Take Me Home

by Lorelie Brown

  “I bet she’s fierce. I bet you two go for hours.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I do my best,” she purrs. Callista’s the biggest woman-eater I’ve met in a long time. Brooke says she gets more play than all the rest of the tattoo artists combined.

  We gossip for a half hour before Brooke joins us. “Hi, darling,” she drawls before she kisses me hello.

  I end up with my hands fisted in her shirt at her waist and my head spinning. It doesn’t take much for her to flip me inside out. I meet her tongue with mine, then pull away in coy teasing. She breaches my teeth and kisses me deeper. It wouldn’t take much more for me to lie down on the scratched and nicked table and let her do whatever she wants to me. It wouldn’t even matter that Callista was watching.

  Hell, I might like it. I giggle against Brooke’s mouth.

  “You’re having naughty thoughts.” She rubs a thumb over my bottom lip. “I can tell.”

  “Take me home and find out.”

  “I can’t.” Her mouth pulls into a frown. She twines a lock of my hair around her finger. The tug is sweet. “I’ve got someone coming in at eight.”

  “Big project?”

  She shrugs. Today she’s wearing a black tank top with white jeans and a pink metal-studded belt. The way her nipples are beaded beneath the ribbed fabric proves she’s not wearing a bra. I wonder if I can sneak in a grope without Callista spotting us. Probably not. “She wants a squirrel on her hip. Depends on if she needs lots of breaks.”

  I nod, trying to tamp down my hopes about Brooke coming by my apartment after work. “I was thinking about getting a tattoo.”

  Her eyes darken. She glances from me to Callista. “You were? You hadn’t mentioned anything before.”

  “Maybe a puppy. Or paw prints.”

  Callista hums. “It’d be cute. Take me like ten minutes.”

  I turn to Callista. “I think up the inside of my biceps? That would be cute.”

  “You don’t want to rush into anything,” Brooke says. “Give it some time and really think about it. Tattoos are forever.”

  My eyebrows lift. I lean back a little bit so I can look into Brooke’s eyes better. “You’re not all for this idea?”

  “It seems kind of out of the blue.”

  She’s upset with me. I can feel it. I bite the inside of my lip and glance at Callista, but she shrugs. “Okay. I’ll take my time.”

  Is she mad that it’s Callista who might ink me? Maybe she thinks it’s too intimate. She and I have been sleeping together steadily for the three weeks since Thanksgiving, but we haven’t had any sit-down-and-talk-emotion events. I want us to be exclusive, but I haven’t wanted to put that kind of pressure on Brooke.

  “I think that’s my cue to get out of here.” Callista stands, and I’m reminded again of how tall and statuesque she is. She towers over both Brooke and me. Her hair is styled in an impeccable Veronica Lake peekaboo. It might be a wig, but if it is, it’s flawless. Everything about Callista is flawless.

  “No, it’s okay,” Brooke says, but even I can tell she doesn’t really mean it.

  “I’ll catch you later,” I say instead.

  “Text me, sweetie.” Callista waves as she makes her way into the main studio.

  “Where were we?” Brooke asks before sweeping in for another kiss.

  I want to lose myself in her sweet assault, but I can’t seem to manage to. It’s not long before I pull back and make myself busy unwrapping our dinner. “I brought those barbeque sliders you like.”

  “You cooked? Just for me?”

  “If by ‘cooked’ you mean ‘ordered with you in mind,’ then sure. The salad’s in that bag. Can you unpack it?”

  “Yeah.”

  We lay everything out, and it’s the perfect little meal. I’m super proud of myself. Tasty but balanced, and I even thought to bring paper plates—the nice ones with a flower design on the edge and thick enough that the barbeque won’t soak through. “Happy?”

  “Unbelievably.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “You’re insanely perfect.”

  Exactly what I wanted to hear. I busy my hands with food, lining up my plastic silverware. “Thanks.”

  “These remind me of home,” Brooke says as she picks a sandwich up. The melted cheese strings between the one still on her plate and the one she’s holding.

  I hold down my surprise. Brooke doesn’t talk about where she’s from much. “Did your mom make something like them?”

  “Terry did. An old guy who was my neighbor for a while.” She’s got a shadowy look in her eyes. “I ate dinner over there a lot.”

  I don’t get the feeling that her childhood was that great. I don’t know how much I should press and when I should back off. “Was he nice?”

  “Sometimes.” She makes a noise that’s a little bit like a laugh, but then shakes her head. “Better than being home usually.”

  “Why?”

  “Stupid shit.” She flashes me a smile that I don’t believe. “Doesn’t every teenager hate their family?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t think Sierra does.” I giggle. “Well, most of them I don’t. I hate Trisha.”

  “Speaking of, how much are you going to pay them for Bennet?” I see the moment when Brooke skillfully slides the conversation ninety degrees to the left. She does this all the time. Anything rather than talking about her mom.

  But whatever. Good girlfriends don’t nag, right? She’ll open up when she’s ready. “Do you know those idiots really did pay $1,800 for her? I saw the receipt.”

  “Fuck, that’s a lot.”

  “I’m deducting what I spent on the vet, and then Mom is splitting the rest with me in the interest of family harmony.”

  “Your mom’s really nice.”

  “I know. She was the kind of mom who always made homemade pizza snacks for my friends, you know? I was a lucky kid.”

  “It seems like it.” She twirls her fork in the salad and pokes a spinach leaf. “She was cool when you came out?”

  “Said she knew before I did. I only ever wanted to hold hands with little girls in Montessori.”

  “Yeah. Lucky kid. Definitely.” Brooke’s voice is clipped. Then she shoves a big mouthful of salad between her lips.

  “Hey, do you want to come for Christmas dinner?” It’s a brilliant idea. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. It’s obvious that Brooke is suffering from her lack of family, or of decent family. This is something I can give her. “It’s a completely different thing from Thanksgiving. Way more low-key. Just my family. Sierra and Mom and Dad. It’s all appetizers, so there’s no sit-down-dinner part. Plenty of spiked eggnog though.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Brooke answers.

  “Good. You should come. You’ll love it.”

  “I said I’ll think about it.” She sounds strained.

  That’s fine. I back off and change the topic to the girl at work who’s trying to convince everyone to try butter coffee because it has miracle health benefits. “She drinks it instead of eating breakfast.”

  “Is it any crazier than having a smoothie?”

  “Smoothies have fruits or veggies, at least.” I shrug. “To be fair, she looks like she’s dropped like fifteen pounds. So maybe I should just say more power to her. Maybe I’d say it if she would shut up about how unhealthy my coffee is.”

  “Live and let live, dude. The world would be a better place if we all stayed that way.”

  “That’s what I say.” I beam at her.

  “It’s almost eight. I’ve got to get ready for my client. She sent over the pic she wants, and I want to get it made into a transfer.”

  “Of course.” I start bundling up our meal. “Do you think you’ll be able to come over? Anytime.”

  “I don’t know.” She makes a face. “It could run really late.”

  “Here, I’ll give you my key.” I fish it out of my purse and unhook it from my key ring. “I’ll use my pass code. If you’re not too tired, you can
drop by.”

  She looks down at the key in her hand, then up at me. “Are you sure?”

  “I want to see you.” I kiss her doubt away. “Whenever. Wherever.”

  Even though I want to see Brooke, when I come swimming out of a deep, hypnotic sleep to hear clattering noises in my living room and Bennet barking, I bolt upright. My pulse is climbing out of my chest. I can barely swallow past my choppy breathing. “Brooke?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice crawls out of the dark. Suddenly she’s a shadow in my doorway. “I tripped. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Come here.” I hold my arms wide. My eyes are starting to adjust. I can make out the sheaf of her hair across her forehead. Her eyes are still cast in darkness. I see the arch of her cheek but not the line of her mouth.

  She starts at the foot of the bed and prowls up me. I’m tucked under my open-knit blanket, and the way she’s coasting a hand over my hip is muted. I stretch and she squeezes my breast.

  “You’re so pretty,” she says.

  We’re still in the dark. Still hidden from each other. I know what she means anyway. “You are too.”

  She finds her way under the blankets and under my sleep shorts. She palms my ass. It’s not the fact that her hand is on my butt, it’s not like I have pleasure-sensitive inclinations toward it, but it’s the assurance. The way she squeezes me. I melt into a puddle even with her on top of me. I make a funny little noise that turns into a moan when she traces the cleft between my cheeks. I’m not wet yet, but I’m warm and heated. I squeeze my thighs together against the pleasure that’s starting from my center and working its way out.

  Brooke kisses me. She tastes like beer. I lick it from the inside of her lips, touch my tongue to her teeth. She responds by closing gently on the tip of my tongue. I’m vulnerable and powerful at the same time. I’m her savage. She’s mine.

  I don’t want to be underneath anyone or anything right now, so I nudge Brooke to her back. She goes willingly, throwing her hands above her head to rest in my pillows.

  “Someone’s feeling feisty tonight.”

  I attack her studded belt, drawing it free of the buckle. “Is that a complaint?”

  “Fuck no.”

  It’s the fact that she’s come to me. In the dark of night, after a long day, and even after stopping somewhere for a drink. She’s come here. She’s chosen me.

  I could get high on it. Instead I strip her jeans down. She helps, wiggling and kicking free of the tight material. I make no move to strip off her tank top because I like the smoky shadows it creates of her curves. Her hip bones stand out and the tender expanse between them is a shallow valley.

  I pet her pussy through her little cotton panties. “You’re already wet.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

  “Me? Little old me?” Coy doesn’t feel comfortable on me, but I try it out anyways. “What about me?”

  “Your mouth.” She reaches up, cupping my chin. Her thumb pushes between my lips. “How good you are at giving head. How pretty you look doing it.”

  I preen. I would swish my feathers if I were a bird, flourish my tail. But I am a woman and proud and I take a taste of Brooke’s rich flavor instead. I lick her through the damp cotton of her panties. I want her to feel the raspiness of the cloth before she gets the slick softness of my tongue.

  She hisses and throws her head back. I grip her hip to hold her down, but I love it when she bucks anyway. “See?” She gasps. “That’s what I mean.”

  “Everyone likes to have a talent.”

  “It’d be rude to tell you to shut up and get back to work, right?”

  “I’ll take it in the intended spirit.”

  After I take her panties off, I settle in to my work, shoving Brooke’s thigh up with one shoulder to make myself more room. She arches against the bed as I tend to her, and I wave my toes in the air with pure glee. This is it. What I wanted. What I went to bed missing.

  I follow her pleasure down and down and down until she’s a tumbling, shivering mess in my arms. She threads her fingers in my hair, digging deep until she scratches my scalp. I hiss into her flesh, and she moans into the darkness. We’re one, bough and branch, and we’re going to grow into a tree.

  “Right there,” she murmurs. “Oh Christ. Don’t stop.”

  She doesn’t know me if she thinks I’d stop now. I lick just a fraction harder, fluttering my tongue over her swollen clit.

  She’s coming. She hauls me closer to her cunt and her toes curl into my back. She screams lovely loud. I shove my hips into the mattress, but it’s not enough to give me the hard pleasure I need. Too soft. Not enough resistance. Only enough to drive me crazy and make the pounding between my legs send me absolutely batshit with lust.

  I shove it all down and keep up what I’m doing. I draw her pleasure out again and again until I make her come a second time. I think it takes another twenty minutes, but it’s not like I have a clock from this angle.

  She pushes me away gently. I let her draw me up until we’re breast to breast. My mouth is sticky and my cheeks are covered. She wipes me up with her thumbs, but it only goes so far. “You’re a mess,” she says.

  “Your mess.” Hai, double meaning noncommunication. I don’t want to scare her off, thank you very much. Instead I kiss her, softly at first. Then more firmly when she doesn’t flinch or hold back. She licks my bottom lip into her mouth.

  We share her taste back and forth. My whole body is lying on hers. We’re toes to toes and knees alongside knees. I nestle my face in the silky curve of her neck and breathe in. A slight tang of sweat mixed with something sultry. I wonder if the sweat is from what I’ve just done to her or from hard work. Tattooing is physical in a way, isn’t it?

  I trail my fingers down her arm, wind our fingers together. “Now that you got what you came for, you gonna sneak back out again?”

  “I think I kind of failed at sneaking in, didn’t I?”

  “True. It’s a good thing you didn’t try for a life of crime. Cat burglar fail.”

  She twirls the ends of my hair against my cheek. I shiver. “How do you know I didn’t? It’s hard to make it out of the South.”

  I freeze. I try to catch her eyes, but even though my vision has adjusted, it’s still pretty shadowy. I can’t tell if she’s looking at me or near me. She must have been in a deep dark place that I can’t imagine. “What did you do?”

  She laughs. “I’m teasing. I waited tables at the local Waffle House and didn’t spend my tips on partying.”

  Thank God the lights are out because I’m so fucking embarrassed. I’m sure I’m blushing like mad. I roll away and grab my phone off the nightstand as a distraction.

  But Christ, I can’t check my alerts. Even if I’m feeling mildly humiliated, that’s still majorly rude. I swipe on Music instead. The last thing I was listening to spills from the Bluetooth speaker on my dresser.

  “What’s this?” Brooke pushes up on her elbows. Her tits look so cute, the way they’re poking up toward the ceiling.

  “Siouxsie and the Banshees.” I nestle onto my side, my cheek on my propped elbow. “Before your time?”

  “You’re twenty-three. They’re before your time too.”

  “I never said otherwise.” Should I touch her? I can’t decide. What I want is to cup the breast nearest me, scrape my thumb over her nipple. I use a knuckle to follow the curve of her waist instead. “My mom loved them and listened to them a lot when I was growing up. And then I was mostly grown and I realized that Siouxsie was smoking hot.”

  “She’s old!” Brooke laughs and fake-shudders.

  “She’s not! I mean, maybe she is now, but she is such a babe. There’s this picture of her in a pinstripe suit.” I close my eyes and flop to my back. “I’ve spent hours with that picture.”

  “Naughty girl.” She walks fingers up my stomach.

  I put my hands over my head and stretch up into her touch. “Everyone has someone when they’re a teenager.
She was mine.”

  “So never really any question about being a lesbian?”

  “Not a bit. My biggest question was how butch or femme I’d be. How about you?”

  “Not so easy,” she mutters. “Did you actually like the music? Or was it all about her?”

  I sing along, telling her about little sister and touching my heart. “I know every word, baby. Every word.”

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” She’s laughing. I’m laughing a little too. We’re happy in my darkened bedroom. She rolls over on top of me, snagging my wrist and holding it to the bed. She catches my laugh in hers. Mouth to mouth and breast to breast and hip to hip. “Did you lock yourself in your bedroom and write lyrics for her?”

  “Of course.” I palm her ass in both hands. She hisses in a breath. “They were terrible.”

  “And were cloves the first cigarette you sneaked?”

  “The only. And I wore black and drew my eyes in with liner and wore combat boots that I intentionally scuffed up.”

  “Such a rebel.”

  “In such a predictable way.”

  “Except you were wanking to Siouxsie.”

  I drag my teeth down her neck, then follow the same path up with my tongue. “Do you blame me?”

  “No.” She slithers off me and aligns herself to my side. Girls are so fucking soft. I love the way she feels; I love the pillow of her mouth when she kisses me. “I want you to show me.”

  “What?”

  “What you did when you were thinking of her. To make yourself come.”

  I laugh and try to shrug, but it’s a little hard when you’re flat on your back. I cover my face instead. “Why?”

  “Because I think it’ll be hot.” She follows a path from the tip of my nipple, down to my belly button, then back up to the other tingling tip of my breast. “I didn’t come until I was nineteen. Almost twenty. It was the first time I was alone for long enough.”

  “You didn’t even take long showers?”

  She’s not looking at me. “My house was tiny and everyone wanted the bathroom at once. There was no long anything.” She touches the insides of my thighs, and I wish she’d touch my pussy but she skips right over, her arc tracing high enough that she scratches through my short pubic hair.