Love's Masquerade

by Radclyffe

  “What is it?” Hays asked hoarsely. What is it in your eyes? Pity? Can you possibly see what no one else can?

  “It seems that some of the authors are posting early drafts on the Internet of works that have been contracted to be published.” Auden struggled to remember what had bothered her so much about that. Hays’s expression, so penetrating as it settled on her face, caused her thoughts to scatter.

  “Beta versions.” Hays searched Auden’s eyes for the welcome she was coming to count on. Still, neither of them moved.

  “Dyre’s Dark Passions is on her website.” She smiled softly, unable to hide her pleasure at being with Hays for any reason.

  “That’s fairly common,” Hays remarked casually, relaxing under the warmth of Auden’s smile.

  “I understand that. I’m just not entirely certain that’s something we should encourage or even permit, contractually.”

  “Some of these authors were actually discovered from their Internet posts.” Hays got to her feet, briefly aware of a surge of dizziness that quickly abated. “Many of their fans evidently follow the progress of a new work by reading the Web posts. It’s a new kind of marketing.”

  “That’s just the point,” Auden said, her voice stronger now. Her mind was clearing, as if she were breaking free from a dream, her senses slowly returning to normal and her brain beginning to work. She crossed the room to Hays’s desk and rested the edge of a hip against the corner, a few feet away from where Hays stood with a hand resting lightly on the back of her chair. “It’s not marketing at all. These works are being distributed without charge to anyone who might want to read them.”

  Startled by Auden’s sudden proximity, Hays could only nod as she looked quickly to her right and reached to hit a key on the keyboard. Her screen saver flashed on, obscuring her work. Then she lifted a shoulder insouciantly. “Some of the readers who have access to these Web versions are unable to acquire lesbian fiction any other way, either because of the prohibitive costs of the books or because of the unavailability of the works where they live. I’m sure that many of the authors feel that posting their stories online is a community service.”

  “Fine. Then let them post the things that they don’t intend to publish.”

  “Most authors probably don’t have time to create two bodies of work, one for commercial publication and one for the Internet only.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Auden ran her hand through her hair absently, then glanced out the window at the increasingly heavy snowfall. “It runs counter to everything we know about publishing and market sales.”

  “Well, I think that today’s marketplace is different than it was ten or fifteen years ago. These Web versions are akin to the chapters some publishers append to their books to promote forthcoming titles.”

  “Chapters are one thing—entire stories are something else again.” Auden was adamant, but her impatience was tempered by concern. Hays was swaying slightly, and she was very pale. “Hays?”

  Hays jerked, realizing that she had been watching Auden’s lips but not listening. I wonder if I were to touch her skin if it would burn...

  “I’m sorry...what?”

  “Are you all right?” Auden lifted her hand but stopped short of touching her.

  “Yes. Fine.” Hays stepped out from behind the desk and moved closer to the windows. “You’ll need to come to a decision about how you want to handle this, because we’ll need a uniform policy.”

  “All right, I’ll give it some thought.” Auden could see Hays’s profile before the window, the snow just beyond seeming to envelop her in its swirling clouds. Hays appeared so isolated against the stark beauty, and so starkly beautiful herself. Auden felt an unfamiliar pang of pleasure so acute it was painful. What is it that you do to me?

  “Why don’t you sit down with Liz next week and talk about it.” Hays brought her eyes back to Auden, having finally regained her control. Her expression was calm and businesslike again. “She’ll have had experience with these authors and their sales, and perhaps she can give you a better picture of how Web posting actually affects profit margins.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Auden,” Hays said gently. “But I believe you will get resistance from some of these authors if you ask them to pull their works from their websites.”

  Auden shrugged, a ghost of a grin curling at the corner of her mouth. “I guess I’ll get a chance to see how good a negotiator I am, then, if it comes to that.”

  “I have no doubt that you’ll be superb.”

  Smiling at the compliment, Auden still shook her head. “I hope that your confidence in me is not unfounded.”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “Thank you just the same,” Auden replied softly. For inviting me into this world. For your faith in me.

  -----Original Message-----

  From: thaneCutlass@CutlassFic.com

  Sent: Saturday March 22, 11:52 AM

  To: Rune@HeartLand.com

  Subject: Private Pleasures

  Attachment: Slow Kisses.doc 56KB

  R:

  Here’s the first of my Pleasures series. Thought you might like to ride along .

  Are you going to make the Palmer soiree tonight so I can finally meet you ftf? Come on, you’ve been teasing me long enough.

  Besides, we can compare notes and watch women together. Oops, sorry, there I go being PI again. Be there, huh? Oh—and tell me if this gets you hot. Cause if not, I’ll have to retire

  T

  Reading the e-mail, Hays grinned to herself. Thane fancies herself such a player.

  Without much thought, as she had done dozens of times before, she opened the file and began to read.

  Private Pleasures — Slow Kisses

  I'm a morning person. I'll spare you all the rapturous details of why I love the mornings. Suffice it to say it's quiet, the hours seem longer, and there's a sense of owning everything around me that is at once comforting and inspiring. She's not a morning person. Or, perhaps it would be fairer to say, she is not any kind of person until after two cups of coffee and a slow perusal of the newspaper.

  On this particular Saturday morning, I find her at her usual place, starting on her second cup of coffee, engrossed in the local news, and still looking a bit sleepy. I can tell that she has showered, but I know from the slightly bleary, soft smile she tosses my way that she is not yet truly awake.

  There's something about seeing her in her robe, when I am fully dressed, that turns me on. I love to be dressed when she is naked. I especially love to have sex with her when I'm clothed and she is not. I love the damp patches she leaves on the denim on my thighs, the faint reminder of my effect on her. I look at her this morning, and my stomach instantly clenches with want.

  She loves to kiss. Me, I enjoy it, but it is usually a warm-up for what I'm really after. The appetizer. For her, it's an entire feast. I've never experienced kissing quite the way I have with her. I’m in sweatpants and a tight faded T-shirt, barefoot. I’ve been in my office writing for several hours. I pad across the room and gently lift her by her elbows. She looks at me, a question in her eyes. I smile, sit in her seat, and pull her down onto my lap. She is naked under the robe. I knew she would be.

  She settles into me, the way she does when she's falling asleep or not yet awake in the morning. I curve my arm around her shoulders and with my free hand lift her chin to kiss her lightly. She murmurs softly—a happy, contented sound. She brings one arm around my neck to grasp the hair at my collar, threading it through her fingers. Her eyes are almost closed. Then she very gently takes my lower lip between hers, sucks it in slowly, running the tip of her tongue along the sensitive surface.

  I feel that soft caress streak through my entire body, landing like a laser beam between my thighs. I groan softly, and she smiles against my mouth.

  Taking her time, she moves to my top lip and explores there, sucking, nibbling, licking. This makes
me crazy. And she knows it. My mouth opens slightly, my tongue barely touching hers. I can feel myself grow hard, the wet heat seeping through my sweatpants. She shifts a little on my lap, pressing her weight into my crotch. I open my legs further, letting the pressure gently massage my aching flesh.

  Her kisses are firmer now, but still controlled. She strokes the inside of my lips, the tip of my tongue, the undersurface of my teeth—slowly claiming every part of my mouth. Somehow, I’ve ended up with my head leaning back from the tug of her fingers in my hair. Somehow, she is in control, her other hand under my chin as she kisses me unhurriedly, deliberately, thoroughly.

  I’m way past hot now, swollen, needing her to touch me so badly. And she knows it.

  She knows if she touches me, strokes me just a little, I'll come all over her hand. Maybe even if she doesn’t, the pressure of her hips, the thrust of her tongue, will be enough. She moves her mouth a breath away.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  I close my eyes tightly, concentrate on her tongue probing me gently, and loosen the tie on her robe. I cup her breast; she is warm and soft in my hand. I run my thumb gently over the nipple, feeling it tense under my touch.

  She gasps, drawing her tongue back for an instant. Her hips are moving rhythmically now, rocking in my lap as she works her way around every corner of my hungry mouth. I slide my hand to the other breast, finding the nipple already erect, and pinch it firmly. She moans, and I catch her sounds in my throat...

  Hays looked away, trembling. She’d read Thane’s erotica many times. They’d critiqued each other’s work, traded ideas and plot lines, and shared vignettes since they’d met online over two years before. They were friends, not competitors, although they shared the same fan base. Usually she found Thane’s direct, unvarnished style enjoyable and on occasion stimulating, even though not much had actually stirred her physically in recent months. Now she was painfully aroused.

  She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and waited for the urgency to pass. She hadn’t anticipated this reaction. Any other time, she probably would have welcomed the feelings, the unmistakable testament to the fact that she was still living and breathing. Any other time, being this excited, she would have gladly surrendered to the rhythm and cadence of the words, allowing the images to stroke her to satisfaction accompanied by her own barely perceptible touch in the background of her consciousness.

  She was a writer, and words were as tangible to her as flesh. She might be in one instant an observer, in another a chronicler, in yet another, a participant. This time, she had been only herself, joyously experiencing a gifted moment with a woman she desired. And this time, the woman had a name and a face—and the whisper in her ear was a too-familiar voice. This was far too real to be confined to the margins of a page, the borders of a monitor. This was passion spilling over her in an agony of need.

  How can this be happening?

  Hays brought trembling fingers to the keyboard and closed the file without looking at it again. Then she typed rapidly, still breathing hard, searching for control. She found it in that part of herself that dwelt closest to her soul.

  -----Original Message-----

  From: Rune@HeartLand.com

  Sent: Saturday March 22, 2:47 PM

  To: thaneCutlass@CutlassFic.com

  Subject: Re: Private Pleasures

  T:

  Important things first. Great setting, great mood, great sex. Yeah, I got a bit warm . Excellent intro for Eros.

  Sorry, friend, but I probably won’t be there tonight. Besides, you don’t need to see my face. You already know the best part of me.

  Stay out of trouble.

  R

  That sounds okay. Just the right amount of nonchalance.

  As to the issue of their meeting—she’d decide what to do about Thane when she had to, if she ever had to. It was going to be much more difficult to face Auden at the party, especially feeling the way she did at the moment. She’d forgotten how alive desire made her feel.

  Chapter Nine

  At six-fifteen that evening, Auden’s phone rang. She quickly turned off the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and crossed her bedroom to the bedside phone. “Hello?”

  “Aud?”

  “Hey, Gayle. How are things going?”

  “I’m just leaving the hospital. I got hung up in the ER seeing a consult, and my night-relief was late getting in. The snow has screwed up all the SEPTA schedules. Hopefully, the subway is running on time. I’ll be home as soon as I can make it.”

  “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter if we’re fashionably late.”

  “We should probably take a cab.”

  “I’ll call now and tell them eight o’clock.”

  “Good. Sorry about this,” Gayle repeated. “Oh, listen, could you take Shylock out for a walk?”

  “Sure.” Auden slipped the towel off and dried her hair as she spoke. “I’ll go get him in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  Gayle had just arrived home by the time Auden finished walking Shylock around the block, having made all the obligatory stops at his favorite spots. She dropped him off on the third floor and went downstairs to dress. Ready quickly and restless, she returned to Gayle’s apartment and knocked on the door.

  “I’m in the bedroom,” Gayle called. “Come on back.”

  When Auden entered, her friend was standing by the closet, nude. Gayle was lean and trim, an avid runner, and it showed. Her small breasts were high and firm, with dark chocolate nipples against her slightly paler skin. The muscles in her abdomen and thighs rippled as she leaned into the closet to take something down off a hanger. Auden had seen her friend naked before, but tonight she saw her in a new light.

  When Gayle turned, she met Auden’s eyes and grinned. “What?”

  “You have a beautiful body,” Auden said quietly.

  “Thanks.” Gayle cocked a hip and studied her friend. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Auden’s reply was soft with a hint of uncharacteristic shyness. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the lines of her black dress as she did so. “I’ve been having the strangest sensations for days.”

  “Oh yeah?” Gayle crossed to her dresser, sorted through her underwear, and selected black silk bikinis. She stepped into them, then a pair of tailored tuxedo pants, and pulled on a ruffled white shirt. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve been doing nothing except reading lesbian fiction twenty-four hours a day, but I’ve started paying...God, this is so crazy...”

  Gayle paused, her shirt halfway buttoned. “Are you telling me you’re getting turned on, for real, by what you’ve been reading?”

  Auden nodded. “What do you think that means?”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Well, the obvious, I guess,” Auden replied, blushing faintly as she remembered the dream about Gayle that hadn’t been about Gayle. And the very real orgasm attached to it. “That maybe I’m gay?”

  “That’s a leap.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Have you ever thought—before this, I mean—that you might be gay?” Gayle tucked in her shirt and reached for the jacket that went with the trousers. It was a tailored tux cut specifically for a woman, but with traditional lines. It fit her perfectly, accentuating her body in all the right places.

  “Not consciously, no,” Auden admitted. “I’ve always thought that I was just not particularly sexual. I enjoy the company of most of the men I date, but I never feel an overwhelming physical attraction for any of them.”

  “Did you ever think you were in love with any of them?”

  “No.”

  Gayle shrugged. “Well then, maybe that’s the answer. If you had been in love with them, then you probably would have been more physically attracted as well. Not being turned on by the guys you’ve dated doesn’t mean you’re gay.”

  “I know.” Auden hesitated, then said quietly, “How about bei
ng turned on by a woman?”

  Gayle stopped dead. “You’re not talking about a fictional woman in a book, I take it?”

  “I’m not sure, really. I might be confusing the two.”

  “Wait a minute.” Gayle crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Auden. “I think you’re starting to confuse me, honey. What are you trying to tell me?”

  “It’s just that I seem to be thinking about sex a lot. I thought at first that maybe it was just everything I was reading—the characters, the love, the...sex—I connected with so much of it so strongly.” Auden lifted her hands. “You said it yourself the other night—when the story is done well, it makes you want to be the characters.”

  “Yeah,” Gayle said doubtfully. “But reading Gone with the Wind never made me want to screw Rhett Butler.” She laughed. “But it did make me want to do unmentionable things to my gym teacher.”

  “I’m having a similar reaction.”

  Gayle raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Details, please.”

  “When I imagine...something physical, I seem to be thinking about a particular woman.” Auden sighed. “My new boss.”

  “Whoa. This is news.”

  “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. It could be just a crush.” Gayle took Auden’s hand and softly stroked her fingers. “Even straight girls get crushes on other women sometimes. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re gay.”

  “I’m a little worried that I’m confusing what I’m reading with real life. I mean, after all, romances are fiction. That’s the whole point.” Auden studied Gayle’s fingers moving on her skin. She found the touch comforting, but not erotic. That means something, right?

  “Well,” Gayle mused, “romances are supposed to be about idealized love. Once in a while, ideals do come true, you know.”