Page 40 of Taken from Her
It was almost too much for Diana to handle, the wet slide of Lavender’s tongue over her slick, swollen flesh, Lavender’s pressure perfect and unhurried. She circled Diana’s clit slowly, deliberately, then flattened her tongue and dragged it broad and slow, tasting every inch.
Diana moaned, deep and guttural. Her thighs fell open wider, hips rising instinctively to meet the rhythm Lavender was building.
But Lavender didn’t rush. She took her time savoring Diana, drawing her tongue in slow, steady circles, then changing tempo—flicking faster, then pausing to suck gently, then returning to long, firm strokes that made Diana writhe.
She was beingdevoured. Not just eaten out but worshipped.
Diana had been with women before and had had good sex…but this was something else entirely. Lavender didn’t just want to make her come; she wanted to draw out every ounce of pleasure from her body until Diana didn’t have the strength to stand.
Diana’s legs began to tremble from the deep pleasure. Lavender’s hands gripped her thighs firmly, keeping them open as her mouth moved with devastating precision.
Diana’s orgasm rose up from her pussy like a storm at sea—unstoppable, wild, and so much bigger than she was ready for.
Her back arched, a cry ripped from her throat, and her fingers fisted in Lavender’s soft hair. She came hard, and it kept coming. Her hips rolled against Lavender’s mouth, thighs clamping tight around her face, and the sensation crashed over her like a wave breaking again and again.
Lavender didn’t stop. She kept licking gently through the aftershocks, coaxing every last tremor out of Diana’s body until she was limp and gasping, her skin flushed and soaked with sweat.
Lavender moved up her body, slow and warm, trailing kisses along her belly, her ribs, the space between her breasts. She reached Diana’s mouth and kissed her tenderly.
Diana didn’t hesitate.
She kissed her back, tasting herself on Lavender’s tongue and not caring. She pulled her close, wrapping arms around her, holding her like she was drowning and Lavender was the only thing keeping her afloat.
And maybe she was.
Diana rested her forehead against Lavender’s, their breathing ragged in the quiet cove.
For the first time in years, she hadn’t thought about the job, the victims, the case, or the guilt.
Only this.
Only Lavender.
8
The afternoon light streaming through the café windows felt warmer today, as if the weather itself sensed the shift in Lavender's energy. She arranged chairs in a large circle, her hands moving through familiar motions while her mind drifted to yesterday's sea cave discovery and the way Diana's careful control had dissolved into desperate need against the stone walls.
Purple and white ribbons transformed the space, the colors chosen to honor the missing women while maintaining hope for their return. Memorial photos of Tara, Isabel, and Joanna watched over the preparations, surrounded by white roses that filled the air with gentle fragrance. Lavender positioned each image with deliberate care, remembering how Diana had photographed evidence with the same precise attention.
Her skin still carried memories of salt air and Diana's touch that made her movements more confident, her posture straighter. Even Saffron and Basil seemed to sense the change, weaving between her legs with increased affection as she arranged donation stations and silent auction displays.
"You're glowing," Georgia Darricott observed, settling into her usual armchair. "Good news from yesterday's investigation?"
Heat rose in Lavender's cheeks. "We found important evidence that could be the break in the case we need. A sea cave that connects to all three disappearances."
"Mmm." Georgia's knowing smile suggested she understood more than Lavender was sharing. "And Chief Marten? How is she handling the breakthrough?"
"She’s okay," Lavender replied, adjusting the memorial flowers for the third time. "We work well together."
"I'm sure you do." Georgia's tone carried decades of wisdom. "Some partnerships complement rather than complicate professional responsibilities. The community has noticed the improved cooperation from all sides."
Before Lavender could respond, the purple door opened. Corinne Vernalis entered, dark circles under her eyes more pronounced in the afternoon light but determination evident in her posture.
"How can I help?" Corinne asked, surveying the memorial preparations.
"Just being here helps," Lavender said, embracing her briefly. "Are you still planning to speak?"
"I have to. For Joanna, for the others." Corinne's voice carried quiet strength. "People need to hear what this really means to the families left behind."
