisca said. As a good host, it was, of course, her duty to accommodate. There were blinds that could be lowered, and the glass was actually designed to darken at the press of a button. “You can sleep here,” she said instead of mentioning either option. Immediately she wanted to smack herself. It was far too presumptuous, wasn’t it? Deadline would never--

“That’s kind of you. Thanks,” Deadline said. She stepped into the room, then around the bed, walking without hesitation.

She felt the covers rise, the bed shift slightly, and then she was very, very aware that there was someone else in bed with her.

“Comfy,” Deadline said. She moved some pillows around, then settled in. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied.

There was nothing but silence. Silence for a minute, then two, only filled with the whispering breath of the woman next to her.

Then Deadline turned, facing her in bed. She felt the tickle of her breath on the side of her face, the faint smell of whiskey. “You know... from everything I’ve seen of you, you’re the kind of woman that takes charge. You push ahead, get what you want. Put others in their place. You’re the boss, or something like that, right?”

“It’s what I want to be, yes,” she replied. The comment had derailed her train of thought, which was probably for the best. She was working hard not to squirm.

“Hmm... strange that it never seems to be that way when I’m here,” Deadline said. She reached over, her hand gently, carefully, caressing the side of her face. Her fingers trailed down to her neck, and she found herself unmoving. “Beautiful.”

“Deadline?” she asked.

Deadline rolled, shifting her hips closer, and Francisca felt herself going still and stiff as Deadline’s leg touched hers. And then Deadline rolled and was atop her, straddling her.

In the dark, all she could see was a pale hint of the woman’s face, the curve of her chest, the wild mop of her hair.

“What are you--” she began.

Deadline grabbed Francisca’s hands by the wrist and placed them onto her hips, near her upper thighs. Then she lowered herself.

Francisca was keenly aware that Deadline was sitting on her, butt pressed into her hips, the woman’s weight pushing her into her mattress, at least somewhat. Her hands felt impossibly warm and clammy against the uncovered skin of Deadline’s hips. She could feel where her panties squeezed the flesh in.

“Deadline?”

Deadline leaned down, and then their lips met.

She had some experience kissing. She was no blushing virgin, of course. A few experiences in college, a night or two with an escort afterwards. This kiss felt better than that. Deeper. Deadline pressed down on her, almost aggressively. Francisca opened her mouth, and that only encouraged the woman who tilted her head a little more, tongue reaching out.

Involuntarily, she tightened her grip on Deadline’s hips.

Deadline moaned into her mouth.

That may have been the single hottest thing she’d ever experienced, and yet it didn’t seem as if Deadline was done with that. She wanted more.

The kiss broke, and she became aware of Deadline’s arm planted on the bed next to her head, the other hand lightly touching her stomach through the thick material of her pajamas. “The safe word is cuddles,” Deadline said.