The past or the future? What did she choose?
She’d chosen the past long enough.
Three weeks after Emily had left, she booked a return flight from Bangkok to London, but she didn’t tell Emily just yet. She needed to know what it would be like to arrive in London again, if it would be different this time. If the air around her would be lighter or if everything would still remind her of that one night.
She booked herself into a hotel like she always did, not wanting to impose on estranged—by choice more than anything—friends and family. Being away from the self-created safe haven that her house on Samui represented was challenging enough, and not having any privacy to speak of only made it more so.
In the beginning, when she returned the first few times—more frequently because there were still loose ends to tie up—she had to explain herself over and over again to vexed family members who seemed endlessly offended by the fact that she chose an impersonal hotel room over their hospitality. But they were used to it by now. Everyone can get used to almost anything.
The first thing she did—she always did—after settling in, was to visit Ingrid’s grave. It had become a ritual now, more than a need begging to be met, more than penance, but it had to be done. She had to stand in front of it and say the words.
She took a ridiculously expensive cab, paying—quite literally—ten times more than in any Thai city, to the cemetery, pulled up the collar of her coat against the cold wind and made her way onto the grey stone path that led to the spot where the love of her life lay buried.
“I’m sorry,” she said, to the marble headstone, “I’m so sorry.” As if it could change anything at all. As if the words were not the most over and falsely used ones in the history of humankind. But she said them anyway because there really was nothing else she could say—or do.
She’d run, she’d hidden herself away, she’d taken the blame and torn herself away from anyone else that mattered—anyone who could even remotely make her feel better. It would never be enough, because it would never give Ingrid her life back, but, in the aftermath, after it had happened and Marianne had watched the ambulance drive off while Ingrid was still alive—barely, but still—only to find she had passed when she reached the hospital, it was all she could do.
Marianne waited for the tears that always overtook her at this point. She waited for the year’s guilt that had amassed in her soul to find its way out, not to relieve her, but to remind her. But her cheeks stayed dry, and that was how she knew.
In the taxi back to the hotel, she scrolled through the dozens of pictures Emily had sent her since she’d returned home. She’d documented her entire life over the phone. Shots of her in bed just after she woke to show Marianne that she was the first thing on her mind in the morning. Photos of Emily before bed without any clothes on. A picture of Emily and the kitten she’d adopted days after her arrival because she didn’t want to be so alone.
“Turning into a crazy lesbian cat lady already?” Marianne had texted.
Emily had responded by sending her a pouting selfie with the caption: “Without you here I just might.”
While she took a shower, Marianne pondered her next move. Emily had sent her address in case she wanted to send her something via snail mail. A smile broke on her face when she decided what to do next. A smile that would never have made its way through the gloom on previous visits to London.
EMILY
Emily had taken the position at her father’s firm. She loved the law and she wanted a job, the only downside was having to work alongside her family all day. Theoretically, she could have waited for a bout of divine inspiration, a metaphorical voice descending from the heavens to tell her all about her future, but, frankly, if she had to stay home one minute longer than she had to these days, she went crazy.
Nights were the worst. After a mere three nights in Marianne’s bed, she had trouble sleeping alone in her London flat.
She’d fielded everyone’s questions expertly, as if she were already a practicing solicitor, because what could she say? “Oh hey, I met someone. A forty-one year old recluse living in Thailand. Oh, and she’s a woman. We spent five days together and it changed my life.”
Where Emily came from, no matter how true and how much she felt it, things like that were never, ever said. And if they were, they’d be dismissed as a folly, a silly dalliance.
“Oh, the tales Emily has to tell about her travels. Madness.” Emily could hear her mother’s voice in her head.
So, she’d kept Marianne a secret. Maybe it would be different if she were there, but she was miles away. Not a word had been said about a potential visit. Emily was afraid to ask, and she guessed Marianne didn’t want to get her hopes up before she actually made a decision.
Emily had been on the job for only two weeks. It wasn’t raining, so she decided to walk home instead of cramming herself between a sea of people on the tube. She took on a brisk pace because she was anxious to cuddle Archie, who’d been alone in her flat all day.
She checked her phone for new messages or e-mails the way she always did, but it was well past midnight in Thailand and Marianne would be fast asleep. She’d barely heard from her in the past two days and an unspoken dread had settled in the pit of Emily’s stomach. She’d send Marianne some pictures later so she could wake up with a smile.
Due to the seven-hour time difference with Thailand, evenings were hard for Emily. By the time she got home from work, Marianne was unreachable. Emily tried to get up earlier in the morning to fit in a quick Skype chat, but she was always so groggy, having never been a morning person, that they’d soon decided against making a habit of it.
They were in touch though, and that was something. Emily had feared Marianne would be quick to go back to her hermit, no-contact-with-the-motherland ways, but she sent her pictures and sweet good morning messages. It was hardly enough, with so little to look forward to. Emily had checked out flights to Bangkok for Christmas, but they were hideously expensive and she’d only have a few days off—even less if she told her father the real reason she already wanted to go back.
It was all in Marianne’s hands now.
Emily trudged along and enjoyed being outside. It was a twenty-minute walk from the Kane & Associates office to her flat, and she needed the exercise, the feeling of doing at least something physical. Her body had been sorely neglected of late, and cyber sex was such a dud. Emily had only just experienced the hands of a woman on her skin, and now she had to make do with merely imagining them again? How did she find herself in a secret, lesbian, long-distance relationship anyway? And was it even a relationship?
She was getting pretty riled up and picked up the pace. She’d need to look into that gym membership her mother kept talking about. She was practically jogging when she turned the corner to her street. She slowed down when she caught sight of her building and let her body relax, anticipating Archie’s high-pitched meows upon her entering the flat. Maybe she was turning into a crazy cat lady.
Emily’s flat took up the two top floors of a terraced house that belonged to her family. Her cousin Laura occupied the ground and basement floors. Who was that hunched against the facade? Not Seth, Laura’s boyfriend who always lost his keys, Emily hoped. She didn’t like him—or better put, he didn’t like her so much anymore since she’d broken up with his best buddy Jasper a month before their wedding. She could hardly blame him for that, but still, she absolutely didn’t feel like having to engage him in small talk if even for a minute or two.
Upon closer inspection, that wasn’t a man’s figure. Emily blinked once, twice. Was she dreaming? She broke back into a jog, her heart hammering frantically in her chest, and not because of the sudden change in pace she subjected her feet to.
“Hey stranger,” Marianne said, half her face covered by the collar of a thick overcoat.
“Oh my god.” Emily dropped her purse on the floor, shook off her disbelief, and wrapped her arms around Marianne.
“Surprise,�
�� Marianne whispered in her ear.
MARIANNE
The tears that hadn’t come when she’d visited Ingrid’s grave, now found a way out easily, wetting Emily’s hair and coat. She still had the same effect on her, ridding her of years of guilt and shame in an instant.
“I missed you so much.” Emily held on tight. They’d never hugged with so many layers of clothing between them, and it was so cold out on the street.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Marianne wiped away most of the tears with the back of her hand while she let go of Emily.
“Yes, yes,” Emily stuttered while scrambling for her bag, and Marianne thought it was the most adorable sight she’d ever seen.
Marianne took a deep breath while Emily fumbled with the key in the lock. Her plan obviously had not missed its effect.
“I can’t believe it,” Emily rambled on as they climbed up the stairs. Once there, she had another lock to struggle with. Her hands were trembling so hard, she didn’t manage to slip the key in.
“I’ll do it.” Marianne put her hand on Emily’s and took the key from her. She let them in and they were greeted by the cutest ginger kitten. He jumped up and down and tried to climb up their legs.
Marianne crouched down to pet him, but Emily didn’t agree.
“Hey.” She seemed to have recovered from the shock. “I know he’s a furry little casanova, but humans first.”
Marianne smiled up at her, lust and happiness and pure joy bursting through her veins. She shot up from kneeling next to the kitten, quickly got rid of her coat, and pushed Emily against the door.
“You were right all along,” she told her as she pulled at the buttons of her jacket. “We have to try.”
Emily just looked at her with hungry eyes. A look that sent a bolt of lightning straight up Marianne’s spine. She needed to feel skin, needed to disappear into this moment of reunion. They could talk later.
“Don’t you dare go slow now,” Emily whispered, her voice just ragged breaths.
Marianne yanked Emily’s overcoat off her, tore at the navy pin-striped blazer she wore underneath, and started undoing the buttons of her starched white blouse. Her clothes may have been different, her hair styled for a corporate life, but her eyes were the same, and the skin underneath the layers of fabric, although definitely paler than when Marianne had last seen it, once released, felt like home.
Marianne paused before launching herself at Emily’s bra. She took her time to take in the sight of a blushing Emily, sandwiched between her and the door. She wore a simple white bra with a bit of lace trimming around the top edge. Her face was make-up free, and rightly so because she didn’t need any cosmetics to enhance it.
“You’re beautiful,” Marianne said as she pulled the double layer of jumpers over her head, exposing a faded black Velvet Underground t-shirt underneath. Emily’s hands lunged for it instantly.
Marianne let her tear it off her. She didn’t wear a bra.
Emily seemed to have trouble suppressing a smile, but even more than that, her face displayed pure lust.
Marianne pressed her naked chest against Emily and kissed her. She tasted vaguely of coffee and mints, and everything fell away. The doubts, the hesitation, the reasons for not booking a flight immediately.
Marianne trailed her hands from Emily’s neck, over her throat, to her bra, where she lifted a soft breast out of its cup. Her fingers found a nipple and squeezed. She wanted to taste it, but couldn’t tear her lips away from Emily’s just yet.
Emily’s hands found their way between their bodies and, in her more gentler way, rolled her fingers over Marianne’s nipple.
She felt it so clearly then, rushing through her, that she couldn’t hold in the words. Marianne broke their lip lock and regarded Emily. Her lips were parted and her eyes half-lidded, but the blue still shone through.
“I’m so in love with you,” she said, and it didn’t feel foolish or rushed.
“Oh,” Emily groaned, as if Marianne had just pinched her nipple again. She pulled her close, her hands in Marianne’s hair, and kissed her with such fervour it didn’t leave any room for doubt about how she felt about that.
“Fuck me, please,” Emily hissed into Marianne’s mouth.
“Really?” Marianne smiled. “That’s your response?”
“It’s the only one I have right now.” Emily zipped down her trousers, pure need blasting from her eyes.
Marianne understood that, in certain moments, it was the only way in which to express love.
She kissed Emily again, their tongues meeting for long seconds, teeth sinking into sucked-in lips, only coming up for air because they had to. Marianne’s right hand made its way down to the waistband of Emily’s panties, but Emily was impatient, curled her fingers around Marianne’s wrist and guided her hand all the way down in one go.
There’s wet and there’s wetter, Marianne thought, as her fingers met Emily’s drenched pussy lips. She didn’t tease, just plunged in, two fingers at once.
“Ah.” Emily banged the back of her head against the door, which made the kitten at their feet mewl in distress. “Oh god.”
Marianne thrust up and down, her movements restricted by Emily’s panties, which didn’t seem to bother Emily much. She saw no reason to draw it out too long, Emily had waited long enough. She let her thumb flick over Emily’s clit and the effect was instantaneous.
Marianne tried to remember if she’d ever seen a need so big, a desire so on display in someone’s eyes, etched on the mask of their face, expressed through the trembling of muscles.
She stroked and circled, flicked and thrust, until Emily’s body twitched against hers and went still for an instant, after which she collapsed in Marianne’s arms.
EMILY
“I love you,” Emily said with the last of her strength. The climax had been as strong as it had been quick, ripping through her like an electric current—three weeks worth of sexual tension, amped up by topless phone pictures and raunchy texts, steamrolling through her body. She needed to sit down.
“I’ve got you.” Marianne curved an arm under Emily’s armpits and held her up. “God, I’ve missed you.”
Emily drew in a few deep breaths before speaking. “I can’t believe you just turned up like that.” They still stood huddled together against the door, Archie trying to jump up their legs.
“Would you like me to go?” Emily felt Marianne’s lips stretch into a smile against the skin of her neck.
“I want you to stay forever, more like.” She pulled her close, determined to never let go of her again.
“Maybe you should feed your cat.” Marianne kissed her on the bottom of her chin. “What a feisty little thing… he reminds me of someone.”
“How long are you staying?” Emily hoped in vain that Marianne had booked an open-ended ticket, but, despite not having met her that long ago, already knew her well enough.
“Two weeks. I can’t close the Lodge for much longer than that.”
“Where are you staying?”
“A hotel in Queensway. I always—”
“Please, come stay with me. If you leave in two weeks, I need you here with me until then.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” Marianne pecked her on the cheek. “Shall we sit for a minute?” She stepped away from Emily—and already felt too far away—to pick up her t-shirt. She quickly flung it over her head before picking up Archie.
“But I haven’t touched you yet.”
Marianne shot her a wide grin. “Unlike you, I can wait.”
“We’ll see about that in a moment,” Emily shot back. She headed into the kitchen to fill Archie’s plate with fresh food. After washing her hands, she joined Marianne in the sitting area.
“Posh place for an early twenty-something.”
“If you have to come from a moneyed, conservative, stiff upper-lipped family, you may as well enjoy the few perks it has to offer.”
“Speaking of which… when will you introduce your older
lesbian lover to them?”
“If I’d known you were coming I would have organised afternoon tea, obviously.”
Marianne stretched out her arms and pulled Emily toward her. Emily only now realised her chest was only covered by a topsy-turvy bra and her zipper was still open. She landed with the back of her head on Marianne’s thigh, looking up into her wondrous yellow-speckled brown eyes, giving Marianne’s hands free reign over her exposed torso.
“This is real, right? I’m not hallucinating?”
“Is that an invitation to pinch you?” Marianne smiled down at her, her hand already grazing the swell of her breast.
“As if you need one.”
“True.” Marianne bent down and kissed Emily on the nose as she slipped a hand under the cup of her bra and found her nipple.
“Aw,” Emily mock-complained. Heat surged in her belly again. She couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to feel Marianne’s flesh tremble at the touch of her finger, needed to taste her between the legs.
She pushed herself off Marianne’s leg and flipped over on her knees. “Enough of that already.” She painted a wicked grin on her face. “Time to make another pussy meow.”
Marianne chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, baby.”
The unexpected term of endearment threw Emily off her game somewhat, but the sight of Marianne’s nipples poking through the flimsy fabric of her t-shirt was enough to keep her focused on the task at hand. She slipped her palm under Marianne’s thigh and pulled so she landed flat on her back on the couch.
“Should I not take my shoes off?” Marianne asked. “Wouldn’t want to get your Laura Ashley sofa dirty.”
Emily crawled on top of her. “I’ll shut you up soon enough.” She hoisted Marianne’s t-shirt up and exposed her breasts. They were tanned—no lines—and Emily wondered if she’d been back to ‘their’ beach. She leaned over and took a nipple between her lips, sucking it into her mouth. After flicking her tongue over it, she looked up and found Marianne’s eyes. “Let’s see just exactly how long you can wait.”
Summer's End Page 9