That would explain why she was already turning around and bending forward so she could place her palms against the wall. She spread her legs as wide as she could again, just wide enough to expose the waiting space between them. Her lips were swollen, her flesh was pink as a rose in bloom.

And she was wet. Hæra could see it. She could practically smell it. And she could definitely feel it, as she plunged two fingers straight into Madeleine’s dripping slit.

“Ah!” Madeleine shrieked at the wall. She went up on her toes and then thrust backward, hunting for more of Hæra’s fingers.

She got it. Hæra braced her own feet on the ground and moaned as she began to thrust. The angle was different. She couldn’t go in as deeply, but when she curled her fingers she stroked Madeleine in a new way, and it had Madeleine scrabbling at the wall with her short nails.

“Filthy!” Madeleine gasped. She thrust her hips desperately back on Hæra’s hand. “You’re just—oh!—taking me like⁠—”

“Like I should have taken you at the start.” Hæra’s own hips were moving, as if they could find some satisfaction too, but nothing was there. No pressure to ease her own ache. There was only Madeleine’s wet, tight heat around her fingers. “On that beach, in those nun’s clothes.”

She never would have, obviously. Madeleine had been half conscious with a concussion, and Hæra had barely understood the urge to kiss her, much less do more. But she’d learned much about the power of fantasy, reimagining a thing until it happened in a different way that turned you on now even if it wouldn’t have then. Now, Hæra could imagine claiming Sister Madeleine that night, fucking this sweet place between her legs until she swore she belonged to Hæra alone.

“Oh, yes,” Madeleine sobbed, so she must understand it too. “I’d have been yours.”

“You’re mine now.” Hæra leaned over Madeleine’s bent body, pressed her face into the back of Madeleine’s neck, and drove her fingers in deeper, until Madeleine could do nothing but squirm on them and wail. She was clenching already, on the edge from Hæra’s rough words and rougher touch.

Give it to her, Hæra thought, and throbbed so hard she moaned aloud. “You’re mine no matter where you go. Mine no matter how far apart we are.”

“Yours, yours, yours,” Madeleine chanted. Her thighs were shaking. She was on the edge—she just needed a bit more, and then this tight little hole would convulse around Hæra’s fingers⁠—

Hæra snaked her free hand around Madeleine’s body until she found her breasts. She took one nipple between her fingers, and rolled it, and pinched, at the same time she sunk her teeth into Madeleine’s neck.