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Sugi wails as Oola withdraws her fingers half a moment before she can come.
“Please,” she gasps, and Oola feels it shiver through her, presses her mouth to the planes of Sugi's stomach and kisses heaving skin, closing her eyes against the burning need that’s rising.
Begging, she thinks. Sugi is begging. Begging her, because right now, Oola is the one in control, the one with all the power. Sugi's handcuffed to the bed, stripped bare, shaken into incoherent need by Oola's mouth, her fingers, and she only gets to come when Oola lets her.
“Not yet,” Oola murmurs, kissing Sugi's hip, and teases her fingers around the edge of Sugi's cunt, dragging them through slick wetness. Sugi moans under the touch, thighs twitching as she resists the urge to close them, her violet hair spread out across Oola's pillows and catching the low light. It’s quiet, dark, just for the two of them instead of being a show, and Oola finally feels like she fits into her own skin again, curled here between Sugi's legs, with Sugi's gasping breaths echoing off the walls of their small room.
“You keep saying that,” Sugi says, a moan and a laugh and a complaint, but when Oola slips a long finger back into her, stroking lightly, she sighs in pleasure, rolls her hips into it. “Oh, slag, your fingers are magic, spitfire.”
Oola hides her laughter against the soft skin of Sugi's thigh, gently rubbing her thumb over Sugi's clit, watching her body clench with something bubbling and breathless in the pit of her stomach. “They’ll be more magic once you teach me to pick locks,” she says, and Sugi groans in agreement, riding the second finger Oola presses into her with short rocks of her hips.
“Going to make an excellent bounty hunter,” Sugi says, though it’s distracted, breathy and short as she rocks into Oola's dragging thumb. “Oh, Oola, please, please, I'm just—”
Oola stops, turns her attention to kissing her way up Sugi's chest. There's a whimper above her, a clatter as Sugi drags at the cuffs, a whine of frustration that tangles in Oola's lungs like victory. “Oola, please,” Sugi begs, but Oola ignores her, kisses Sugi's small, pert breasts, slides her mouth over one tight nipple. With a moan, Sugi arches into the pull of her mouth, the beautiful bow of her body as lovely as any dancer’s step, and Oola kisses between her breasts, takes the other nipple into her mouth, rolls it with her tongue. Presses three fingers up into Sugi's heat, and Sugi's cry is high and eager as she rocks down into the stretch.
Stroking inside her, Oola shifts, settles herself astride one of Sugi's thighs. She’s wet, aching, feels the sharp burn of need building in her own belly, but—
Sugi arches into her, head fallen back against the pillows, cries echoing off the walls, and Oola wants that far more than she wants to stop and touch herself.
Leaning in, she kisses the cries out of Sugi's mouth, tangles their tongues as she flicks Sugi's clit, and rides the jolt of Sugi's body without letting up. Sugi wails, clenching tight around her fingers, and Oola shudders, slides down. She drags her fingers out, presses her mouth to Sugi instead, and Sugi swears desperately at the first stroke of her tongue. Oola presses in, licking, sucking, rubbing at Sugi's clit, and Sugi's curses break into a shuddering cry as she arches—
Oola pulls away, kissing her thigh, and Sugi's breath shudders out of her on a sob as she twists in the cuffs, shuddering, twitching, riding the edge of orgasm.
“Please,” she gasps, and Oola hums, resting her head on Sugi's thigh, dragging two fingertips through Sugi's slick folds.
“Not yet,” she decides, and smiles at Sugi's desperate groan. “I think I like this too much to stop. It’s a long way to the next port, after all.”
Sugi moans, tangled amusement and frustration and appreciation, and she hooks a leg over one of Oola's shoulders, drags her closer. “I've created a monster,” she laments, and Oola laughs and doesn’t disagree.