Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman - Romantic Interludes 2 - Secrets

by Radclyffe;Stacia Seaman

  In an effort to banish the memory, I took a slow, deep breath. The fragrant aromas of jasmine and ceibo mingled to perfume the dusky air. Strains of cheerful music wafted back from the courtyard, where my cousin would be celebrating her wedding until the dawn. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. I turned toward the setting sun, allowing its last rays to soak into my cheeks. When it finally dropped beneath the horizon, I felt bereft.

  “Your face is even lovelier in grief than it is in joy.”

  I started at the melodious voice that had interrupted my solitude, and looked around wildly for its source. She emerged a moment later from behind the tree, wearing a blouse and trousers so blue they were almost black. Resting one hand on the stone wall, she looked up at me. There was just enough light left in the sky to illuminate the slight curve to her lips.

  “Take comfort,” she said, her smile growing more pronounced. “They say it will rise again tomorrow.”

  My heart was thundering in my ears and my palms were moist with sweat, but I refused to betray my fear. Or my excitement. “How long, since you have felt it on your face?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice even.

  The quirk of one eyebrow was the only indication that I had surprised her. “One hundred and fifty-five years.”

  My breath left me in a sharp sigh, but I refused to cede more ground than that. “What is your name?”

  She cocked her head, gazing up at me in frank curiosity. “Solana Carrizo, you are a bizarre and exotic creature.” She held out her hand, then, and enthralled by her compliment, I reached down to take it. Her skin was smooth and cool. “I am Helen Lambros.”

  I smiled at her teasing tone. “Surely, there are many like me where you come from?” My eyes drifted downward over the swell of her breasts to the smooth length of her trousered thigh. “A land where women are allowed to dress like men?”

  She tugged lightly, and caught off guard, I had no choice but to descend from my perch. “I come from many places, but in the span of two mortal lives, I have never met a woman such as you.”

  “There is nothing special about me.”

  Her arms slid around me as my feet met the grass, and I found myself pressed against her body. She leaned in closer and I felt the gentle caress of her breath against my cheek. “You are the only female estanciero in all of Argentina. You walk in dignity, not fear, amongst the men.” She paused and her voice dropped low. “For the first time in one hundred and fifty-five years, when you look at me, the way you look at me, I feel the sunlight on my skin and I do not despise myself.”

  An electric thrill swept beneath my skin at the brief sensation of her breasts grazing mine, and I bit down on my lower lip to keep a cry from escaping. These feelings were not new—I had experienced them often during my adolescence, always in the presence of women. I had been wise enough never to speak of it, and had despaired long ago of finding anyone who shared my burden. My father would have called me a monster, had he known. How poetically just, to find a kindred spirit among the real monsters.

  Helen inclined her head, and when her lips grazed my ear, gooseflesh rose on my forearms. “Dance with me.”

  Unable to speak, I nodded my assent. Wrapping one arm more securely around my waist, she gently took my left hand in her right and twined our fingers together. My head felt light, and I struggled to tame my short, sharp breaths as she began to twirl us adeptly beneath the boughs of the tree.

  We didn’t speak—we didn’t need to. Overhead, the stars gradually emerged, called into existence by the death of the sun. What if she is no monster after all, I thought up at them, but one of you instead?

  Returning my attention to the earth, I dared to lay my cheek against the cool silk of her blouse and finally find a measure of peace.

  I heard the curtains flutter gently against the walls, compelled into movement by the sultry night breeze, but nothing could distract me from the storm that was rising in my blood. I knew that I would never forget this moment—my limbs pressed into the silky sheets by the body that hovered above mine, lithe and smooth, a study in elegant curves. I cupped her cool face in my palms, thumbs carefully tracing the sharp rise of her cheekbones, the delicate curve of her moistened lips.

  I allowed my hands to coast up and down her arms, palms lingering on the subtle swell of muscle beneath smooth skin. When she bent her head, my heartbeat stuttered—but her mouth was ghostly, tantalizing me with unfulfilled promise. Her breath was cool against my face, and I arched up shamelessly, not caring that she saw my need.

  She shifted her weight slightly, freeing one hand to touch me. Those elegant fingers began at my throat, lingering to feel the artery pulsing beneath, before trailing down, down so slowly, stroking with sure knowledge and gentle assurance. My back arched again, this time involuntarily…

  *

  Cobalt clouds scudded across the night sky, alternately masking and revealing a crescent moon. The hot breeze lifted the hair from the nape of my neck and I sighed, leaning into Nature’s caress.

  “You are exquisite.” The words came from behind me, borne on Helen’s husky voice. I flushed, simultaneously flattered by the compliment and frightened to hear such a sentiment spoken aloud by another woman. Helen, I had realized, only paid lip service to local custom in order to blend in. Beneath her façade, she was radically different from anyone I had ever met, made alien by her perspective as one unchanged by the passing of time.

  After an initial glance over my shoulder, I forced myself to turn back to the view of the waves, sparkling fitfully as they reflected the weak light above. Helen came up behind me, close but not touching. “This is a beautiful place,” she murmured. I wished that she would slide her arms around me, or even simply rest her hands on my waist. I desired her touch with a ferocity that should have been disconcerting. We had seen each other often in the weeks since the wedding, but Helen had yet to betray any hint of the thirsty demon that lurked beneath her veneer of civility. She was disarming me. Lulling me. I knew it, and welcomed her seduction.

  “It is,” I agreed. “But its beauty is perilous. We call this place Maidenfall Cliff for a reason. Some say the land here is haunted.”

  Helen moved closer so that her breasts were subtly pressing against my back. My heart jumped within my chest. “The women who cast themselves off this precipice and into the water—what are they running from?”

  I imagined taking the five steps that remained between myself and open air; I saw myself falling, white skirts billowing like the clipped wings of a swan as I plummeted toward the choppy waves. Would I see the faces of those I had sent to Romero as I descended? Criminals, all of them, sacrificed for the stability of our new nation. Would their eyes be accusing or forgiving?

  “Who can say? The pressure of an overbearing father. The shame of carrying a child out of wedlock. The overwhelming burden of working all day in the fields only to return at sunset to a cramped, dirty hut. Despair comes in many flavors.”

  Finally, finally she touched me, molding her hands to the slight flare of my hips. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I felt her move until her cool mouth touched the shell of my ear. “And what flavor is yours?”

  I turned to face her then, slowly and deliberately. She clasped her hands behind my back and I rested mine against her chest, looking up into the depths of her eternal eyes. “That I can never be more than the slightest ripple on the vast ocean that is your existence.”

  She stared down at me unblinking, the intensity of her gaze freezing me exactly where I stood. I wondered what she was looking for, and whether or not she thought she had found it.

  “I am leaving on a boat tomorrow, for several fortnights. Perhaps even longer. But I will return.”

  I shook my head slightly as my body reacted—fear, loss, sorrow, even a tinge of aimless jealousy. Shifting my grip to the lean strength of her arms, I steadied myself. “What calls you away?”

  She turned to look out over the ocean, and I feasted my eyes on the lines of her profile—strong yet fe
minine. “Business.”

  I let my fingertips trace the curve of her collarbone, feeling simultaneously excited by and embarrassed at my forwardness. I did not press her for more information. Her business affairs were none of my concern, unless Romero made them so. “Be safe,” I whispered, thinking of the perils of the sea—of sudden storms and pirate attacks and treacherous shoals.

  She unlaced her fingers, releasing me from her embrace—but before I could sigh in disappointment, her hands were cupping my face and her lips were pressing against mine, softer than rose petals. My sharp, muffled cry of shock and desire startled birds from the nearby trees, and as I felt the wind of their passage overhead, I wrapped my arms around Helen’s neck.

  The world spun as she gently parted my lips with her tongue, touching hers to mine and then withdrawing again. I moaned and was not ashamed. Gradually, her tender strokes grew bold, and I trembled in her arms as the stars wheeled above us.

  Finally, she eased us down from that unspeakable high, pressing kisses to my nose, my forehead, the corners of my mouth. I clung to her, wanting more, ever more, certain only that I could never get enough.

  “I will return to you,” she said, breathing the words into my mouth.

  And I believed.

  As her palm skimmed across the curve of my hip, she finally kissed me. Her mouth was cool, and at the first soft touch of her tongue, I trembled.

  “You taste like sunshine,” she murmured, and I shivered at the raw longing in her voice.

  Again, her lips met mine. And again. I silently rejoiced when she began to lose hold of her restraint—when gentleness gave way to need and tenderness to hunger. Her fingers were restless, and I moved like the ocean beneath her.

  Her intimate touch woke fire in my blood. I thrashed in its grip, simultaneously begging for release and pleading that it would never die. Helen kissed the entreaties off my lips, stealing the words from my mouth before they met air. Her breasts slid against mine, beads of sweat rising between us to evaporate in the flames. She stroked me masterfully, but with an urgency that made me certain of her desire, her need.

  Her need.

  Even through the haze of the conflagration, I could sense her struggle. Her mouth refused to remain on mine, migrating repeatedly to the soft, pulsing skin of my neck, where her tongue traced exquisite patterns that only stoked the inferno raging inside of me. I wanted her to ask, but she hadn’t. And she had promised, earlier tonight, that she wouldn’t. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she had said, brushing her fingertips across my shoulders even as her tongue betrayed her words by skimming hungrily over her lips. “I certainly would never compel you. And regardless, it would…disgust you.”

  I hadn’t argued, believing that after one hundred and fifty years of experience, she knew best. How, then, could I tell her now that I wanted to give myself to her freely? That in this moment, the thought of being the one to slake her thirst made me shiver only in anticipation? That whatever pain I felt would be well worth the knowledge that I was fulfilling the very essence of her?

  I gathered my breath to implore her, but she chose that instant to slip inside me for the first time, her touch a cool counterpoint to the blaze consuming me from within. Reason fled. My lungs contracted in a moan—her name, a guttural prayer.

  When she stilled her touch, my eyes snapped open and I struggled to focus. Her elegant face was a study in contrast—tenderness and ferocity, love and thirst. “You are heartbreakingly beautiful,” she said hoarsely. “And you are mine. Finally mine.”

  The possessiveness of her words roused a memory in me, but then she moved even deeper inside, and rational thought fled before the gathering tempest. I shuddered in her arms, trying to force out the words.

  “Take. Me. Helen…please…”

  Her pupils expanded, black forcing the blue into the barest of rings. “You don’t know what you’re ask—”

  “I do!” Cupping her face in my palms, I pulled her closer—not to my mouth, but to my neck. “Please, let me. Let me be this for you.”

  Her breaths ragged against my skin, she paused before suddenly shifting her fingers, wringing a sharp cry from my throat. Every single muscle in my body tightened at once, a knot on the verge of becoming unraveled.

  “Are you sure?” Helen gasped.

  “Yes!” I urged, driving my fingers into her hair. “Take it.”

  Her teeth sank into me, the sting immediately eclipsed by an ecstatic surge that spiraled up my spine. Her moan vibrated against my neck and I clutched desperately at her wrist as her fingers moved inside me. Heat poured from my veins, warming her everywhere our skin touched. I felt an unfamiliar twisting tension building low in my belly as her movements became more frantic, more erratic. My need was insistent but unfocused. More. I needed more.

  “Helen,” I breathed, tangling my fingers into the dark strands of her hair, “oh Helen, please.”

  Simultaneously, her teeth and her hand slipped deeper, molding my body into a taut bow. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs as every ounce of my being raced toward…something. Something glorious. She held me at the precipice for an eternal moment, her suction at my neck pulling my pleasure right to the surface. She bore down with her thumb as her fingers twisted inside me…and the world exploded with impossible brightness, fire scorching along my limbs. Desperate to fuse myself with her, I slipped my thigh between her legs, glorying in the sensation of her heat against my skin. She thrust herself against me wildly and I dug my fingertips into her shoulders as my pleasure crested impossibly higher. Through the maelstrom, I clutched at my consciousness just long enough to feel Helen stiffen and then convulse against me as the ecstasy in my bloodstream slammed into her system and pushed her too over the edge.

  *

  When next I could perceive sensation, Helen was leaning over me, holding a damp cloth to my neck. It stung slightly, but the overwhelming sensation throughout my body was a profound sense of peace. And joy. I smiled up at her, and she mirrored my expression. Tenderly, she peeled the cloth away, nodding slightly as though reassuring herself that she hadn’t seriously injured me. I reached up to caress her face, and she turned her mouth into my palm, kissing it.

  And then she pulled away, eyes suddenly sparkling. “Wait. Just a moment.”

  I watched her slide off the bed and cross the room to her desk, then extract something from its top drawer. The effortless grace of her movements was captivating. Unbidden but not unwelcome, the fire welled up again from deep inside, and I caught my breath at the force of my desire for her.

  When she returned, I sat up to claim a kiss, but she pressed one finger to my lips instead. Carefully, she placed a rolled parchment in my hand. My mind was still muddled and the letters were foreign to me. “What is this?”

  Her fingers smoothed my brow and danced through my hair. “A deed. The deed to my estate in London. Tomorrow I shall exchange it for Villa Carrizo and the rest of Romero’s land. It seems that your old master has a thirst for adventure.”

  “My old master?”

  She pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I will care for you, I promise—I will spare you from the guilt sown into your heritage by Romero and his appetites. You will be free of the devil’s bargain. Free, as you deserve to be.”

  Her tone was so gentle, her words so beautiful. Could they all be true? “What about your needs? I will not have you suffer.”

  Her smile was patient and tender. “I can take care of myself. You and your family are released from this charge forever.”

  “But I want to feed you. I choose to sustain you. So long as my body draws breath, I will be yours until the end of my days.” I caressed her face, trailing my fingers lovingly over her smooth skin and full lips.

  “No one has to die, Solana.” She leaned in past my questing fingers and captured my mouth in a soul-binding kiss. “My love. No one ever has to die.”

  And I believed.

  KI Thompson is the author of three novels, House of Clouds (2008 S
apphic Readers’ Award; 2008 Indie Book Award and 2008 Goldie Award finalist), Heart of the Matter, and Cooper’s Deale. She also has short stories in Erotic Interludes 2–5, Fantasy: Untrue Stories of Lesbian Passion, Best Lesbian Romance 2007, and Best Lesbian Romance 2009. She is currently working on her fourth novel, The Will to Wynne, a historical romance set during the American Revolutionary War. KI lives in the Washington, DC, area with her partner and two much-loved cats.

  Constant Companion

  KI Thompson

  “What time is it?”

  “Late. Sorry to wake you.”

  I gripped the phone with my chin and squinted at the bedside clock. 2:07. “No, I wanted you to. How’d the meeting go?”

  A tired sigh drifted across the country and caressed my ear. “Not as well as I’d hoped. About what I’d expected, though.” Another sigh.

  I strained to hear something else in the silence. I’d been doing that a lot recently, unsure of myself, and her. That familiar knot, my constant companion of late, settled uncomfortably in my stomach.

  “It’s been a long day and I’m tired,” she explained.

  “Yeah.”

  “I miss you.” It sounded automatic.

  “Me too,” I said automatically.

  “I really do,” she whispered.

  A remote corner of my heart began to beat again and I tried not to let the feeling spread. I stared up at the ceiling, noticing the old stain from when she had tried to repair the upstairs toilet by herself. We had laughed about it at the time, then called a plumber when the job proved too much for her limited skills. I’d never gotten around to painting the ceiling—too busy, I guess. In the dark, it took on a menacing, jagged appearance, splitting the plaster like an earthquake’s chasm.