by Heidi Lowe
"But she's your horse," I said, following at her heel. Was she going to address the spa weekend, namely our sinful act the night before we left? Was she trying to pretend that it never happened?
"I'm sure she won't mind."
Riding Tabitha came much easier than the bad-tempered Paddington, who had been Scarlett's horse of choice that afternoon. As I trotted behind them, able to keep up with Scarlett's pace this time around, I wondered what this was all about. Galloping deeper and deeper into the woods, not speaking a word to each other...
Then she tugged on the reins until her horse came to a stop, prompting me to quickly do the same in order to avoid a collision. Only when she jumped down did I see why she'd stopped. Beneath a humongous oak tree, which provided shade, it seemed, to the whole woods, someone had laid out a picnic on a multicolored blanket.
"Are you coming down?" she said, reaching for my hand.
She helped me down and removed her helmet. I did the same with mine, then frowned. "Did you do this?"
She nodded, that mischievousness returning to her eyes. "There are at least six different types of cheese. I didn't know what you liked." She pulled me close, startling me into a gasp, and stole a kiss from me.
I just stared at her in wide-eyed wonderment, not sure whether I was dreaming. She only smiled, and her pearly whites sparkled when the glare of the sun hit them. Then she took my hand and sat us down on the blanket.
"Let's see, there are some red and green grapes, some pineapple and mango, biscuits...or cookies to you..." She rummaged through the picnic basket.
"You did this for me?" I was still in a daze, my mind not quite ready to accept what was happening. Were we really on a date? Because this sure had the makings of one. The quiet spot in the woods; a basket full of food; a cozy blanket; a hot summer's day; two people who had the hots for each other. Yep, if this wasn't a date, I didn't know what was.
"For us," she said, sitting up on her knees and edging her face close to mine so that our lips brushed. "I hope you like it." Her kiss was slow when she pressed her mouth to mine, as though she wanted to give me time to appreciate it. And I did! The kiss was hypnotic, drawing me into a trance-like state.
"It's amazing," I said, still entranced and wanting more of her kiss.
We ate cheese and crackers to start off, and didn't speak much, though no words were necessary, not with the amount of eye-fucking we were doing.
"I thought... never mind," I said after a while, once we'd moved on to the fruit. I picked off a grape from the vine and fed it to her as she lay back on her elbows. Dutifully feeding a beautiful woman grapes was so servant and mistress, but I loved every minute of it.
"Tell me," she insisted.
"Well, when I didn't see you for three days, I just assumed you were done with me."
She sat up, shook her head slowly. "Did that worry you?"
"A little." And because there was no point lying to her about something this important, I came clean. "A lot."
"You thought I'd discarded you like a used tissue after the night we shared together?"
I nodded, embarrassed. Embarrassed at how desperate I'd felt in those moments, assuming the worst. Embarrassed by how much my feelings depended on her so soon into our relationship, or whatever it was we were doing.
"Susan said–"
She pressed a finger to my lips. "Susan is a disgruntled ex-lover who was never meant to be anything more than a lover. You're...different."
I liked the sound of that.
"Can I ask you something?"
She gave me a lopsided grin. "Anything. But for every question I answer, you have to kiss me...right here." She patted her lips with her index finger. "So ask away."
That was a deal I would happily get behind. Immediately I started compiling a list a mile long in my head of all the things I wanted to ask her. A question for a kiss – we were both winning in that situation.
I fired off a bunch of simple questions – favorite color, favorite city, favorite food, that sort of thing – got her comfortable answering, lured her into a false sense of security, then went for the jugular once her guard was down.
"Have you always known you liked women?"
"Yes. From an early age. But when you're that young, you mistake your attraction for mere admiration."
"Are you afraid to tell your family and friends?"
She sucked in a deep breath, didn't speak immediately, then finally, "The closest people to me will be fine with it, I have no doubt. But being "other" – that person people mention at parties, like I have a rare disease no one has ever heard of, I'm afraid I don't as yet have the courage for that."
There was a sadness in her eyes that I wanted to kiss away. She'd always come off as self-assured, almost to the point of being conceited, so hearing her speak this way came as a surprise to me. Just like so many before her, she'd placed herself firmly inside a closet and had no immediate intentions of ever leaving. I wondered where I fit into this. Would I be enough to coax her out of it?
I kissed her not just because of our deal, but because she needed it. I drew it out as long as I could before moving on to my next question.
"And if you meet Miss Right, what then? You marry in secret, spend half your time at the mansion, and the other half with your new wife in a secret house?" I laughed, but stopped when I realized she wasn't laughing.
Agitation creased her brow. I'd offended her inadvertently.
She said nothing, just reached for her glass of champagne and took a couple of sips from it. Clearly the topic was a sensitive one for her, and if I didn't want our covert rendezvous to end prematurely, I had to change the narrative.
At first she showed some resistance when I tried to take the glass from her, but she must have seen the yearning in my eyes, because she loosened her grip. In a predatory fashion, I laid her down, climbed on top of her and snaked my tongue into her mouth. Her kiss tasted of expensive champagne and grapes. Sweet and delicious – almost enough to distract me from the intimidating realization that I had taken the lead and had stumbled head first into brand new territory. She'd done all the work both times, and I'd happily let her take the reins. But I didn't want to be that kind of lover, not with her. The overwhelming urge to please her any way I could came over me. To hear her moan the way she'd made me moan. If I could be even half as skillful with my tongue as she had been between my legs, I would consider that a victory. But the fun was in the effort, the journey.
"How deserted is this place?" I asked, undoing the button of her skintight riding pants.
"Relatively. No one will see us, if that's what you're worried about."
"And what about hearing? Will they be able to hear you?"
She chuckled and I didn't know why. I stopped and looked up at her, questioningly.
"That's rather presumptuous, don't you think?" she said.
"What?"
She rested up on her elbows again, amused. "You said I was your first woman, correct?"
I nodded, still stumped.
"Well, you're very sure of your ability to make me moan."
That hadn't even occurred to me, but now that she'd brought it up, I suddenly felt embarrassed. Embarrassed and foolish.
This feeling didn't last long, however. Her malevolent smile at seeing me blush only made me more determined to do a great job; not great, exceptional. By laughing at me she'd challenged me. And as I peeled her trousers down, taking my time, eyes locked on hers, a smile broke forth on my face.
"I'll just have to keep going until that does happen," I said. "Until your moans are so loud you frighten the birds away."
That desire sparkling in her eyes told me she couldn't wait for me to prove myself. I hoped she didn't see me trembling as I removed the final item of clothing that stood between me and paradise. And despite my initial fear of the unknown, I was desperate to dive right in, to taste her offering.
In my mind I'd built up an idea of how she would taste and feel against my tongue. But what
greeted me when I let my tongue loose between her crotch was more incredible than my imagination ever could have conjured up. As sweet as honey, as soft as wool, as wet as the ocean. She tasted the way I imagined a rainbow would taste – lots of flavors, all of them sweet. After a while, it started to feel as though my sole purpose of being down there was to have dinner, not make love to her!
At first my moans were louder than hers as I gobbled her up and swallowed her down. That wasn't usually how it went, was it?
After exploring all the nooks and crannies of her sex, I focused in on her glistening bean. My tongue didn't know what the hell it was doing, but tried everything to elicit those moans I'd promised her. Changing up the pace, putting on more pressure, altering the rhythm. I thought of the acrobatics she'd performed on me and tried to reproduce that. When that failed to evoke the strangled whimpers I'd made when she'd done this to me, I switched it up again.
After fumbling around for ten or fifteen minutes, getting better acquainted with her sex, I finally felt her buck beneath me, against my mouth. Then followed the whimper. Jackpot! My technique: drawing squares and circles against her bean, piling on the pressure every time she moaned.
Having found the sweet spot for both of us, it was pretty much smooth sailing from there on out. I couldn't believe how naturally it had come to me, how easy and fun it was. But more shocking than any of that was how loud Scarlett became in the throes of passion. Her forceful hold on my head insured that I wasn't able to come up for air. Not that I ever wanted to. I was content staying right there, head buried between her thighs, tongue planted deep inside her sex. If she never came, I planned to stay there forever.
But she did come, and hard, letting out a long, guttural, and unladylike whimper.
When I came up to meet her, her smile was tired and content, and she wiped her residue from my mouth without asking. The thought that she'd faked it had crossed my mind, but only for a second. Looking at her in this state, screwed within an inch of her life, it seemed, I knew the orgasm had been real. I'd succeeded after a number of false starts.
We kissed without exchanging words, and those kisses were more enchanting than they'd ever been.
"Why do you taste so good?" I asked between kisses.
"I wasn't aware I did," she said with a laugh. "I'll have to take your word for it. Probably down to my diet."
"I could have stayed down there forever. It was like eating dessert." I was still in awe of how delicious she was, and didn't care how silly I sounded.
"You know what I think, Jenna? I think you lied to me. This couldn't have been your first time. It took me weeks, months actually, to find my technique and make another woman climax."
My smile oozed with pride. "What can I say, I'm a natural."
"You certainly are." She kissed me, and just as I did whenever she looked at me with that longing, I melted. No one else could make me weak just by looking at me.
Once she'd pulled her panties and trousers back on, we lay in each other's arms, my head on her chest, between her bosom. Around us the woods sang; birds chirped, the leaves rustled. The trees provided just enough shade to ensure we didn't burn, yet still let the warmth in. Seeing us like that, together and in pure harmony, no one would have believed I was her brother's girlfriend, not hers.
The silence between us ended when she said, quite out of the blue, "Are you still sleeping with him?" It was as though she couldn't bear to say his name – Marcus, her only brother. Maybe saying it made it too real.
"No. I can't. The thought of being with him like that again...especially after being with you, makes me nauseous."
"What do you tell him when he wants to?"
I shrugged. "Anything that comes to mind. Usually that I'm tired, or I don't feel right doing it while his parents are home."
She let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know how to do this, Jenna. How to be with you without hurting him. I don't think it's possible."
It wasn't, we both knew that. Our afternoon of bliss, alone in the middle of the woods, exploring each other and doing what lovers did, did not negate the fact that Marcus was still there. Marcus would always be there.
I didn't tell her this, but I began to resent him. None of this was his fault, but nevertheless my resentment for him grew a little every day. As far as I was concerned, he stood in the way of our happiness – mine and Scarlett's.
But neither of us had any solutions. There was simply the here and now, no talk of what the future would look like once my holiday was over, my visitor's visa had run out, and I had to return to America in four weeks.
I sat up and was startled to see that tears were trickling down her cheeks. I kissed each one away.
"Do you believe in fate?" I said, picking out bits of leaves that had gotten stuck in her curls.
"Sometimes."
"What if me meeting Marcus was supposed to lead me right to you? That's what it feels like."
"But you didn't just meet him, Jenna, you're his girlfriend, for God's sake. Everyone he's introduced you to, our family and friends, they don't care about fate, they care about being proper. And all they'll see is a sister's betrayal and the woman who came between me and Marcus."
"Why do you care what everyone thinks?"
This question seemed to anger her as much as it did me.
"Unlike you, I still have to live here. I don't get to fly away once the damage is done. I still have to look my brother and parents in the eye."
She got up, vexed, and started putting away the picnic stuff in the basket. Just like that our romantic afternoon was over, because reality had come a-knocking.
"I'm sorry," I said, helping her clear up.
"It's fine," she mumbled, making it clear that it was anything but. "We should be heading back now anyway."
The words on the tip of my tongue remained there all the way back to the house; I held them even as she said a hasty and cheerless goodbye to me in the stable. I wanted her to hear the words, not just feel the sentiment. But I kept them to myself, kept them in my heart. What good would those three little words be to her when she was already conflicted? What good was loving me when, in doing so, she stood to lose everyone she'd ever cared about?
FOURTEEN
The futuristic red London bus announced that the next stop was Oxford Street. It was here that Marcus and I alighted, and were swept immediately into a horde of shoppers on a street that could have given Times Square a run for its money.
It seemed the whole of the Earth's population had converged on that one street, all at once, that Thursday afternoon. It was so jam-packed, so crowded, that when Marcus clutched my hand in his, I didn't dare let go, no matter how much his touch left me cold. Getting lost on the UK's busiest street didn't sound like a good way to spend an afternoon.
We ducked into an upmarket women's apparel shop and headed straight for the accessories section.
"What do you buy a thirty-five year old woman who already has everything?" Marcus asked, as he examined the collection of expensive gloves.
It was a question I'd asked myself over and over upon finding out that Scarlett's birthday was in a few days. Although Marcus had insisted the gift would be from both of us, I wanted to get her something special that came solely from me. From the heart. But what could I buy her that she couldn't buy herself?
"I don't know. What sort of stuff is she in to?" I said, doing some prying for my own benefit. I still didn't know a lot about Scarlett, and used every opportunity to find out more from an unsuspecting Marcus.
"You mean apart from horses and law?" He shrugged. "She has a thing for live music. Maybe I could get her tickets to a show."
"Live music? What, like a bunch of people playing instruments and singing?" An idea was forming.
He chuckled. "Yeah, Jenna. That's generally how live music works. She can't play the guitar, but has always admired people who can."
I had to hide my smile. Although I also couldn't play the guitar very well, my banjo-playing skills had won m
e awards as a child. It was something I'd learned in the girl scouts.
"What?" Marcus said, catching me grinning.
"Nothing. Erm, she'll like those gloves." I pointed to a purple leather pair. "She probably won't be expecting anything grandiose from anyone. I mean, you said it yourself, she hates celebrating her birthday."
He made a face. "She's not going to be very happy about the surprise party my parents are throwing for her. I did warn them."
"You said it would only be a small gathering. Just a handful of her closest friends."
"That's right, some friends...and her future husband." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
The blood drained from my face. "What? Who?"
"Patrick, duh. They're perfect for each other. I predict that this time next year they'll be married and expecting their first child."
"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard." Only when the store clerk and a couple of the customers turned to look at me did I realize how loud and angry I'd come across.
"What's so absurd about it?" Marcus laughed, regarding me quizzically. "She's good-looking, he's good-looking. She's accomplished, he's accomplished. He's funny–"
"Yeah, I get it, they're perfect for each other," I repeated mockingly. "So perfect that, after several years of friendship, they're still not together. What does that tell you?"
"Timing is everything, Jenna. They've been spending a lot of time together lately, so maybe they finally realize they're meant to be together. Fate, you know."
I wanted to hit him in the face! What the hell did he know about fate? Fate was what had brought me and Scarlett together – that was the real deal. Fate had brought me and Marcus to the club that night, had made us the designated drivers, and pushed us to converse, so that six months later I would meet his drop dead gorgeous sister. That was what fate looked and smelled like.
"Why don't you stay out of her business and let her find her own husband?" Or wife.
He frowned. "Why are you in such a mood today?"
"No reason, just didn't sleep well last night, that's all. Are you getting the gloves or not?"