“Do you want to wait until after we eat?” Olive whispered roughly, breath hot against her ear.
It took Kate a few seconds to realize she wasn’t certain what Olive was asking. That kiss had short-circuited her brain. “Huh?”
A warm puff of air blew against her neck, evidence of Olive’s amusement at her lust-induced brain death. “To relax, Kate. Do you want to wait, or should I put my hand down the front of those sexy-ass jeans and get you off right now?”
She forced herself not to glance toward the kitchen, nor to wonder what Erato would want her to do. Already it seemed odd to have what felt a lot like a second date with Olive with her muse in attendance. She didn’t want to give the impression that she honestly allowed Erato to make rules for her life or punish her for disobedience. That would be…too weird. Right? That sort of strange and twisted dynamic could easily chase a nice girl like Olive away. And right now, especially, the last place she wanted Olive to be was away.
Kate nodded almost frantically. “Now, please.” In her head, she added, Before Erato comes back!
For all her talk of not wanting to lose focus on her art, it was amazing how quickly and thoroughly her entire existence had been reduced to the simple, fierce desire to be with Olive—just the two of them, together. Swallowing her worries about being interrupted, Kate tipped her head back and exhaled through her nose as Olive skillfully unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans with one hand. She prepared for what promised to be a searing first touch by thinking about baseball, and strawberry-rhubarb muffins, and how exactly she was going to write the pivotal upcoming scene where Rose’s mother catches her with Molly. Whatever it took to prevent herself from coming too quickly. She’d waited far too long—and fantasized far too explicitly—for this encounter to end with a single stroke of Olive’s clever fingers.
“Kate.”
It dawned on her that Olive’s hand had come to rest over the waistband of her panties, frustratingly far from where she was supposed to be. Confused by the lack of urgency, Kate sought out her eyes and pleaded without words. “Yeah?”
“Look at me while I’m touching you.”
The command sent a shiver through Kate’s whole body. This was a more confident version of Olive than she’d realized existed. Clearly, being the object of someone’s unapologetic desire had infused her with a new sense of power, and Kate had to admit—she wielded it very well. Nodding, Kate murmured, “All right.”
Without allowing her gaze to waver, Olive slipped her hand down the front of Kate’s panties, deftly parted her already-slick labia, and rubbed gentle but firm circles around her swollen, sensitized clit. The caress sent ripple after ripple of ever-escalating pleasure through Kate’s tense body, immediately sapping the strength from her legs so that she sagged perilously against the wall. Olive kept her upright with surprising ease, insistently holding their eye contact. She wore a sexy smirk as Kate’s breathing devolved into gasps and moans.
“There. Those are the sexy little noises that have been keeping me awake every night this week.” Olive snaked a finger down to tease Kate’s opening, barely venturing inside. “The memory of them, and of how you felt…and tasted…” Blinking slowly as though emerging from a trance, she grinned and returned her attentions to Kate’s clit. “But I have all night to reminisce, right? There’s no need to draw this out any longer.” She gave Kate a firm stroke to emphasize her meaning.
Afraid that they were mere seconds away from having Erato burst in and ruin the moment, Kate nodded in feverish agreement. “Please.” She whimpered as the circles over her clit increased in speed, bringing her to the very edge without sending her over. Through it all, she maintained eye contact, enjoying the feeling of connection. “Please, so I can breathe.”
Olive chuckled, her face softening in sympathy. “I’ll take care of you, baby. Don’t you worry.” She curled her fingers, which made Kate feel like she was being touched everywhere at once. With a knowing grin, Olive kissed the tip of her nose. “Let go and come for me. Just for me.”
The knowledge that Olive wanted them to share this moment alone as much as she did nudged her over the edge. But instead of the explosive orgasm she’d expected—generated by the inherent violence of a week of celibacy broken—Olive’s hand coaxed from her the sweetest, most delicious symphony of pleasure her body had ever orchestrated. Toe-curling sensation rolled over her in gentle chords, building to a dizzying crescendo that seemed to last forever. She tried to keep staring into Olive’s eyes as she rode out her climax, but it was too much. Something had to give, and vision was her only choice.
The instant her eyes closed, Olive’s mouth covered hers in a deeply felt kiss. Kate grabbed her shoulders and tried pulling her closer, though they were already sharing the same space. Refusing to yield her position, Olive kept her fingers pressed atop Kate’s clit, subtly pulsing them in time with the contractions of her inner muscles. Kate wasn’t exactly sure how Olive managed to so precisely read and respond to her body, but the result was pure delight. She moaned into Olive’s hot mouth, turned on by all the dirty thoughts running through her head, the various ways she planned to repay Olive for the gift she’d just been given.
Olive ended their kiss as soon as her climax subsided. “You are so sexy.” She wore a cocky grin like a badge of honor, clearly proud of her feat. As well she should be.
Kate curled her hand around the back of Olive’s neck and pulled her into another kiss. “You.”
In a stroke of timing that made Kate suspect she’d been waiting for the right moment, Erato came out of the kitchen carrying a tray full of food. She wore a cheery smile reminiscent of the stereotypical middle-American 1950s sitcom wife. Kate had no way to gauge its sincerity. “Kate, will you take this for me? I have another tray in the kitchen to bring out.” She stood patiently as Olive backed away from Kate and straightened her dress with an embarrassed cough.
Kate zipped up her jeans with as much nonchalance as she could manage, then took the tray with a ridiculous little bow. “Of course.”
“Olive, why don’t you go ahead and wash your hands before we eat? The restroom is to your right.” Erato winked, then looked at Kate as though gazing upon a beloved child. “Thank you for taking care of Kate’s little problem. We appreciate it.”
It’s just casual sex, Kate reminded herself. I nearly talked myself out of inviting Olive over just yesterday. All true, but that didn’t make her any less annoyed with Erato’s possessive, condescending tone. Especially when she saw the subtle shift in Olive’s expression that hinted at mild discomfort, even embarrassment. Kate glared at Erato, silently warning her that she’d just crossed a line. To her credit, Erato appeared to receive the unspoken message. After a wordless battle that lasted only a couple of seconds, Erato’s expression softened and she exhaled.
“Rather, I appreciate it. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the fire you’ve lit in Kate has provided her with a lot of motivation, which is something she had in short supply before I took her on as a client.” Erato regarded her with the fondness of a mentor who sees genuine promise in a favorite student, her gaze so earnest it set Kate’s heart alight with deep respect and love while effortlessly sweeping away any lingering frustration. “These past few weeks have revived her as an author, and it would be dishonest not to acknowledge your role in that, Olive. You are truly an erotic inspiration. A veritable muse, if you will.” She waited a beat, clearly enjoying her brief foray into humor, then waved Kate toward the living room. “Now go, set out the food. I’ll be right back with the rest.”
Blushing, Kate waited until Erato had once again disappeared into the kitchen to speak. “I’m so sorry, she—”
Olive cut her off with an amused snort. “Don’t be. I’m not saying I necessarily want her to tag along on a third date, if it comes to that, but I like Erato. I especially like hearing about how much I inspire you.” She brought the hand she’d used to touch Kate to her nose, inhaling with a quiet hum of approval. “You’ve inspired m
e, too, Kate. Not to write, obviously, but to read. All of your novels, I think, except the sci-fi one. I plan to start that one this weekend. The one about the call girl, though? I’ve read that twice.”
As she always did when someone she knew in real life brought up her writing, Kate blushed. “Oh.”
Olive’s mouth curved into a sexy little grin. “Your stories, Kate…” She chewed her lower lip. Her nostrils flared—and Kate couldn’t help but wonder which scene she was remembering. “Well, they inspired me to touch myself. More than a few times.”
“So while I’ve spent the last week sexless and chained to my laptop, you’ve been reading my books and making yourself come over and over?” Kate wished she wasn’t standing with a tray in her hands. Hearing that her words had gotten Olive off was a powerful aphrodisiac, one that made her want to eschew the idea of food and conversation altogether.
“I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve helped bring me to orgasm this week.” Olive sashayed past her to the bathroom, then stopped at the door to pin her with a sultry smile. “The last one was only a few hours ago, before I showered to come over here. I didn’t even need a book. I just lay on my bed, on my hand, and imagined you were there behind me. Took me just five minutes to call out your name.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “Luckily? That won’t make next time any less sweet.”
The mental image of Olive lying on her stomach while masturbating to fantasies in which she played a starring role would likely sustain Kate sexually for the rest of her life. She didn’t even try to hide how Olive’s speech affected her. “I want you. Desperately, and as soon as possible.”
“Then go put the food down.” Olive stepped partway into the bathroom. “And I’ll wash my hands.”
Erato burst out of the kitchen with an exasperated sigh. The tray in her hands overflowed with just as many delectable goodies as the one Kate still carried, along with three glasses of wine. Lifting one shoulder in a defeated half shrug, Erato said, “Given how difficult you’re both finding the task of stepping away from each other, it seems that I’ve grossly overestimated everyone’s appetite for food and conversation. For that, I sincerely apologize.” She waited a beat, then stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated, undeniably sexy pout. “But will you two at least try my spanakopita first?”
*
As it turned out, they ended up trying more than just the spanakopita. Out of respect for the time and effort Erato had devoted toward creating a romantic atmosphere for their second date, Kate once again ignored her libido to focus on the task ahead. Happily, eating Erato’s delicious food while getting to know Olive better didn’t present a real hardship. And actually, she decided as she finished her first glass of wine, taking the time to play out a real, respectable evening would only make the sex they had later even better. That was because everything Olive said only endeared her to Kate more.
“You’d earned an MBA from Stanford by the time you were twenty-two years old?” Kate repeated, stunned by the new layer her dream girl had just revealed. Nothing Olive had shared before now had hinted at a prodigious childhood, nor a background in business. It was startling to realize how little she actually knew about the woman who’d so easily captured her imagination. “Did you always plan to start your own bakery, or did you have another dream first?”
Olive took a slow sip of wine, perhaps mentally rehearsing her answer. Though only one sofa cushion separated them, Olive might as well have been in the next town over, for as far away as she seemed. Kate itched to touch her but stayed on her side of the couch, determined to sit back and enjoy the slow burn of their rising sexual tension. Erato had curled up on the love seat across from them, nibbling on a bite of pita with tzatziki while listening. While she’d contributed to the conversation a few times since they sat down, she seemed content to watch them talk.
Lowering her glass of wine, Olive revealed eyes that seemed almost haunted. “Actually, I used to be a high-level executive at a Fortune 500 company on the East Coast. They hired me right out of grad school and I spent the next six years climbing the ladder there.” She snorted and shook her head. “In fact, that was my life—climbing the ladder. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I lived to work. So did my girlfriend at the time. We shared the same priorities, which at least meant neither of us pretended that our relationship was one of them. Nothing was, not even our families.”
When Olive stopped talking to take another, nervous sip of wine, Kate realized her frown could be interpreted as disapproval. Softening her features, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s just difficult to reconcile the Olive I know with the woman you’re describing. You’ve clearly changed.”
Olive set her glass of wine down on the coffee table and took a deep breath. “I had a pretty major wake-up call.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, where she traced the expertly concealed scar with a trembling finger. “It’s funny, but a near-death experience really does rearrange your priorities just like that.”
Kate found it difficult not to react to the idea that Olive had almost left this world before they’d had a chance to meet. Her eyes burned with unshed tears that blurred her vision and made her feel pretty damn silly. Who cried over someone else’s tragic backstory on a second date, for God’s sake? Not me, she chanted to herself, a silent mantra. Not me, not me, not me. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Olive nodded without meeting her gaze. She reached across the middle cushion and rested her hand on Kate’s sock-clad foot, a point of connection that seemed to comfort them both. “A few years back, I realized I hadn’t flown home to California to visit my parents in over three years. It took some begging and pleading, but I finally convinced Jasmine to take a weekend off with me so I could introduce her to them. We flew in late Friday night and planned to leave Sunday morning. After three years away, that was all of my precious time I was willing to spare. But I told myself they were proud of me and that they understood—”
Recognizing that Olive was falling victim to a nasty bout of self-criticism—clearly not for the first time—Kate wiggled her foot from side to side to jar her from that destructive line of thought. “Hey. You’re a different person now,” she said. “Obviously.”
Olive shook her head, then covered her face with her free hand to muffle humorless laughter. “You guys, I’m going to bring our whole evening down with this tragic-ass shit.”
“No, you won’t.” Erato spoke up forcefully in between sips from a cup of lentil soup. Despite continuing to feast, she came across as sober and deeply serious. “You’re telling your story. Go ahead and get through the sad part. I promise our evening will recover.” She offered Olive an encouraging smile. “Now go on and finish.”
Olive stared across the coffee table at Erato—or more to the point, away from Kate—as she resumed her story. “We decided to spend Saturday driving around and visiting wineries. Jasmine insisted that we stay busy even though I would have been just as happy to sit at my parents’ home and visit.” She paused, then shook her head as though getting herself back on track. “Anyway, my mom and dad were in the backseat of our rental car and Jasmine was driving. I was sitting in the passenger seat, looking over my shoulder chatting to my parents between stops. At some point Jasmine got distracted by an incoming text on her cell phone, I guess, and she let the car drift over the center line…” A violent shudder overtook Olive, an ugly jolt of memory. “It was a head-on collision at roughly forty miles per hour. It’s a miracle I’m alive. My father, too. Jasmine and my mother were both killed on impact.”
Kate’s hand flew to her mouth before she could stop herself. Worried that Olive would mistake her abject horror at the close call for judgment over the events of that day, she quickly put down her own glass of wine and scooted to the other side of the sofa. With a sense of reverence that arose from somewhere primal and deep inside her, she picked up Olive’s cool, limp hand and brought it to her lips, pressing kiss after kiss into the palm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and said again, “I’m so glad y
ou’re okay.”
Olive brought her free hand to Kate’s face, using her knuckles to stroke along her cheekbone. “Me, too.” She managed to look into Kate’s eyes for the first time since relating the story of her accident, and her face slackened in naked relief at whatever she saw there. “My father was in a wheelchair and had to do physical therapy for fourteen months before he was strong enough to get around on his cane. I had a spinal injury and over thirty broken bones. On top of that, I sustained a blunt-force injury to my heart. The scar is from the repair. I was in traction and then in a wheelchair of my own for almost a year.”
Erato asked the question that Kate was too stunned to put into words. “How long ago was this?”
Olive smiled shyly, still staring into Kate’s eyes. “Four years ago tomorrow.”
“A miraculous recovery, indeed.” Erato had assumed a decadent pose on the love seat, legs tucked beneath her, dress ridden up to reveal her tanned upper thighs. Kate barely noticed, unwilling to take in more than a peripheral glance lest she break the intimacy of the moment she and Olive seemed to be sharing. “It’s little wonder you took the entire ordeal as a warning to reboot your life.”
Kate raised an eyebrow, surprised and even a little delighted by Erato’s astute and very modern word choice. She swept her eyes over Olive’s body with a renewed appreciation for what she was seeing. “I would never have guessed that you’d gone through something like that.”
Olive rewarded her with a genuinely sunny grin. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that.” With a tired exhalation, she rushed through the end of the story, clearly ready to conclude her tale. “I quit my job as soon as I was coherent enough to be sure that it was me and not a head injury that wanted to resign. I couldn’t imagine I would want to leave my father even after I was physically capable of doing so, and with Jasmine gone, there was nothing else for me in New York. So I stayed here. The benefit to toiling away in your twenties as an overpaid workaholic is having greater freedom in how you spend time in your thirties.”
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