Author's Note: All the feedback was absolutely lovely, and it definitely seemed that there was a desire for Helena to have a turn. So hopefully I did you proud :) Enjoy.

Helena eased out of her grasp and leaned down to her ear, dark silken trees fell around Myka's face, making the words that followed resonate all the more deeply within her chest,

"My turn."

Myka turned her face and leaned up, seeking Helena's lips, but the older woman slid out of reach with a click of the tongue and a husky titter that instantly caused a tightening low in her gut.

Helena slid to the down the bed, coming to rest just to the left of her calves. Her intent was clear in her pointed gaze, Myka was to lie still. Even as she groaned at the realization, the tightness only intensified, a blush unwittingly spreading across her chest and cheeks at the knowing grin that followed. The smile faded and the intensity came back to her eyes,

"Do you know how long I've wanted this?" Helena's voice slid over her, heavy and low, as tangible as a touch and just as inciting, "How long I've wanted you." Helena did touch her now, just fingertips tracing a circle over one knee and then the other, "I wanted to take you right there; your body pulled deliciously tight across my ceiling- your partner watching and all." As the fingers trailed under her knee she jerked even though she'd seen it coming- having been wholly unable to tear her eyes away from the entrancing scene unfolding at the end of her bed. She'd been moved by the writer's words ever since her father read Myka her novels as a child; and now, the words falling the writer's lips affected her just as intensely, albeit they moved her in a decidedly different fashion.

"I thought of you that night," both hands now- still excruciatingly gentle-slid up each of Myka's thighs, "I touched myself; I touched myself that night for the first time in a century," Myka's legs fell open with a gasp and Helena's hands gladly slid across the expanse of inner thigh now left exposed to the cool air, "I touched myself, and I thought of you. And do you know?" Between Helena's deep, deliberate yet impassioned tone and teasing fingers that were drawing small circles at the apex of her thighs, Myka sincerely hoped she wasn't meant to answer that question. That would require thoughts beyond, oh god. Oh god. Helena. More, and Know What?!

Thankfully the pause appeared to be for dramatic effect as Helena continued on, fingers denying Myka's silent pleas to be touched where she wanted most, needed most, coasting instead along the line of her hip bone, "You have exceeded every one of my expectations." A smirk crept across Helena's lips; she leaned over –tips of her dark tresses brushing against Myka's sides as she blew across the drying sweat in the valley between her breasts, "and you know what a spectacular imagination I have." What started as a laugh ended in a moan, from low and deep in her throat.

Myka's hands fisted the sheet above her head. She attempted to rub her legs together to ease the ache if only for a moment, but long slender fingers tightened around her inner thighs, pulling them apart with a teasing chuckle, a small exhale ghosting over her abs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Helena had barely touched her, and already she was overcome: overcome by the fervent beating of her heart, overcome by the fire that was already swelling to an inferno, overcome by how close to that glorious precipice she already was, overcome with a sense of urgency, a need, that far surpassed anything she'd ever felt before. Not with any of the lovers in her past, not even Sam. Myka wasn't sure what she would do when the fingertips (that were now flitting up one side – grazing just under the swell of her breasts – and sliding down the other side) gained any more pressure. As light as the touches were, they were not aimless.

No. Myka had the distinct impression that she was being studied, an invention Helena was figuring out how to best take apart. She could feel it in the way Helena's fingers would still momentarily at every place that made her breath hitch; the way they scratched ever so lightly across the spot on her side that made her whimper. And if the touches weren't enough, Myka could read it on Helena's face. Since their very first meeting, Myka had spent hours going over their interactions in her head, analyzing every amused quirk of an eyebrow, every uncomfortable pursing of the lips: grasping at anything to further understand the Victorian artificer that had captivated her mind and stolen her heart. Anything to pull her in deeper even though she was already in over her head. But she didn't need those skills now.

Helena's expression was transparent: lust, tenderness, wonderment, and that mix of the desire to understand a puzzle with the absolute confidence that the answer was within her grasp that was wholly Helena. Myka had never considered herself a worthy of wonder, not until Helena. The traits and quirks she hid from a life of being ostracized, or worse, just ignored; Helena saw them all, but more than see them, she delighted in them. And now with the wonderment and adoration searing Helena's gaze and written in tender sweeping strokes across her skin, Myka believed it.

Wide, dilated eyes followed the movement of her hands. Hands that had yet to take hold. And Myka wanted to be held- she wanted to be pulled, pushed, scratched, bitten, tasted- she wanted so much more than these teasing yet achingly reverent touches, but she couldn't bring herself to break the flow of words that spurred the arousal from deep within her just as much as Helena's touch. An arousal that was dizzying and on the verge of painful, an edge Myka never realized was so electrifying to walk.

For the first time since Helena began to speak, Myka broke eye contact. Her eyes fluttered closed as her body shuddered, unable to process the intensity of this arousal. It was exquisite; it was excruciating. It was at once everywhere and everything and nowhere and not nearly enough.

"My darling Myka." It was but a whisper, words escaping on the breath of a small sigh. Myka wasn't sure if these words were meant for her. All thoughts of this ceased abruptly as Myka felt the tip of a tongue dip into her bellybutton, twirling – once, twice, three times. And there were nails carving down that spot on her side, and teeth digging into her hips, and it was like every nerve in Myka's body exploded at once. Helena was everywhere, biting, clawing, tasting; each stroke as deliberate as it was fervent: meticulously attempting to burrow into the marrow of her bones. Her hands kneaded her breasts, rolling hardened peaks until Myka cried out, soothing the pain by enveloping them in warm wet heat and then biting down. She was everywhere but where Myka needed her most, and the balance between pleasure and pain was starting to shift. Myka struggled for her voice,

"He-lena." A low growl reverberated against her abdominals. Myka's own voice sounded so hoarse, laced with every iota of the need throbbing between her legs, "Please."

Mouths rarely fit perfectly, as much as the romances of Myka's teen years were oft to say, her and Helena's didn't. But it was the imperfection, the friction, the slight scraping of teeth, the feeling of barely chapped lips sliding against her own, it was this imperfection that made it all together perfect. Helena was tracing the roof of her mouth when Myka felt her enter her. No teasing, just suddenly there- three fingers- sliding easily into her, her walls already tightening as Myka's hips bucked up to pull her in deeper.

And Myka could no longer lie still as both hands wove their way into dark locks, hips pivoting up to meet every smooth stroke of Helena's hand. From the way the bed was shaking she was certain there was a fair amount of creaking of the B&B's rather aged bed frame, but she couldn't hear it over the blood pounding in her head. And if she were really going to worry herself with any noise that may wake her coworkers, she really ought to be more concerned with the wide arrange of vocalizations falling from her lips: moans, whimpers, groans, and the occasional curse when Helena's talented fingers managed to reach that elusive spot that made her toenails curl. But she wasn't concerned, about any of it. Her only concerns were to meet every thrust and to devour as much as she could of the other woman's mouth. There was blood in the kiss now, from whose lip she didn't know, but the metallic taste just added to the heady haze.

She did hear when Helena ripped away from her lips to breathe low but firmly in her ear,

"Come for me."

And she did. Having been on this precipice for so long, the release was almost violent in its intensity. Her back arched, her lips parted but once again she found herself soundless under the force and immensity of the crashing sensations. Wave after wave, Helena's thrusts didn't falter as her vision went white; they didn't slow as her nails gouged into her shoulder blades. Myka knew she must have already been on her second orgasm by now, but everything was blurred together and soon as she spared a thought that really orgasms couldn't last this long, she was lost again.

Only when she began to twitch in Helena's arms did she begin to slow, holding her just as Myka's body fell limp. Utterly spent, with eyes that had yet to open since the beginning of her first orgasm, Myka reached out blindly for Helena's hand. Fingers slid into hers, and Myka couldn't help the dopey smile that spread across her face. She felt the older woman's weight settling onto her side, and the last thing she heard was Helena calling her beautiful.

Considering doing a morning after final chapter. As always, it depends on what my lovely readers think. My muse loves feedback, and so do I :)