by Jane Frances
Morgan was much more successful and once inside she slotted the card into the system that activated the electrics. “Nice room,” she said as she scanned the space. “Heaps better than my hotel.” She lifted her bag of tapas a little and nodded to the long, lowlying wall unit that housed the mini bar and fridge. “Shall I put this over there?”
“Please.” Ally handed Morgan her own bag and then just stood near the door, awkward, knowing she should do something. But what?
Offer the woman a drink, her brain suggested.
“Err . . . can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.”
Ally made a dash for the mini bar and squatted in front of it. She reached inside the fridge and pulled out a bottle of vodka and a bottle of cranberry juice. Both had previously been opened and some of the contents consumed. The vodka she’d bought at the airport in Milan. The cranberry was from the first supermarket she’d found after arriving in Barcelona. Now, she held up both for viewing. “Is this okay?”
Morgan had settled into a half-sitting position on the lowlying unit. She cocked her head and smiled. “Have I converted you to my favorite drink?”
Just having something to do with her hands served to calm Ally’s nerves a little. She stood and reached for the two tumblers that sat on a tray next to some coffee cups. “Among other things.”
Morgan removed herself from the wall unit and took a couple of steps so she stood directly behind Ally. Her hands came to rest on her hips and she bent her head so her breath was in her ear. “What else have I converted you to?”
Ally put the bottle of vodka down and closed her eyes. Morgan’s breath was warm and it tickled, sending a fresh wave of shivers through her. And her body against her back felt so good, so soft, fitted so well, just seemed so . . . right. She turned slowly in Morgan’s grasp and looked into those piercing gray eyes.
“You,” she whispered, feeling a flood of emotion so strong it welled up in the form of tears. “You’ve converted me to you.”
“Oh, Ally.” Morgan lifted her hands to her cheeks and wiped gently at the tears with her thumbs. And her lips followed, kissing away any remnants, leaving a moist warmth in their wake. And then, almost without warning, Morgan’s mouth was against her own.
Ally whimpered, Morgan’s lips more tender, more melting than she remembered. Her mouth opened to the gentle pressure, inviting Morgan’s tongue to slide inside and commence an erotic exploration.
Morgan’s hands fell from Ally’s cheeks to her shoulders, stroking up and down, up and down her arms, causing her skin to erupt into goose bumps and the fine hairs on her forearms to stand on end.
“Are you okay with this?” Morgan asked softly as her hands ceased their stroking and reached for the tie of Ally’s halter top.
Ally felt weak at the knees. Her mouth was on fire and every cell of her being tingled. Never before had she been in such a state of arousal, and all it had taken was a kiss and a simple caress. She nodded, standing still, quiet, as the tie was released and the halter top fell away.
“Oh,” Morgan breathed, her gaze almost as a touch to Ally’s breasts. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”
Shyly Ally smiled, accepting the compliment. And she bent her head to witness the first time her breasts were cupped by a woman’s hands. Morgan’s hands. It was an image she would never forget. So gently, reverently they were taken. Delicate fingers, long and slender, circled the tissue, traced an imaginary line around her nipples. Already hard with arousal, the almost-touch caused them to ache.
“Please.” She pressed her hands against Morgan’s, begging for more contact.
And Morgan complied, not only with her fingers, but with her mouth. Ally cried out in the pleasure of it. Of the lips that encased her flesh and the tongue that swirled and the teeth that nipped.
The sensation in her breasts grew and grew until it was almost too much. As if reading her body perfectly, Morgan withdrew her attentions and rose to Ally’s height again. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her pupils dilated. She took a step away, a step toward the bed. Then she held out her hand.
“Come?”
Wordlessly Ally answered, slipping her sandals off and padding to the bed.
With her heels removed and Morgan still in hers, their height difference was magnified. And with Morgan still fully clothed and Ally with her dress draped around her waist, she felt a sudden return of nerves, of being exposed and vulnerable.
But once again Morgan seemed to read her perfectly. She lifted one ankle and then the other, quickly undoing the straps of her own sandals and tossing them aside. Then she looked down to her dress and back to Ally, quirking an eyebrow.
It was an invitation to remove it. Ally did so, holding her breath as Morgan’s skin was slowly exposed and imagining that this, surely, must be what men found so appealing in the act of undoing a woman’s zipper. The planes of her back were firm and smooth, with a faint outline of the muscles that lay underneath. Ally swept aside a thick tress of auburn hair and kissed Morgan from nape to almost the base of her spine and back again. Then she turned her around and drew the straps of her dress from her shoulders. It fell around Morgan’s feet, leaving her in only a little lacy bra and panties.
An unintelligible sound emerged from Ally’s mouth as her eyes opened wide in appreciation of what they saw. Her musings on the train about Morgan having a figure befitting the cover of Sports Illustrated had been right on the mark. Put her on the beach in a bikini and she’d cause a riot. “You are a goddess,” she breathed.
Morgan took the step to bring their bodies in contact. “And you are just perfect.” Her hands settled gently at Ally’s waist, but this time when she bent to her lips it was with a crushing passion.
They fell together onto the bed and, somehow, in between all the kisses and caresses and their tangled mess of limbs, their remaining clothes were removed. And somehow, in between more kisses and caresses, they molded into each other’s naked bodies, breast against breast, thighs between thighs.
We’re a perfect fit, Ally thought in wonder as she closed her eyes, enraptured by the sensation of Morgan’s body against her own, the feel of her under her hands. Everywhere she touched was magic. The lines of her back, the curve of her waist, the fabulous swell of her buttocks. And . . . oh . . . the feel of Morgan’s hands upon her. Upon her breasts, across her stomach and now, stroking up and down her legs.
Ally shifted, her thighs opening in response to the fingers that were moving ever and ever closer to the spot that was burning for attention. Never before had she felt so ready to be touched. Never before had she needed so badly to be touched. Her hips ground upward, seeking the fingers that kept advancing and retreating, advancing and retreating.
“Morgan . . . please!” she begged as she arched upward again, chasing relief to this exquisite torture.
And finally, finally it came.
“Ally . . .” Morgan’s breath was hot, her voice heavy as her lips grazed against her ear. Her body moved in rhythm with her fingers, rising and falling, pressing and grinding. Ally was ardent in her touch, awash with sensation. The swell of feeling grew and grew until she was unable to hold it back. She cried out, clutching at Morgan’s back, holding on for dear life as the waves of orgasm swept through her.
And then, mortifyingly, she just cried.
“Oh, Ally. Baby . . .” Morgan gathered her in her arms and rained light kisses on her eyes, her cheeks and her lips as she rocked her gently. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.” A little later Ally swiped at her eyes, still not quite through her rush of tears. “It’s just I was not . . . expecting that.”
Morgan’s gaze flickered over Ally’s face and she smiled. It was not quite confident, but it wasn’t exactly a worried smile either. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know,” Ally admitted, turning out of Morgan’s arms to lie on her side, her head on the pillow. “I don’t have any reference points for this. It’s totally . .
. different . . . to what I’m used to.”
Morgan smiled again, more surely this time. She trailed her index finger down Ally’s arm to her wrist, then up her waist, to her ribs. “Different good, or different bad?”
Ally shivered as Morgan’s finger found a breast. She glanced down to find her nipple hardening. And she glanced over to Morgan to find her biting on her lower lip, intent on the effect of her touch. “You tell me which one you think it is,” she said, her voice breaking with renewed desire.
Morgan shifted her gaze back to Ally, her expression all innocence. “Would you mind if I try again, just so I can be certain?”
Ally reached to brush away a stray strand of hair from Morgan’s face. “I don’t think I would mind that at all.”
Morgan shifted closer, close enough their nipples grazed. She slipped her knee between Ally’s willing thighs at the same time she slipped her tongue into Ally’s waiting mouth. “Oh . . . dear God.” She groaned as her fingers again found Ally wet and ready. Then, suddenly, her mouth was gone.
Ally reached for Morgan’s shoulders. “Don’t stop kissing me.”
“I’m not going to.” Morgan slithered out of Ally’s grasp, down her body. And as suddenly as her lips had left Ally’s, they returned. But in a much more intimate place. And their attentions left Ally trembling.
Only this time, there were no tears. Instead, as the waves of her second orgasm had passed and Ally again lay in Morgan’s arms, a thought pierced through her languid, soporific mind. How did I not know that this was who I was meant to be? She was thirty-three years old. Surely before now she should have had some clue, some inkling. Then, as she looked into eyes that were searching hers, no doubt wondering what she was thinking, Ally knew the reason. Up until now I had never known Morgan.
“What are you thinking?” Morgan asked the question Ally had predicted.
“That I love you,” she said simply, unabashedly. And she held Morgan’s cheeks in her palms, crushing her mouth against hers, not giving the opportunity for a spoken response. Words were unnecessary anyway, the passion of Morgan’s kiss and the surge of her body against her own giving her all the response she needed.
Ally allowed her hands to wander where they wished. They ventured farther than before, discovering new curves, new softness. Finally, they found the inside of Morgan’s thighs. In vain Ally attempted to replicate Morgan’s stroking tease. But she couldn’t. She had to discover the secrets within. Her fingers delved into intricate folds and she gave an involuntary groan, overcome by the evidence of Morgan’s desire. Her fingers slid easily over and around the little bud she found, first in a process of exploration, then with the intent of giving pleasure.
In rapt fascination she witnessed the changes occurring as a result of her attentions. She felt Morgan building, the slick flesh swelling under her fingers, her body pushing harder against her, her hips grinding upward in an ever-increasing motion. Then Morgan stilled completely and Ally’s heart leapt to her throat in the knowledge she was at the point of orgasm.
The stillness was shattered by a series of frenetic thrusts and an almost animal cry.
Ally rode the storm of Morgan’s orgasm in wide-eyed awe. When it was all over and Morgan lay still except for the pronounced rise and fall of her chest, she climbed on top of her, straddling her thighs. She gazed down to the woman below, her heart fit to burst at her beauty, both inside and out.
Morgan raised a slow hand to cup Ally’s cheek. “You do know that I love you too.”
Ally didn’t know why, but never before had she ever been so certain of the truth in another’s words. She grinned impishly, newly confident in her success. “You’re just saying that ’cause I’m good in bed.”
Morgan’s eyes twinkled with laughter as she grabbed Ally by the wrists and pulled her down on top of her. “Come here then and prove it.”
Morgan carried the tray that had previously held the hotel room’s coffee cups and tumblers over to the bed. She placed it in the middle of the mattress and sat down carefully so as not to upturn the open foil packages. “Dinner is served,” she announced formally.
“Do you think that now we can hold our heads up high in Spanish society?” Ally asked as she selected a baby aubergine that—from the smell of it—had been cooked with a bucketload of fresh marjoram. She took a bite and held out the remainder.
Morgan chewed slowly on the morsel that was popped into her mouth. She’d been right; marjoram dominated the flavor. “Apart from the fact I don’t think too many of them dine in the nude, I reckon we’ve outdone most tonight.” She reached for her watch on the bedside table and presented the face to Ally. It read two thirty.
Ally grimaced theatrically as she read the time. “No wonder I felt like I was about to faint.”
Morgan peered at the foil packages and selected a chicken croquette. “And here I was thinking it was me making you swoon.”
“Oh, no.” Ally’s impish tone was back. “I was just hungry.”
Morgan offered her croquette to the little vixen, watching as the crumbed ball disappeared between lips that were still puffy from being kissed so long and so often. And that had kissed Morgan back so long and often.
Everywhere.
And so well.
Morgan shivered at the memory of Ally’s tongue rolling and swirling over her. And of the fingers that joined her mouth, slipping so easily inside, thrusting and pushing her to ever-increasing heights. Ally had played her body as if she already knew it intimately. Goodness only knew what would happen when she did have the benefit of experience. Morgan shivered again. She was in for one glorious ride.
If Ally would agree to the terms of a relationship with her, that is.
Morgan took the slice of cured ham that Ally had decided was next in line for consumption and set it back on the foil. “Ally.” She took her hands within hers and raised them to her lips, kissing their tips. “I want to see you again . . . and again . . .”
“I’m glad,” Ally replied, all traces of levity gone from her tone. “Because I want to see you again and again, too.” She kissed Morgan’s hands, which still encased hers. “I just wish it could be every day.”
“Me, too.” For the first time in a very long time, Morgan really wished she didn’t have the job everyone else in the world wanted. “But you need to realize I’m gone more than I’m home—”
“I know that.” Ally nodded, even though she slumped a little.
“And when I am home we can’t exactly be open. Our relationship will have to remain . . . our secret.”
“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Morgan tipped Ally’s chin a little, forcing their eyes to meet. “We can do what we want when we’re alone. But apart from that I have to . . . stay in my closet. No kissing in restaurants, no holding hands in public. No doing anything that may raise questions or speculation.”
“But”—confusion crossed Ally’s features—“on the train—you told me you were with a woman. How’s that ‘staying in your closet’?”
“She was a . . . moment of weakness.” Morgan averted her eyes, not quite sure how Ally would react to the story of Marie. But she told it anyway, in its entirety.
“She really wanted money?” Ally asked at the end of the telling, her expression incredulous.
Morgan nodded.
“I don’t want your money.”
“I never thought you did.”
Ally ran the tip of her index finger over Morgan’s lips. “But I always wanted to see what it was like, living in a closet.”
“It’s a deep closet,” Morgan warned. She was still not convinced Ally really understood what she was walking into. “If I was any farther inside it, I’d end up in Narnia.”
“I read the book and I saw the movie. Narnia seems like a wondrous place.” Ally took the tip of Morgan’s finger into her mouth. “I’d go there with you anytime.”
“And will you water my houseplants when I can’t be there?” Morgan asked, ti
ght-throated, her heart beating madly. She was imagining coming home, not to an empty echo, but to Ally.
Ally sucked Morgan’s finger into her mouth. “I will create a garden of paradise for you.”
Morgan took the tray of tapas and moved it to the carpeted floor, determined to make the bed theirs again. She kneeled on the mattress, motioning for the woman she loved to join her. She did. “Ally . . .”
“I have to go,” Morgan said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm at six thirty a.m. She and Ally lay together under the covers, having finally succumbed to sleep just a few hours before dawn. The tray of almost untouched tapas was still on the floor.
Ally stretched like a cat and yawned widely. “I’ll walk you to your hotel.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Morgan stroked her hair. “Sleep while you can. You have a long journey ahead.”
Ally stretched again then sat up. “I do have to. Or you might get lost.”
“That is a distinct possibility,” Morgan murmured, pulling Ally back down to pillow level. She buried her head into Ally’s neck and breathed in deeply, committing her scent to memory. The floral fragrance of her perfume lingered. It mingled with the remnants of their night’s passions, creating an intoxicating bouquet. Morgan moved her head just a little, enough to kiss her tenderly on the lips. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Ally smiled into her eyes. “Would you like a crappy instant coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Morgan arranged her pillows and sat up. At eight a driver would arrive at her hotel to take her and the rest of the crew to some beach on the Costa Brava coast, where she would be filmed exploring the cliffs, caves and coves in a kayak. If the light that filtered through the curtains of Ally’s hotel room was anything to go by, the day promised to be perfect for such an activity and, normally, she would be looking forward to it. But right now, as she watched Ally’s bare behind wriggle away to make coffee, Morgan would have given almost anything to stay in bed and ignore the day . . . ignore everything except Ally and the feeling of euphoria she had in her presence. But that wasn’t to be. Twenty minutes later, their crappy instant coffee had been consumed and they strode out into the bright Barcelona morning.