Payback’s a Tease (Part 2 of "Pushing Limits")
Hours have passed since the workout incident.
Freen, smug and freshly showered, lounges on her bed in an oversized tee and shorts, legs stretched out, face lit by the soft blue glow of her phone screen. There’s a little smile tugging at her lips, like the earlier chaos never happened—as if she didn’t just leave her girlfriend hot, bothered, and completely undone on a gym mat.
She thinks it’s over.
She thinks Becky’s let it go.
Oh, sweet, naive Freen.
The bathroom door creaks open.
Becky steps out, steam curling behind her like something out of a daydream. She’s wrapped in nothing but a fluffy towel, her damp hair sticking to her collarbones, water still glistening on her skin. Her expression? Innocent—deceptively so.
Freen glances up, takes one look, and chokes on her own smugness.
“Shower was nice,” Becky says, voice light, casual. She stretches, deliberately, arms over her head—the towel shifting ever so slightly as she walks toward the bed. “You comfy?”
Freen nods, trying very hard to focus on her phone screen. “Yeah. Super comfy.”
“Good,” Becky replies, her voice dropping just a notch.
Freen opens her mouth. Closes it. Her hands stay awkwardly at her sides, unsure where to rest.
Becky notices.
And she smirks.
But then—without another word—she casually flops down beside her, acting like nothing happened.
Freen blinks, confused.
Becky hums as she adjusts her towel, eyes on the ceiling, like she didn’t just rattled her girlfriend.
“Night’s still young,” she says lightly, voice all sugar. “Don’t fall asleep on me yet.”
Freen doesn’t know what’s coming.
But Becky?
She’s just getting started.
She started playing with her damp hair, gathering it all to one side like she was preparing to towel it dry. Nothing suspicious… at first.
But then, casually—too casually—her towel loosens, slipping just enough to dip lower on her chest, exposing more of her already distracting cleavage.
Freen, mid-scroll, completely malfunctions. She coughs, splutters, chokes on absolutely nothing.
“B–Baby, what are you—?”
Becky glances down at herself, then back up with the smuggest little tilt of her head. “Oh? Didn’t realize you were looking.”
Freen opens her mouth to respond, but she doesn’t get the chance.
Becky stretches—slowly, deliberately—her arm brushing along Freen’s as she shifts closer. Their legs now lightly touching. Her lips graze Freen’s jaw, feather-light, warm and slow like a promise.
Like payback.
“You seemed so in control earlier… but now you’re all quiet?”
“Since you were such a tease earlier…”
Freen swallows
“…I should return the favor.”
“Becky—” Freen starts, voice low, caught somewhere between warning and plea.
But Becky leans in, breath brushing her ear. “What? You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that, did you?”
Freen tries. She really, truly tries to keep it together. She clenches her jaw, focuses on her phone, even attempts to scoot a little away—but Becky follows, like a predator with the softest smile and the deadliest intentions.
Then Becky’s fingers find her thigh—just the barest touch, slow, feather-light patterns being drawn like a secret code straight into her bloodstream. Her voice? Sweet. But soaked in mischief.
“You know,” she murmurs, eyes locked on Freen’s flushed face, “I’ve been thinking about earlier… I don’t like losing.”
Freen’s breath hitches. Her whole body tenses under Becky’s touch, already trembling from the effort it takes not to react.
“…Becky.”
Becky tilts her head, that little smug smile dancing on her lips. She knows.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. “Yeah?” she answers, all innocence.
Freen, in a last-ditch attempt at survival, catches Becky’s wrist—her grip firm, but faltering. Like she’s begging her to stop, and daring her to keep going, all at once.
But Becky just leans in, eyes gleaming. Her lips hover dangerously close to Freen’s—too close.
Her voice drops to a whisper, soft and laced with fire:
“You wouldn’t leave me hanging twice… right?”
The shift is instant—Freen doesn’t ease into it. One second, she’s barely hanging on; the next, she's taking over.
She grabs Becky by the waist and flips them in one swift, almost primal motion. Becky barely has time to let out a breathless, surprised sound before Freen’s mouth claims hers—hot, fierce, and unapologetically hungry.
The kiss isn’t careful. It’s not gentle. It’s raw.
Their lips crash together like they’ve been starved of this exact moment, and Freen is devouring every second of it. There’s nothing shy left in her now—just pent-up tension, teased limits, and pure, desperate need flooding through her touch.
Becky moans into the kiss, hands flying up to tangle in Freen’s hair, her towel forgotten somewhere between the sheets. She expected a fight—but not this overwhelming, consuming wave of dominance. Not the way Freen’s hands are everywhere at once—gripping her thighs, dragging her closer, pressing their bodies so tightly together that it’s hard to breathe, let alone think.
Every move is instinctual—Freen’s hands slide under Becky’s back, pulling her up into her, their hips grazing, grinding, teasing without mercy. Freen breaks the kiss for just a breath, just enough to look down at her—Becky’s lips swollen, her chest heaving.
Then, without a word, Freen kisses her again—deeper, slower this time, like she wants to leave her mark in every single way that doesn’t need saying out loud.
Becky arches into her, desperate for more, tugging at Freen’s shirt, nails scraping lightly over warm skin.
Freen growls—a deep, possessive sound that rumbles through both of them—and in response, she bites Becky’s bottom lip. Not hard, but firm enough to draw a soft gasp from her mouth, leaving her breathless and wrecked.
Becky’s entire body shivers, caught between pleasure and anticipation, eyes fluttering shut. “Oh, sh—”
Her voice melts into a moan as Freen trails kisses down her jaw, every second slower and hotter than the last.
All that’s left is heat and breath and tangled limbs, the sound of lips meeting again and again, and the feeling that the rest of the world has completely disappeared.
The room is quiet now, save for the slow hum of the fan and the steady rhythm of their breathing.
Becky is draped over Freen like a blanket—barely covered, entirely unbothered—looking smug as hell. Her lips are curved into that devilish little grin, the one that says, “I won.”
Freen, still catching her breath, lies flat on her back, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and absolutely, utterly wrecked. Her fingers lazily trace idle patterns on Becky’s bare shoulder.
“…I should’ve just let you win earlier,” she mumbles into Becky’s damp hair, voice hoarse and heavy with post-bliss haze.
Becky giggles, soft and mischievous. “Yup. But this was way more fun.”
Freen groans, pulling her impossibly closer, wrapping both arms around Becky’s waist as if to contain her chaos. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Becky nuzzles into her neck, presses a lazy, smug kiss to Freen’s collarbone, and whispers against her skin, “But what a way to go, huh?”
Freen doesn’t answer—just exhales a long, satisfied breath and tightens her hold.
And Becky? Becky smiles wider, closes her eyes, thoroughly satisfied.
:))