by Radclyffe
Byrne finished hers and set her glass aside. She leaned closer, her voice dropping lower. “No one will ever write about love and passion the way you do. Your work always excites me.”
I felt myself flush and was helpless to stop it. “One of us should get pen and paper and write this down before we lose a perfectly good seduction scene.”
“Is that what this is?”
Embarrassed that I had revealed the attraction I had been denying for months, I tried to laugh it off. “Tell me you haven’t noticed this setting is perfect for…”
Byrne leaned close. “This?”
And she kissed me.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I registered that the kiss was not in the least bit diffident or uncertain, but neither was it arrogant. It was simply a kiss, a wonderful kiss, bestowed by a woman who clearly wanted to kiss me, if the deep murmur of pleasure accompanying the glide of her warm mouth over mine was any indication. Byrne Ambrose, my hated rival…well, of course, not hated…more like annoying rival, wanted to kiss me? And God, could she kiss. She cupped my face in her soft, warm palm and thoroughly explored my mouth with a gentle but insistent tongue. I could feel her body hovering just millimeters away from mine, but she didn’t push for more contact. Instead, she allowed my breasts, suddenly tense with the surge of arousal rushing through me, to lift and brush against her chest. That whisper of contact sent a sliver of excitement piercing through the core of me.
“Oh my God, you can definitely practice what you preach,” I gasped, pulling back, trying to get my bearings. What was she doing? For one horrifying second I contemplated this could be some kind of publicity stunt, but unless a winged photographer was hovering twenty stories above ground like a giant Tinker Bell, there was no way anyone could see us. “What…”
“Do you know,” Byrne said breathlessly. Breathlessly? “I really love your love scenes.”
As she spoke, she skimmed her fingers up and down my arms, inside the silk robe. My skin flamed as if I’d been out in the sun for hours, and to my amazement, I found myself unbuttoning her shirt, my fingers flying with a will of their own. “I don’t care if you hate my books,” I whispered, “if you kiss me like that again.”
And she did. Only this time, she eased me back on the sofa and pulled the sash on my robe, exposing me. She leaned halfway against me, her hip turned sideways between my legs, her upper body supported with one arm along the back of the sofa. She kissed me until my head was spinning, even though I was lying down. I pushed inside her shirt and discovered skin, only skin. Smooth, slightly damp, hot skin. She groaned as I held her small breasts in my hands, rolling her firm nipples under the pads of my thumbs. I thought of the love scenes she had written, committing them to memory while telling myself I simply needed to know what the competition was offering. But her words revealed her passion so bravely for all to see, I couldn’t forget the images she created. Her words had taught me what she needed, what she sought, what she hoped for from a moment like this, and I gently pushed her away. When she drew back, uncertain, I softened my apparent rejection with a brief caress to her cheek.
“Come to bed, Byrne.”
She nodded, her eyes glimmering, her pale pale skin flushed with desire. I pushed the shirt down her shoulders and she left it behind on the sofa. As we crossed into the bedroom, she unbuckled her belt and unzipped her slacks, shedding them by the bedside while I dropped my robe on a chair. When we came together beneath the cool, pristine sheets, we were both naked. When she would have moved above me, I shook my head and pressed my palms to her shoulders.
“Lie back,” I murmured as I knelt between her thighs. For a second I thought she might refuse, because I could tell it wasn’t what she expected. I caressed her thighs and kissed the base of her stomach. “Please. I know you want this. So do I.”
With a quiet groan, she relaxed beneath me. “I think about you…sometimes…when I’m writing.”
“Think about me now. How much I want you.”
I gently touched my tongue to her clitoris. She was hard. Her legs clenched and she pulsed against my lips. I love the taste of a woman, sultry and rich. A pleasure so poignant, yet so fleeting, I always want to linger. As I took her slowly, learning all her tender places, she writhed beneath me, her breath growing shorter and more labored. She didn’t ask for what she so clearly needed, and I adored her for her unselfishness. Only a woman would sacrifice her own pleasure for that of another. I kissed her where her heart beat beneath my lips and pulled her into the heat of my mouth, sucking as she grew to fill me.
“I’m going to come,” she whispered, a warning and a question. Her fingers trembled in my hair.
I reached up and placed my palm over her heart where it pounded beneath her sleek body. I felt her orgasm tremble through her limbs, hammering inside her chest, beating inside my mouth. She was beauty, she was grace, she was every perfect word I had ever hoped to write.
She cried out softly as she came, and when her cries had died away, I kissed her one last time before stretching out beside her. Her eyes were soft, her smile satisfied. Wordlessly, she dipped her head and took my breast into her mouth. I wasn’t as unselfish as she. I urged her to hurry, to take me, to make me come. She wrote her desire for me on my body, with the bold strokes of her hands and her lips and her tongue. When she slid her fingers inside me, I closed around her with the fierceness of possession, wanting to own the passion she exposed so freely in the pages of her books. I had always known her power, now I felt it. Her knuckles, round and strong, stretched me, opened me, and I welcomed her.
“More,” I asked, uncertain my words had enough strength to reach her. But she heard. I didn’t feel her turn her hand, I didn’t feel her mold her flesh to my flesh, but I felt her in the core of me, strong and hot and reverent. She held still and let me move around her, rocking infinitesimally on her smooth, hot fist. I reached blindly for her other hand and when I found it, pressed her fingers to my clitoris.
When she caressed me, the swell of heat wrenched a cry from my throat and she murmured soothingly as I came around her, over her, for her.
“Oh my God.” I opened my eyes to find her watching me, although I hadn’t felt her leave me. Her expression was slightly worried and I smiled. “I’m fine. Wonderful. Beyond wonderful.”
Her stark beauty dissolved into a youthful tenderness, and the pleasure she didn’t bother to hide stirred me anew. “Again,” I whispered, and she stroked me until I came in her arms.
The room had grown dark, but I could see her features by the light filtered through the gauzy drapes as she lay on her back, looking contemplative and content.
“What are you thinking?”
She turned her head and smiled at me. “Of a love scene I want to write.”
“Do I know the characters?”
“In a way.” She kissed me. “It’s a story about how love inspires us. Allows us to do more, be more, than we ever thought we could.” She propped herself up on her elbow and regarded me seriously. “You are responsible for whatever success I have.”
“Well, now, that’s a hell of a thing to say,” I complained. “How am I supposed to be jealous of you now?”
Byrne glided on top of me, her slick, hot thigh meeting my slick, hot center. “You have no reason to be jealous. You’re beautiful, accomplished, and sexy as hell. Me, I’ll be happy to follow wherever you lead.”
“Even when I’m in the mood to follow you?”
“Especially then.”
Byrne slid into me again, and true to my word, I followed suit.
Full House
by Radclyffe
“Don’t touch me, I mean it. I think I’m going to explode.” Liz Ramsey dropped the suitcase she had insisted on carrying, despite her lover’s protests, just inside the door of their suite. “My God, what is it out there? A hundred and thirty degrees in the shade?” She kicked off her sandals, one of which flew across the room and landed on the coffee table, and pushed damp strands of coppery-br
own hair out of her face. “Oh, pardon me. I forgot. There is no shade in this entire state.” She rounded on Reilly. “Whose idea was this?”
“I’m sure it was mine,” Reilly Danvers said instantly. “And it was really stupid of me. Absolutely dumb idea.”
“Don’t be nice when I’m being unreasonable. It pisses me off.” Liz glared at her lover of only a few months. Here she was a rumpled mess, and Reilly looked comfortable and cool in a light blue T-shirt, faded denim jeans, and loafers without socks. Her dark hair was windblown, her gray eyes worried, and she still managed to look sexy. I love you. God, I love you. And I hope I haven’t made the biggest mistake of my life.
Reilly piled the rest of the luggage on the floor. “Why don’t you lie down for a few minutes, and I’ll get you something cold to drink. How about iced tea?”
“I don’t want to lie down. I don’t want iced tea. I want…” Liz looked down at herself and realized she couldn’t see the tops of her navy linen shorts because her pregnant abdomen was in the way. It was bad enough that her breasts were larger than they’d ever been, but now she had a bowling ball where her waist used to be. “This is supposed to be our honeymoon, and I’m hot and my feet are swollen, and you don’t even want to have sex with me.”
“Excuse me?” Reilly’s voice climbed an octave and her eyebrows followed. “Of course I want to have sex with you. I always want to have sex with you. I love having sex with you. I love you.”
“We haven’t had sex in a week, and now I’m even bigger than I was before. I don’t blame you for not wanting to have sex with me.” Liz turned her back. Her voice shook. “I knew this was going to happen. We should have waited until after the baby was born to even try to have a relationship. What was I thinking? Talk about the shortest honeymoon in history.”
“Baby.” Reilly tiptoed up behind Liz and carefully placed her hands on Liz’s shoulders. She kissed the back of her neck. “I couldn’t have waited one more day, one more minute, to be with you. There’s no way I could’ve waited six months.” She guided Liz around to face her. “I think you’re the most beautiful, sexiest woman in the world.”
“Then why don’t we have sex anymore?”
“I think it’s been five days,” Reilly said cautiously, running her hands up and down Liz’s arms. “And two of those nights I was on call and last night we took the red-eye.”
Liz brushed impatiently at the moisture on her cheeks. “What about the other two nights?”
Reilly grinned. “We were watching Frodo destroy Saruman and save Middle Earth.”
“We’re not watching epic movies ever again,” Liz said. “At least not until after we have sex.”
“Absolutely.” Reilly swept her arm around Liz’s waist and guided her toward the bed. “Why don’t you take a nap and later we’ll order room service and watch…later we’ll have screaming monkey sex.”
Liz narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not having second thoughts about marrying me?”
“I have a million thoughts about it every day. All of them happy.” Reilly drew down the covers on the bed and kicked off her loafers. Then she pulled her T-shirt over her head, tossed it on a nearby chair, and unzipped and stepped out of her jeans. Naked, she sat on the side of the bed and held out her arms. “Come here and let me undress you.” When Liz shuffled a little closer, Reilly unbuttoned her blouse and then her shorts. Resting one hand on Liz’s hip to steady her, she pushed Liz’s shorts and panties down. “Step out of these, baby.”
“You don’t have to pretend you want sex, just because I said—”
“You’re tired. You’ve been working overtime for the last month just to get your caseload free enough for us to take this time off. We’ve been up half the night.” Reilly slipped Liz’s blouse off and placed both hands over the perfect mound of Liz’s lower abdomen. As she leaned forward to kiss the smooth, pale skin, she whispered, “Take off the rest.”
“I love when you touch me like this.” Liz stroked Reilly’s hair while Reilly, her eyes closed, rubbed her cheek gently against Liz’s belly. Liz couldn’t believe how much it excited her to watch Reilly do that. It was something she never would have thought erotic, and yet seeing the pleasure on Reilly’s face, the contentment, made her quicken with an almost painful rush of heat deep inside. “I love you.”
Reilly tilted her face up, her smile enough to banish all Liz’s fears. “Even if it was my stupid idea to come to Las Vegas now?”
“I was the one who wanted to be here when Bren got her book award,” Liz reminded her. “I probably shouldn’t have dragged you out here. Especially when I’m fat and bitchy.”
“You didn’t drag me anywhere. She’s your best friend, and I wanted to be here, too.” Reilly swung her legs onto the bed and patted the space beside her. “And I was the one who suggested we take some extra time to make the trip a honeymoon. Plus, you’re not fat. You’re pregnant.”
Liz climbed into bed and fussed with the pillows behind her back until she could find a half-comfortable position. “I notice you didn’t say I wasn’t bitchy.”
“I wouldn’t call it bitchy.”
Liz ran her fingers through Reilly’s hair, then cupped the back of her neck and kissed her. “What would you call it?”
“Excitable.” Reilly nuzzled Liz’s breast before lightly kissing her nipple.
“Mmm. I do seem to be that.” She’d never been easily aroused or particularly quick to orgasm, but around Reilly, she was both. It wasn’t just the newness of the relationship, either. Reilly made her happier than she’d ever imagined possible. Reilly filled her life with promise, and whenever she thought of her, love and passion and desire were so inextricably bound that her body could barely contain the emotion. She wanted her. Endlessly.
Reilly stroked Liz’s belly then claimed her mouth again. Liz murmured deep in her throat, loving Reilly’s slow, easy kisses. Those kisses were deceptively simple, so soft and languid that Liz was always lulled by the sheer pleasure of Reilly’s tongue playing over the sensitive inner surfaces of her lips and teasing just inside her mouth. Just when she felt herself floating, drifting in a warm, sensual haze, she would realize she was completely aroused and often very close to coming.
“I’m not feeling so bitchy now.” Liz dragged her nails unhurriedly up and down Reilly’s back. “You’re getting me excited.”
Reilly drew one leg over Liz’s thigh, her breath coming fast. “Really? And we’re supposed to be taking a nap.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“Sometimes you do sleep better after an orgasm.” Reilly glided her fingers down the slope of Liz’s belly and caressed between her legs. “Ah, God, baby, you’re so wet already.”
“Your kisses.” Liz turned her face to Reilly’s neck, desperate for Reilly to touch her, to stroke the spot that always made her come. She wanted to come, but not so fast. Catching Reilly’s hand, she lifted it back to her breast. She kissed Reilly’s neck, then drew away to look at her. She loved to see the wanting that Reilly never tried to hide. Reilly never hid anything from her. Not her love, not her desire, not her need. “Your kisses always make me ready.”
“Remember the first time?” Reilly cupped Liz’s breast in her palm, squeezing gently while she rubbed the ball of her thumb over Liz’s nipple.
Liz could only nod, her breath too short for her to speak.
“I love when you come while we’re kissing. I love the way you steal my breath, the way you make those little sounds against my mouth.” Reilly went back to kissing her, and when she did, she slid her tongue into Liz’s mouth and her fingers between her legs.
Liz cried out, the sound muffled against Reilly’s lips. She sucked on Reilly’s tongue and tried to keep her eyes open as Reilly pressed against the base of her clitoris and then a little lower, feathering through her wetness. Reilly’s eyes were dark vortices, swirling with desire and demand. Liz poured herself into those eyes as she spilled over the exquisite fingers carrying her to her climax.
“So,” Reilly murmured when Liz cradled her head against her shoulder and made little whimpering sounds of pleasure, “still think I don’t want to have sex with you?”
“I know you only did it so I’d be quiet and go to sleep.”
Reilly laughed and stretched, satisfied with herself, amazingly content. “Yep. That’s the reason. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that my heart just about stops every time you come because you’re so damn beautiful.”
“You’re really happy?”
“Beyond. What are you worried about?”
Liz traced circles with her fingertips in the middle of Reilly’s stomach. “Our relationship is kind of on fast-forward, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re missing anything.”
Reilly turned on her side and propped her head in her hand, studying Liz’s face. “What could I be missing?”
“Well, the fact that I was pregnant when we met…” Liz sighed. “I never asked if it bothered you that you weren’t there. At the beginning.”
“I saw the first ultrasound almost as soon as you had it done,” Reilly said. “I’m watching the baby grow inside you every day. I can feel her move when I hold you during the night.” Reilly stroked Liz’s cheek. “If we’d met after the baby was born, hell, when she was two years old, it wouldn’t have made any difference. I would have loved her and you just the same.”
Liz caressed the curve of Reilly’s flank, then over the rise of her hip and down her muscled thigh. When she couldn’t reach the tender, hot delta nestled between her legs, she tried to shift onto her side and was reminded just how much her body had changed. “I feel incredibly lucky that you’re okay about having an instant family, but I hate that I can’t even make love to you the way I want to.”
Reilly frowned. “I’m completely and totally satisfied.”
“Well, I’m not,” Liz said with some heat. “You might be feeling all king of the jungle, seeing as how you only have to look at me to make me come, but I happen to have a few alpha urges of my own, you know.”