by Sandy Lowe
*
I watch the checkered plastic ball dribble to one side of Derek’s spinning defender and into the tiny goal. On my left, Meredith twirls around and war-whoops loudly. I look up into Derek’s disbelieving face and grin as Sammy turns away from the table, groaning in disgust.
“Happy holidays, boys,” I tell them smugly, sticking my hands into my pockets after a high five with Meredith. “Three years in a row now—you really should start practicing.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Derek grumbles good-naturedly. He looks down at his watch and lightly punches Sam in the arm. “Game’s on in five, man—we should head upstairs.” He turns, first to his sister and then to me. “You guys coming?”
My mouth opens, but Mer beats me to the punch, her nose wrinkling in a slight frown. “I’m not really in the mood,” she announces, then looks at me. “Want to put in a movie or something?”
I shrug, but my pulse starts to trip-hop at the thought of Meredith and me, lying entwined on the futon while some film plays softly in the background. I grab the side of the foosball table to keep my hands from trembling visibly. It’s beyond time for another drink. “Sure, yeah,” I say aloud. “Fine with me.”
“Suit yourselves,” Derek replies, and leads Sammy up the stairs. The door closes behind them.
We’re alone.
I take a step closer to her and peer into the bottom of her cup. “You’re empty,” I tell her. “Want another?”
The grin she turns on me is less shy than it was earlier in the night, and her cheeks are pinker. “Think you can sneak down two of those?” she asks, pointing to the empty beer bottle dangling from my left hand.
I smirk. “Not a problem. How ’bout you pick the movie?”
She nods and moves away as I take the stairs two at a time. I could try to be real quiet about opening the door, but that wouldn’t do anything except draw attention. It took coming out to myself to realize that the key to doing anything truly sneaky is to act like it’s not sneaky at all. So I walk right past the kitchen table where my mother and Mrs. Jacobsen are having a tête-à-tête, and snag four beers from the fridge. They don’t even look up as I pass them on the way back, but I do hear my mom saying something about how nice Meredith looks and wondering whether maybe she dressed that way for Sam.
It’s really, really hard not to bust up laughing, but I manage. Barely. After all, maybe Mom’s right. I still don’t have any hard evidence—just this feeling in the pit of my belly that Mer isn’t flirting with Sammy at all.
That she’s flirting with me.
I’m careful to close the door behind me before descending the stairs. “What are we watching?” I ask, carefully depositing the beers on the table. When Meredith’s eyebrows arch in surprise, I grin, flick open one bottle, and hand it to her. “Figured we might need seconds in a little while.”
“You’re good,” she murmurs before taking a long swallow.
I sit back on the futon and put my feet up on the scuffed coffee table. You have no idea, I think as she settles in—close to me, but not touching—and tucks her legs demurely to one side. I reach down to hit play on the remote, and immediately recognize the opening music of The Matrix.
“Good choice,” I say, deftly twisting the cap off my own beer. I clink the base lightly with hers, then sit back to enjoy the film. I really do love this movie—especially how it starts. Carrie-Anne Moss as Trinity, kicking the ever-loving shit out of the bad guys…and man, that outfit doesn’t hurt, either.
“God, she’s hot,” Mer whispers as Trinity launches herself into the air and breaks through a window to escape the Agents on her tail.
For a few seconds, her comment doesn’t really register—maybe because I’m thinking the exact same thing. But as awareness sinks in, I immediately lose all interest in the movie. Meredith is sitting there looking at me and blinking—a half-defiant, half-scared expression on her face.
“Damn,” I mutter, staring into those wide, hazel eyes. “I knew it.” Grinning, I shift so that my knee is touching hers. “When’d you come out?”
She swallows. “T-thanksgiving. You?”
“Two years ago.” The warring expressions on her face give way to surprise.
“Two years?” she exclaims. “I never even…I mean…”
I shrug. “Mom didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not your family.” I can feel my smile changing flavor, transforming into the half snarl that’s come so easily since writing that letter back in sophomore year.
“Same here,” Mer replies, leaning forward. “My mom—she keeps telling me it’s just a phase, you know?” But she sort of laughs, then, and touches my knee with two hesitant fingers. “Just today, she asked why I couldn’t be more like you.”
I laugh too—a real laugh from deep inside—and find myself covering her hand with mine. “How obedient of you,” I murmur as her index finger curls around mine. “So, who brought you out?”
Meredith rolls her shoulders in a long shrug, and I can’t help but sneak a quick glance at her breasts again. They would fit perfectly into my hands.
“A sophomore on the team.” She meets my eyes, then, her pupils huge and dark. Electromagnets. “We broke up during finals week.”
“Sorry,” I murmur. I’m leaning forward, slowly but inevitably. Caught.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, just before our mouths meet. The taste of rum clings to her lips. I suck gently—first the top, then the bottom—before finally slipping my tongue inside to tangle slowly with hers. She groans, low and deep. As the kiss goes on and on, I dare to cradle her face in my palms.
When I finally pull away, she’s breathing hard. Her eyes are dark pools ringed with green and gold, and her expression is hungry.
“You’re a good kisser,” I tell her, trying catch my own breath. And then it leaves me entirely as she shifts to straddle my lap in one smooth movement. Her breasts bob lightly at my eye level.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, grabbing hold of the futon cover so I won’t touch her. “Uh, Mer…”
“Iwantyou,” she says, all in a rush. She’s biting her lower lip, and her face is flushed—but I can tell that she means it. Or, well, that she thinks she does.
“You’re a little buzzed,” I say gently, bringing my hands up to caress her forearms. She’s so fucking hot as she hovers above me, but…well, damn it, this is the girl next door. The kid who hero-worships me. I’ve always sort of taken care of her, from a distance, and I don’t want her to regret anything. Ever.
She shakes her head and grins, stroking the right side of my face with one hand as the other begins to unbutton my shirt. When I grab hold of her wrist, she shakes her head again. “I know what I’m doing, Sabrina,” she tells me. For a moment, her fingers still as she tilts her head to one side. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.” I have to actively fight the urge to let my hands follow the curve of her arms—to slide up her biceps and then down to cup her breasts.
“Then let me.” She brings her head down to mine again, and I can’t help it—I allow her to kiss me. Her. Meredith Jacobsen. Who has apparently turned into a femme top during her first three months of college. I can’t help the low moan that surfaces from the depths of my chest. Her fingers are remarkably agile, and she manages to unbutton my entire shirt without ever stopping the kiss.
“You ever have that feeling where you’re not sure you’re awake or still dreaming?” I can barely hear Keanu Reeves’s voice over the buzzing in my ears, as her hand slips inside to caress my right breast through my sports bra.
Oh yeah, Neo. Right here, right now. At her touch, I feel my entire body tighten—and then she pulls away from me, gasping quietly.
“God, Sabrina—”
In that split second of clarity when her hands are no longer in contact with my body, I make my bid for control. I may be literally on the bottom at this point, but I can work with that. Her skirt is already riding high on her thighs, and before she can return her fingers to my breasts,
I’ve got a hand on each leg just above the knee and am quickly pushing up against the offending fabric.
She sucks in a breath and grabs for my shoulders. Fortunately, the movement brings her breasts within range of my mouth. “Take off your shirt,” I rasp as my thumbs massage her inner thighs.
“Sabrina—” she says again, almost as though she might protest.
I take the opportunity to slide my fingers a fraction of an inch closer. “Do it.”
She pulls off her shirt and hikes up her bra without another word, and I capture the tip of one breast with my mouth, letting my teeth graze her skin as I hollow my cheeks. She groans, long and low, her hips thrusting helplessly against me. The motion brings my thumbs directly against the junction of her thighs, and I gasp at the sensation of lace against my fingertips. I lift her skirt enough to catch a glimpse of purple beneath the black, and my pulse ratchets up so fast that I get a little dizzy. No fucking way!
I want nothing more than to spend a good ten minutes teasing her as I work the lingerie down her toned legs, but we’re in my basement, and our parents are upstairs, and the slow seduction will just have to wait. Instead, I sweep the thin material aside. She’s so soft and warm and wet…for me.
Awe. That’s what I’m feeling—this strange sort of awe that I’ve never experienced before. Ever. It’s almost overwhelming, but as I caress her lightly and thrill to her quiet, encouraging moans, the need to see her come apart above me overshadows every other emotion. I slide one thumb down and in—shallowly, because I don’t want to hurt her. I massage her firmly with the other, tracing the exquisite softness of her lips until my finger brushes the ridge of her clitoris.
Her hips buck again, and she cries out softly. “Shhh,” I tell her, circling the swollen knot of nerves with slow, steady strokes. This time, she whimpers. My thumb slides gently in and out, marking counterpoint. Stroke, thrust, stroke thrust—I tease her other breast with my tongue as I increase the speed of my fingers—and suddenly she’s shaking above me, quivering as the climax jumps like a spark from my fingertips through every cell of her body. Head thrown back, throat muscles taut, breasts jutting toward me… I forget to breathe for a few seconds, she’s so damn beautiful. Unrestrained.
As the sensation finally wanes, she leans forward to cushion her forehead against my shoulder. I continue to touch her lightly until the aftershocks have passed and I’m sure that she’s sated. Gently, I readjust her underwear and slide my hands out from under her skirt. She raises her head to look at me, and her eyes are dark and hazy. I smile, despite the insistent pressure between my own legs.
“You’re beautiful, Mer.”
“And you’re a-amazing,” she murmurs hoarsely. She looks about ready to fall asleep—and I’m just about to suggest that we spoon—when all of a sudden she slides partially off my lap to the left and cups me with her right hand.
“Fuck,” I groan, bucking helplessly against her. “Oh God—”
And at that moment, the basement door opens. “Girls?” calls my mother. My blood literally freezes as I hear her take a step down. “Time to come upstairs—dinner’s almost ready!”
“Okay, Mom!” I manage to shout over the movie. “Be there in a minute!”
I hold my breath until I hear the door close behind her, and then I’m slumping into the futon, head whirling in relief. “Fuck,” I say again. “That was too fucking close!”
But Meredith won’t be deterred. Her fingers move against me, and somehow, my desire pushes its way past the panic. “Help me,” she whispers, her breath warm against the shell of my ear. Her fingers glide in firm circles, subtly shifting as she tests each vantage point, and—
“Oh, yeah,” I gasp suddenly. My legs fall open even farther. “Just li—like that.”
As much as I wish I could feel her against my skin, the friction created by the silky material of my slacks is incredibly arousing, and it only takes a few seconds before I’m surging up off the futon, hips thrusting wildly as I come fast and hard.
I lean my head back and fight for breath as she peppers kisses across my neck. Meredith Jacobsen and I just had sex in the basement on Christmas Eve. Unbelievable.
“C’mon,” she urges, pulling her shirt back over her head. “We have to get up there.”
I blink and sit up straighter, nerveless fingers fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. When she hands over my mostly full bottle of beer, I grin in thanks. She downs her own in a few long swallows, and I can’t help but admire the pale column of her throat. I’d like to kiss her there—to bring the blood rushing to the surface of her skin.
“All right,” she says decisively as she sets the empty beer down hard on the coffee table. “Think I’ll be able to make it through the rest of the night now.”
I laugh and let her pull me up off the couch. My hip bumps hers as we make our way up the stairs, and I find myself sliding my arm around her waist, just to feel her. Her. Meredith. The kid next door who finally grew up.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I ask as we reach the top of the stairs. Reluctantly, I move my hand from her waist to the doorknob.
“Church, then opening presents, then family brunch,” she says. She’s got that look in her eyes, again—half-defiant, half-scared. “After that, nothing much.”
As insanely hot as our hook-up was, I want what’s supposed to come afterward, too—the cuddling, the laughter, the reassurance. More. I want more, and I want her to know it. “I’m sure I’ll get some ultra-feminine clothing items that I’ll need to return at the mall tomorrow afternoon,” I say. “Want to come with? Maybe we can get dinner and…take the scenic way home.”
The smile that curves her lips is slow and promising, and I find myself wondering what else that sweet mouth can do. The thought sends a tingling warmth all the way into my toes.
“You’re on,” she murmurs. She rests one hand over mine, then looks up at me.
Together, we open the door and step out into the kitchen.
Contributors
Sandy Lowe began her publishing career in Sydney, Australia, and is now senior editor at Bold Strokes Books.
Stacia Seaman is an award-winning editor of multiple anthologies, including the Lambda Literary Award winner Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments and IPPY gold medalist Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games.
Georgia Beers is a Lambda, Foreword Book of the Year, and Goldie Award–winning author of lesbian romance who lives in upstate New York. When not writing, she loves movies, TV, baking, reading, and walking with her dog. You can visit her and find out more at www.georgiabeers.com.
Elizabeth Black writes erotic fiction, dark fiction, and horror. Her stories have been published by Cleis Press, Xcite Books, Circlet Press, and others. She lives on the Massachusetts coast with her husband, son, and three cats. The ocean calls to her every day, and she responds.
Ronica Black was born in North Carolina but has spent most of her life in the Phoenix area. She loves animals, art, film, creating, reading, and writing.
Kris Bryant lives in Kansas City, MO. She enjoys photography, writing, reading, and spending time with her family, friends, and the true love of her life, her westie Molly. Kris can be reached at [email protected], @KrisBryant14, and krisbryant.net.
Beth Burnett is an author, a teacher, and a women’s empowerment coach. A grad student, she also teaches self-love classes and serves on the board of GCLS. In her spare time, she reads, writes, and hikes with her geriatric rescue dog. She is at work on her fifth novel.
Lea Daley has written fiction and poetry while raising children, claiming a lesbian identity, earning a BFA in painting, teaching preschoolers and college students, surviving the death of her only daughter, and heading a nonprofit agency that serves low-income working families. Her debut novel, Waiting for Harper Lee, was a Goldie Award finalist and received a Lavender Certificate from the Alice B Readers Appreciation Committee. Her second book, FutureDyke, won a Goldie Award and was a Lambda Literary Award finalist.
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p; An English literature graduate with a passion for LGBT heritage, Anna Larner is the author of the lesbian romance Highland Fling.
Lisa Moreau has a bachelor’s degree in journalism from Midwestern State University (TX) and has taken creative writing courses at Santa Monica College, CA. She has two books published, Love on the Red Rocks and The Butterfly Whisperer. Lisa lives in Los Angeles.
Giselle Renarde is an award-winning queer Canadian writer. Nominated Toronto’s Best Author in NOW Magazine’s 2015 Readers’ Choice Awards, her fiction has appeared in over 200 anthologies, including Best Lesbian Romance and the Lambda Award–winning collection Take Me There. Giselle’s juicy novels include Anonymous, Cherry, Seven Kisses, and The Other Side of Ruth.
Aurora Rey (aurorarey.com) is a college dean by day and lesbian romance author the rest of the time. She grew up in south Louisiana and lives with her partner in Ithaca, NY. Baking is her favorite form of seduction.
Nell Stark is an award-winning author of lesbian romance, published by Bold Strokes Books. Her 2010 novel everafter (with Trinity Tam) won a Goldie for paranormal romance. In 2013, The Princess Affair was a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Nell lives in New York City with her wife, son, and dogs.
M. Ullrich has always called New Jersey home and currently resides by the beach with her wife and three boisterous felines. By day, M. Ullrich works in the optical field and spends her time off writing. She also happens to be fluent in three languages: English, sarcasm, and TV / movie quotes.
Missouri Vaun spent her childhood in Mississippi. Her roots in the rural South have been a grounding force. Vaun spent twelve years working as a journalist in places as disparate as Chicago and Jackson, MS. Her novels are heartfelt, earthy; speak of loyalty and our responsibility to others.