by Lily Maxton
And Sarah opened for her beautifully, like petals beneath the sun.
Win wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. She was driven by some impulse, by love and by want, to touch and taste everywhere she could. Her nose brushed the curls that covered Sarah’s mound, and she paused, breathing her in. The slightly musky scent made her ache fiercely. When she pressed her legs together, she felt herself throbbing, felt the slick heat of desire on her own skin.
And then, just as she’d held Win to her breast, Sarah grabbed at her head, pulling her closer.
Oh.
Her lips touched soft warm skin in a kiss that was so intimate Win had to close her eyes.
Sarah whimpered above her, a sound that seemed drawn from her throat, from some depth she hadn’t known she could reach.
Win licked her, tasted her wetness, came away with a lingering hint of salt.
Oh.
Sarah pulled at Win’s hair, breathing staggered. Her hips moved restlessly, pressing her sex harder against Win’s mouth.
Oh, how she liked Sarah like this. Trembling with desire, helpless with want. Those little noises that stuck in her throat and drove Win wild. She parted Sarah’s folds with her fingers, desperate to go deeper, to get closer, to taste the very heart of her, and here, she could sense, Sarah was more sensitive.
Her fingers stopped digging into Win’s hair, her movements weren’t so frenzied. Win touched her with just the tip of her tongue, traced gentle patterns into vulnerable flesh.
Sarah stilled, shaking, hands tangling in the linen sheets at her waist.
“There,” she said brokenly. “Again.”
Win aimed to please. She flicked her tongue, again and again, and then she watched Sarah come apart, hips arching, body straining, face flushed.
She’d never looked more beautiful to Win than she did in that moment, when she gave herself up to pleasure.
Win crawled back over Sarah’s limp body, thinking they might hold each other before she left, but Sarah’s arms circled around her neck. She drew Win down for a lazy kiss.
Win assumed it would remain a closed-mouth kiss, but her lover wasn’t quite so fastidious. She pushed Win’s mouth open and delved in with her tongue, and Win had to brace herself against a sudden, fierce throb of lust.
“Why are you still dressed?” Sarah said when she pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“I only wanted to give you pleasure,” Win responded, still a little dazed from what they’d just done. Still a little dazed by the fact that she was currently lying on top of her naked best friend, and they were kissing, and everything felt perfectly right with the world.
Sarah, to her surprise, began to work her way down the laces along the back of Win’s bodice. “No one likes a martyr, darling.”
Win laughed. “That’s not very nice. One taste of lovemaking…”
“I’ve been hungry for it for so long; forgive me for being a little pushy.”
Her tone was light, but Win could tell it wasn’t entirely a jest.
“You can push me around as much as you’d like,” she said. Which also, though light in tone, wasn’t entirely a jest.
Sarah held her gaze. “Then take off your dress.”
Win stepped back from the bed, heart pounding hard against her ribcage as she slowly undressed, Sarah watching her the entire time. She paused when she got to her stays, and Sarah’s mouth tipped, all wicked encouragement. “Keep going.”
Her fingers shook as they unfurled the laces. Her throat was dry. But through it all, that same aching pulse beat low in her abdomen, only growing stronger, harder, louder, when she saw how intently Sarah watched as she revealed each new patch of skin.
When all of her layers were on the floor at her feet, she looked up. Sarah’s eyes were heavy-lidded. Her chest rose and fell with a deep, slow inhalation as her gaze swept Win from her toes to her face.
Win had never dreamed that Sarah would look at her like this…had never dreamed that Sarah could want her this much. But even in the midst of the most vulnerable moment of her life, she felt a strange spark of humor. “Do you see something you like, miss?”
Sarah smirked. “Hmm.” She beckoned her closer. “It all looks very pretty indeed, but I should probably sample the offerings before I make a full commitment.”
“That would be prudent.” The closer she got to Sarah, the softer her voice became.
“And prudence is the highest virtue.”
Win nodded, at a whisper now, “So you mustn’t be hasty.”
Sarah rose up on her knees, capturing Win’s hand in her own, tugging at her until she bumped into the bed. Her other arm slipped around Win’s back, and Win shivered at the contact of warm skin.
She thought Sarah was going to kiss her on the lips, but at the last moment she ducked her head, warm wet mouth gliding across Win’s breasts.
“These are quite satisfactory,” Sarah murmured, breath ghosting across Win’s nipples, making her shiver.
“Are they?” she said, voice weak.
“And this…” Sarah pressed her hand to the juncture of Win’s thighs, dipped her fingers into the wetness. “I’m very curious about this.”
“You—” Win broke off with a strangled whimper when Sarah licked her own fingertips.
“Also very satisfactory.”
Whatever bashfulness Win might have felt at first gave way, rather spectacularly, under Sarah’s teasing, like a roof collapsing from the weight of snow. Her blood was on fire. Her heart was pounding. Her breasts still tingled from the memory of lips.
She leaned forward, capturing Sarah’s mouth in a rough kiss.
Sarah responded eagerly, greedily, pulling Win down to the bed as they shared the same breath, the same heat, the damp slide of tongue against tongue. She knelt over Win and let her hand trail down Win’s body, over her chest and stomach, before cupping her mound in a possessive grip.
“Ah—”
Sarah’s deft, elegant fingers explored her—stroking, teasing, parting her folds to delve deeper.
She moved against Sarah’s hand, gasping and needy. Maybe Win would look back on this with embarrassment, but right now she couldn’t stop the rhythm of her hips, couldn’t stop the strangled whimpers that were drawn from her throat each time Sarah pressed in just a little further.
But she noticed she wasn’t the only one who seemed needy. Sarah’s chest was flushed, her lips parted. Her hips moved restlessly, subtly, trying to come into contact with something that wasn’t there. So Win slid her knee up, pushed her thigh hard against Sarah’s flesh.
And Sarah tipped her head back and moaned, long and low, a sound that shot heat through Win’s veins.
Sarah lowered herself more fully onto Win, until Win was overwhelmed, drowning in sensation—their breasts, pressed together, Sarah’s fingers, playing with her, Sarah’s wet, swollen sex against the skin of her thigh, their mouths, coming together in one more hungry, desperate kiss, Sarah’s teeth against her lower lip, her tongue stroking into Win’s mouth, the scent of lemons and musk, the harsh sound of their breathing...
She was drowning, drowning, drowning, and she didn’t ever want to come up for air.
Sarah broke away from the kiss, pressed her face into Win’s throat, dug her nails into Win’s shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered.
Win’s movements turned frantic. She was driven by a need so potent it seemed to consume every inch of her body. She bore down hard, shuddering, shivering, and came on Sarah’s fingers with a soft, helpless cry.
It took a while for her heartbeat to slow, for her breathing to settle, for her wrung out body to regain its equilibrium. As soon as it did, she reached for Sarah, curling around the other woman’s body like they were made to fit together.
There was no denying her feelings, or getting around them, and why would she want to? It was as essential as air, as necessary as sunlight. It echoed with each beat of her heart, simple, inexorable—Winifred Wakefield was in love with Sarah Lark.
She had been for years.
So she pressed her lips to Sarah’s temple. “I love you, too,” she said.
And perhaps those simple words would never quite encompass the sweet way her chest ached when their eyes met, or the way her blood roared to life when they kissed, or the way her heart soared when she managed to make Sarah laugh, or the brittle remembrance of the time they’d been apart, the pain she’d felt with each letter she’d sealed, but pushed past again and again because she’d never stopped hoping.
But they were a start.
Chapter 10
The next day, Lord Lark requested their presence in the drawing room. Win had the sudden, terrified thought that Sarah’s father could see through walls and distances and knew that Win had been intimate with his daughter.
Which was, obviously, ridiculous, but it didn’t seem quite so ridiculous when she touched her fingers to lips still warm from the memory of the night before. Her cheeks flushed a little when she thought about it, a fierce ache between her legs.
Not a very appropriate reaction when Lord Lark was standing by the fireplace, Lady Lark in an armchair nearby. Win sent a sidelong glance at Sarah, who was on the settee, looking prim and proper and utterly kissable.
Sarah noticed Win watching her. She cocked her head, eyebrow arching, a glint of wicked humor in her eyes that made Win’s heart skip a beat.
Sarah knew exactly what she was thinking about. She could only hope Sarah’s parents didn’t know, too.
“I suppose we’ll get right to the matter,” Lord Lark said. “Sir Richard Wallace would like to renew his acquaintance with you, Winifred.”
Whatever sensual daydreams Win might have been having were washed away like she’d been splashed with cold water. In the wake of last night, she’d completely forgotten the issue of Sir Richard.
“Win is in mourning,” Sarah pointed out.
Lady Lark cast an appraising eye over Win, taking in her gray dress. “Half-mourning,” she corrected.
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t call on you until you start attending social events again,” Lord Lark said.
There was nothing wrong with Sir Richard, generally—Win remembered him as a polite, quiet older man—but dread crept along her spine at the thought of a courtship. “How kind of him,” she said, “but I don’t know that I’m ready for that step.”
A tense silence settled over the room. Win could guess what he was thinking…she was living in his home, dependent on his goodwill. She should be ready for a step that would advance her position, but she wasn’t.
And after making love to Sarah, she knew she wouldn’t be again.
“Has my daughter been influencing you?” Lord Lark asked.
Win jolted, heart thudding. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You went with her to one of those meetings.” He waved his hand vaguely, as if it was only some chaotic gathering that didn’t deserve to be called a meeting. “Bluestockings and firebrands. Now you balk, when a perfectly amiable gentleman wishes to call on you.”
“That’s not quite—”
But Sarah had stood up. “Don’t bully her simply because she said she’d rather not receive Sir Richard. She deserves some time to herself after Gregory’s death.”
“Except she hasn’t had time to herself, has she? You introduced her to the MacGregors readily enough.”
Sarah’s hands balled into fists. Win wanted to go to her but knew that she couldn’t. “They’re good-hearted people, whether you see it or not.”
“What are you doing with your allowance?” Lord Lark asked suddenly.
“Pardon me?”
“We know you haven’t been spending the money,” Lady Lark explained, almost apologetically.
“So what have you done with it?”
Sarah’s back straightened, her chin tilted, her color high. Win had never seen her quite like this—stubborn, defiant. Sometime during their separation, she’d come into her own. Win only wished she’d been there.
“I’d like to travel the continent. I’m saving it.”
“Travel the continent?” Lord Lark repeated, brows knit together in a bewildered frown. “Alone?”
“If I must.”
He leaned against the back of his wife’s armchair, as if for strength. “I can see now, that I’ve been too lenient with you. I’ve let you have your way too often.” He glanced at his wife, and then, as though answering some unspoken question, he nodded. “You’ll be sent to London. The Season isn’t quite over, and you’ll have new faces to choose from, as none of the men here have caught your attention—”
“But—”
“You will decide on a husband. And until you have, you’ll give back everything you’ve saved and you won’t see a shilling more, so you can say goodbye to your dreams of traveling.”
“I don’t wish to go to London, and I certainly don’t wish to find a husband there,” Sarah exclaimed.
And Lord Lark said, in a low, ruthless voice. “You are under the impression that I’m asking. I am not.” He pushed away from the armchair.
“Win will stay here,” Lady Lark said. “And renew her acquaintance with Sir Richard.” At Sarah’s accusatory glance, her mother’s expression softened. “Your father is right. We’ve let you have your way too often. We thought Win might be a good influence, but our assumption is proving incorrect. Perhaps you have been spending too much time with the MacGregors.”
“They’re my friends,” Sarah said. Her voice faltered, the first sign that she wasn’t as composed as she wanted to appear.
Her mother sighed. “They are not the right kind of friends, my dear.”
“And you would take Win away from me, too?”
Win suddenly couldn’t sit still any longer, couldn’t take the wavering note in Sarah’s voice, when she usually sounded so strong. She stood up, touching Sarah’s elbow gently, just a light pressure, a whisper. I’m here.
As if by instinct, Sarah’s hand slipped over Win’s.
“We should discuss it later,” Win said, “after we’ve had time to think over the matter.”
Lady Lark was looking at the spot where Win held on to Sarah, where Sarah held on to her, a new understanding dawning on her face before it went blank completely, like a curtain drawing closed, shutting out the light.
Dread pooled heavy in Win’s stomach.
“That won’t be necessary,” Lady Lark said, a note of finality in her voice. “I’m quite sure a separation will be the most prudent course.”
Chapter 11
Win went to Sarah that night, her footsteps like lead. An image crept into her mind, of a little cottage somewhere, and a rose garden, and kissing Sarah awake every single morning, her skin pink in the light from the rising sun. Unmarried women sometimes lived together as companions, and if things that were not quite companionable went on behind closed doors, no one was the wiser.
It would be a life, she thought. A good one.
But the things she wanted and the things she needed to do were too disparate to reconcile.
Sarah was sitting up in bed, wearing only a chemise, dark hair loose around her shoulders. Win perched next to her, drew her legs against her chest, and rested her head on her knees.
For a long time they didn’t speak. Tension settled around them, taut and aching.
Lord and Lady Lark had given no indication that they were going to change their minds, and Win couldn’t let Sarah throw everything away because of her. What would they even do? Where would they go? It was all well and good in novels when people threw away their life and their home and their fortune for love, but what happened after, when the thrill of defiance was gone and one was left with only the consequences?
Win tended to be the more impulsive one between them, but she found that in this, in the matter of Sarah’s fate, her future, she couldn’t let impulse rule her. It was far too important.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes when she felt Sarah’s hand on her back. She looked up.
“What is it? Will you speak to me?” Sarah asked.
“Everything is wrong” she muttered.
Sarah let out a soft, amused breath. “I give you points for drama, but that’s a rather vague answer.”
“I…if we marry, will we be together like this?”
Sarah’s face turned somber. “Are you planning to marry?”
“I think I must,” she said softly. “Sir Richard always seemed nice enough. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if—if we could still see each other…”
“But not like this,” Sarah said, giving Win her answer. “It wouldn’t feel right.”
“I wouldn’t want to be unfaithful, but if it wasn’t a love match—” Even as Win spoke the words, the uneasy feeling in her stomach let her know that it wasn’t an option. At least not one she could live with.
“It’s not only that. It would turn what we have into some kind of illicit affair. And that’s not what it is. I don’t want that to be what it becomes.” Sarah tilted her head, a sad, wry smile playing at her lips. “And how could anyone not love you, Win?”
Win felt, all of the sudden, like weeping, but she didn’t allow herself to. “We could still be friends, though, after we’ve married.”
“I’m not going to marry anyone,” Sarah said.
Win straightened at this. “Your father will cut you off if you don’t.” She hated the thought of Sarah sacrificing anything for her, let alone her future, her livelihood, her family. “We won’t…we won’t be together anyway,” she added. “I think your mother suspects.”
Sarah stilled, but then her hand found Win’s wrist, and she looped her fingers around it, like she was binding them together.
Win leaned into her, resting her forehead on Sarah’s shoulder. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you again,” she whispered.
Sarah’s grip tightened. “You won’t have to,” she said. “It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t all right. It wasn’t going to be all right. Her heart sat like a leaden weight in her chest, and the night before felt like a distant dream, like sand, seeping through her fingers no matter how much she tried to hold on to it.