Janet imagined some black mini-dress that would show off Wendy’s body while barely covering it, like her shadow had reversed itself to cling to her. Or some glossy leather corset that would hold her from chest to groin, so black that light would bounce off its curves, desperate to touch her too. Maybe a cheerleading uniform—God, she was getting too into this. She had to stop looking at Wendy. Nonchalantly, Janet looked up at the floor indicator. Six, seven, eight… She glanced back down, unthinkingly, and saw Wendy looking over her shoulder at her.
Wendy smiled.
She was wearing a strap-on, Janet just knew it. And a concert T-shirt, something ratty and worn, the Beastie Boys maybe, just something she’d thrown on, she’d have slept in it too, why was any of this turning her on?
The elevator dinged and the rumble of the cart was impossibly loud as it left the elevator and she could’ve sworn she felt the weight shift as Wendy stepped off and Janet followed her, feeling a dizzying half-second of weightlessness as she stepped out from atop a ten-story drop and on to relatively solid ground. It didn’t feel that way, though.
The carpeting was, frankly, tacky, in the way things were when they had no thought put into them, but it was full enough to absorb her footfalls, the clicks of her high heels sheathed like a cat’s claws. That didn’t make her feel any less weightless. Ahead of her, she saw Wendy’s bare legs. The muscles along the back of them, from mid-thigh to the calves stretching her socks, as they bunched and contracted in seamless harmony. The hem of Janet’s own traitorous coat cordoned off the actual divide, the scissor stroke that terminated each step. The thing drooped, it sagged—there could be something so much more interesting underneath, swooping and swishing. A schoolgirl’s tartan skirt, maybe. Okay, it would be a little insulting on Wendy’s part to presume that would appeal to her—that and a tied-off white blouse, while she was at it—well, it would appeal, but no more than any short skirt and belly-baring top. So Janet would forgive her.
Was Wendy even Catholic? If not, was it problematic for her to dress as a Catholic schoolgirl? I’m losing my mind.
“Here you are,” the porter said, unlocking the door for them. Janet looked at it, forcing herself sane by memorizing the number and its placement in the hallway. “Sorry we had to double you up like this. But hey, at least there are two beds.”
“And one shower.” Wendy pouted at her. “Good-bye warm water.”
The door swung open. The porter pointed around inside. “The minibar, channel listings for the TV are on that nightstand, there’s a list of take-out places in the drawer—”
“Thank you,” Janet interrupted, sweeping past him. “I’m sure it’s all fine. We’ll get our bearings ourselves.”
Wendy slipped him a twenty. “Thanks for everything.”
He set their luggage down and wished them well and was gone, the door soundly shut behind him. Trapping Janet with Wendy and herself and whatever Wendy was wearing.
She looked at the evacuation plan on the wall, committing it to memory over and over again. All her life, she’d tried to give herself time to think—now she was trying not to.
Wendy picked up the do-not-disturb hanger from their side of the door, looked it over curiously, then opened the door just enough to put it on the doorknob outside. She closed the door. She locked it.
“Are you still interested in knowing how many fingers I can take?”
Janet’s brain couldn’t respond to that, so her mouth let out a flat “What?”
Wendy played with the belt on her trench. “It just occurs to me, as an engineer and a woman of science, that using just one set of fingers doesn’t objectively prove anything. We’d need a larger sample size of fingers before we conclude how many can fit in my cunt.”
Janet looked at Wendy, then with a weird tic, glanced back at the evacuation plan, then back to Wendy. “You mean my fingers?”
Wendy smiled at her. “I mean, unless you have Elizabeth in one of those bags.”
“Wendy, I haven’t even unpacked,” Janet said helplessly.
Wendy gave the belt one last tug. The two halves of it fell down her lower body. They dangled. Her coat opened. Wendy put one hand on the left side of the coat and drew it open, then her right hand on the right side and pulled that away from her body as well. She stood there, displayed, as Janet had never seen her before.
She hadn’t put anything on. She’d taken it all off.
Janet’s eyes trailed down Wendy’s body like water running over her. She could barely even get to Wendy’s nudity, not when Wendy’s face was so…open, her eyes full of lust, her mouth set in a cocky smirk, knowing how good she looked, knowing Janet couldn’t resist, knowing as Janet didn’t just how good this would feel. Then the swan curve of her neck, the delicate set of her shoulders, belying the subtle, understated muscle in her arms, in her flat stomach, in her firm thighs. Her cleavage crested her torso in perfect teardrops, just enough for her long, lean frame, for the miles of midriff that led to neatly swelled hips, the peacefully eddying current that flowed from belly to pubis to thighs to groin. Then the long, slender legs, the graceful part of her thighs, even the cute little rustle of motion as she realized she still had her slippers on and kicked them off to stand in white socks on the floor.
She was magnificent. She was willing. She was naked.
“What if you’d fallen down the stairs and broken your neck?” Janet asked, aghast.
“Then I’d be more worried about my broken neck than someone seeing my nips,” Wendy replied, crestfallen.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re—”
“I know.”
“You’re just so…”
Wendy grinned. “I know!”
Janet forced herself to calm down. She really wasn’t taking this nudity in as much stride as befitted someone with an internet connection. And she had to be in control, had to be the one with the power. For Wendy as well as for herself. It was what the girl wanted from her, after all.
“I want you to hold the coat open,” Janet stated, her words coming out of her like they were delivered by conveyer belt.
“I am.”
“No. Not like that.” Janet went to her. She took Wendy’s hands, moving them to the lapels of her coat, and had her hold it apart just so, the lines of it falling like a cape over the outer curves of her breasts. Her breasts full, but not oversized, overstated, just perfectly becoming to her body, to her sexuality, to her—get a grip, Lace.
“Like this,” Janet finished, squeezing her hands to tighten Wendy’s own grip on the lapels. “Don’t let go. And don’t move.”
Wendy helplessly cracked a grin before affecting a look of solemn submission. Her eyes couldn’t help but sparkle with excitement though. “Certainly, Ms. Lace.”
“I’m going to see how you like to be touched, Ms. Cedar. I’m very curious to find out. But I can only do that if you follow the rules.”
“Don’t let go. Don’t move.”
Wendy nodded, and Janet could see her having to stop herself from doing it more than once. “Got it.”
“One other thing.” Janet cupped Wendy’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re not allowed to be silent. Whatever you feel, you have to let out. In fact…” She insistently tugged downward, pulling Wendy’s mouth open. “You’re not allowed to close that pretty little mouth. Should be a familiar sensation for you.”
“Yes, Ms. Cedar,” Wendy said, sneaking another grin before parting her lips again.
God, Janet wanted to touch her breasts. They were right there, Wendy was literally offering them to her, and she knew they would be warm and smooth and soft in her hands, but she didn’t know just how warm, how smooth, how soft, and to find out…and Wendy wanted her to find out, too. Wendy had barely been able to wait for the door to be shut for Janet to find out.
But Janet wasn’t sure if that was what Wendy needed. Because Wendy wasn’t a sex toy, wasn’t a bitch in heat, wasn’t any of those things she might play at being. She was a you
ng woman on her wedding night, even if that wasn’t the right word anymore, wasn’t even a thing anymore. She needed to know she was beautiful. No, she already knew. She needed to feel it.
Janet raised her hand and stroked Wendy’s face, feeling the sleek curve that led irresistibly from a high cheekbone and down the apple of her cheek, down to the strong curve of her jaw. There was warmth, a slight glimmer of sweat, a thrum of blood that she could just barely feel. It reminded Janet of a beach at night. Everything soft and smooth and secret.
“Oh,” Wendy said, looking chagrinned with herself for responding already, to something so innocuous, but Janet nodded. She cupped her face in her hands, and leaned in and was kissing Wendy before she even realized it. It was as easy as slipping into warm water.
She could’ve sworn she felt the flush in Wendy’s cheeks warming her palms, the blood of her throbbing hard enough to rattle down Janet’s arms, and Janet kissed her again, again, Wendy’s lips clinging to hers as if they didn’t want to let go, Wendy continuously returning to Janet’s lips almost before she could kiss her again, a soft panting behind every parted lip. The only thing that stopped Janet from devouring Wendy was a sweetly whispered word breaking against her lips.
“Janet.” Wendy was almost whimpering. “If you keep doing that I’ll let go of the coat.”
Janet stayed there, inches from her, frozen with her, and saw Wendy shake as her words drifted against wet lips. “You’re not allowed to let go of the coat.”
Wendy gulped. “Then don’t make me so horny I want to hump your goddamn leg…Ms. Lace.”
The last words were not an afterthought.
Janet smirked. “I think you’re going to want to hump my leg a lot, Ms. Cedar. It’d be best if you got used to it.”
Janet reached for the hollow of Wendy’s throat—it looked so vulnerable, so tender, and God how she wanted to feel it inside her hand—but stopped. Curled her thumb and her ring finger and her pinky. Reached out with pointer and index finger to touch Wendy’s throat. Felt her swallow. Heard her sigh. She drew her fingers down Wendy’s body, between the swell of her breasts and the slight ridges of her rib cage, down the center of her belly and her navel and the fine, rich hair that waited to net her fingertips. Wendy breathed like the waves coming in at high tide, sweeping out as far as they could, then sucked back in just as far. Janet took her fingers away before the hair darkened into black. Wendy bit her lip before she forced herself to open her mouth again. Her lips curled into a coo next.
“You like being touched with two fingers,” Janet said smugly.
“Yes, Ms. Lace.”
Janet reached around Wendy—the action pulling her close to Wendy’s body, so close that her coat touched to Wendy’s—and she drew her fingers down Wendy’s back. There was muscle just below the skin, muscle packed hard with tension, and Janet petted it firmly, pushing into the corded tightness. She thought it would be very good to massage Wendy, some day. To take her from this rigidity into absolute softness. But right now, she lived for how pitched Wendy’s breathing was.
She dropped her hand to Wendy’s ass, groped it suddenly, remorselessly, and Wendy’s mouth fell open and there was a keening exhale, unexpected and all the stronger for it. Wendy rubbed her thighs together. Janet wondered if that was how fruit felt before it was harvested.
“I didn’t say you could move.”
“I’m not moving, I’m just…getting comfortable.”
Neatly, nicely, Janet wiped her hand on Wendy’s coat. It’d gotten a little damp with Wendy’s sweat. Then she reached down and fitted her forefinger to Wendy’s sex, like she was placing a key at a lock, and it felt like she was touching an ocean.
“Jesus,” Wendy moaned, her breathing peaking and twisting and turning, as Janet fingered the lips of her sex to one side, to the other, seeing how it opened for her, how it welcomed her in, how it wanted her with such intensity that even Wendy couldn’t quite show it all. Except by this. Except by touch.
“We’re not so different… I like to be touched this way, too.”
Janet took her hand away. Wendy whimpered and Janet put her finger to Wendy’s lips, felt them quiver, felt them part, felt Wendy suck as Janet fed her finger to her. When she took her hand away again, Wendy was moaning. She didn’t even need to be touched.
“Did that taste good?” Janet asked.
“Yes, Ms. Lace,” Wendy answered, just between pants.
“Do you think I’ll like it?”
“Yes, Ms. Lace.”
“Do you think it’s good enough for me?”
“Yes, Ms. Lace, please, Ms. Lace…”
“Do you want my hand?”
“Yes, Ms—”
“Will you come if I give you my hand?”
“Yes—”
“Will you scream when you come?”
Wendy could barely speak, she was breathing so hard. “I’m screaming right now, Ms. Lace.”
Janet smiled. She didn’t know how it was she could think this woman was adorable when her finger was still wet from Wendy sucking herself from it, and yet… “Do you know how wonderful it is just to touch you?”
“No, Ms. Lace.” Wendy met her eyes. “Show me?”
Janet touched her where it would feel as good for Wendy as it would feel for her, thumb on her clit, palm on her cunt, four fingers between her legs and under her and almost lifting her up. Giving her heat and pressure and touch, almost everything she needed to come, but Wendy would have to put up the friction herself.
“Fuck my hand,” Janet told her.
Wendy did. Rushed against Janet almost hard enough to knock her over if she hadn’t been so firmly planted, trapping her hand between their two bodies, rutting against it, pleasuring herself on it, plunging herself down to Janet’s rubbing thumb and her clenching hand and the moisture she herself was spilling on Janet’s palm, everything warm and wet and beautiful for her, and Janet felt it in the palm of her fucking hand when Wendy came, felt her throb, felt her clutch, felt a little liquid rush skip between her fingers, one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, goddamn, either I’m that fucking good or she has been waiting too fucking long, then it stopped and Wendy went boneless, held up only by Janet’s arms around her and body against her and then a whispered command in her ear: “Stand the fuck up.”
Wendy whimpered—practically sobbed—and got her feet under her. Janet put a hand at the small of her back and walked her, on tender feet, to the bed. Wendy collapsed there as if she’d run from New York instead of flown.
“Did I scream?” Wendy asked.
“You moaned,” Janet replied. “That’s enough for now.”
Somehow, Wendy managed to raise her head. “Ms. Lace?”
“Janet,” she corrected, getting a bottled water from the minibar. Wendy had earned it.
“Janet,” Wendy said, her voice cracking as she relaxed with the game’s end. “Can you put your arms around me again?”
“Uh-huh.” Janet took her glasses off and lay down beside Wendy and held the bottle as she took a long drink. As soon as she’d finished, Janet screwed the cap back on, dropped the bottle off the side of the bed, and fit herself to Wendy like she was another layer of clothing against the cold.
Wendy moaned sweetly. She put her hand over Janet’s on her body. “I’ve always believed that it’s better to say this early than too late—I love you.”
Janet kissed her. From the way Wendy returned it, it seemed like enough. It seemed like more than enough.
It felt bracing, having Wendy sleep against her, so comfortable, so at ease with her. Like a puppy falling asleep on Janet’s lap. Yes, it seemed odd to think of her as ‘adorable’ after what they’d just done—or, looking at the clock, what they’d done an hour ago. But she couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.
Janet enjoyed it implicitly, but she couldn’t quite trust it. It felt wrong. She knew it was just nerves, the flight, the presentation, but it was impossible to feel drowsy
with Wendy curled up next to her, sexual and innocent all at once. Janet tried shifting away from her—Roberta had never minded sleeping apart—but as if the thought of her ex-wife turned Janet’s body coarse, Wendy stirred.
“Wha-? What time is it?”
“Not yet noon. Go back to sleep.”
“Sleeping till noon? I’m corrupting you already.”
“We’re on presentation time. Sleep while we can, up and at ‘em four hours before the presentation. We can have a sleep cycle at home.”
“Then I guess it’s all you corrupting me,” Wendy tittered, and drew close to Janet, putting her hand to the rise and fall of Janet’s breasts, her body tucked under Janet’s arm.
Again, Janet tried to force herself to sleep, but again, it was impossible. Too warm, too naked, unfamiliar sheets and unfamiliar skin. “Wendy,” she said. “The sex acts…they were all right, correct?”
“The sex acts?” Janet felt Wendy’s lips curl against her skin. “Oh yeah. Very tolerable. Practically adequate.”
“Because I actually don’t…Roberta and I didn’t…” Janet squeezed her eyes shut and wouldn’t have opened them again, only now Wendy was looking at her. “I do like…being in control,” she said at length. “I mean, obviously. Especially after Roberta left. But we never really tried that. It was just this thing that interested me. And when I saw that e-mail of yours, I thought that’s what you wanted, too.”
“It is. I mean, kinda.” Wendy shrugged. “It was a weird dream, what can I tell you?”
“I’m not some sex goddess, Wendy,” Janet said bluntly. “I’ve done research, I’ve watched—” She saw Wendy’s eyes light up and almost could’ve been amused. “Documentaries, but I haven’t actually done anything like that before. It’s just things I would like to do. Sometimes things I’d like to have done to me. I never know if you’ll like them or not. I can’t promise it’ll always be that way…I got lucky.”
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