"Find a way to us on your own, then," Ixazaluoh says. Her lips skim across the join of Abby's shoulder and neck. "We are immortal. We are patient."
Her left hand slides down Abby's stomach. Abby follows it with her own and fancies she can feel the slight press of the raised flesh of her tattoo against the skin of her pubis, prickly with new hair. The texture difference is electrifying.
Ixazaluoh curls her fingers into Abby, pressing up sweetly, easily. Abby is still so wet.
Abby gasps, arching back to grind against Ixazaluoh's fingers, which are stroking over her g-spot, her thumb circling her clit but never quite touching. Xaman leans down and kisses her nipples, first one, then the other, then licks the sweaty undersides of her breasts, leaving god-cool breath in his wake to make them pinch up with the cold and the sensation.
"Yeah, okay, okay," Abby moans, rocking between them. "I'll come back, I'll come—ungk!" It takes her a while to find her words again, after she's stopped gyrating in Ixazaluoh's lap, and her breath has returned. "Jesus, lay off or I'll never be able to walk outta here. You guys are gonna kill me."
"Please don't say that one's name here," Xaman says into her mouth.
"Right, sure, right," Abby sighs.
"You make us strong," Xaman says. "Stronger than we've been in a long time. Perhaps even strong enough to bring you back here ourselves, come the next solstice."
"Keep our totems on you, and render each of your orgasms to me," Ixazaluoh whispers in Abby's ear. "Send them to me."
Abby shivers all over. "Yeah," she says. "Hell yeah, I'd be up for that."
Ixazaluoh laughs and buries her face in Abby's hair, licking tenderly at the nape of her neck. "You have pleased me greatly, Abby," Ixazaluoh says. "I am so proud of you."
"Well, you guys throw one hell of a party," Abby admits. And then, because it's been a night for courage, Abby adds: "I love you."
"And I you, my own. Now… close your eyes, Abigail," Ixazaluoh says.
Abby trusts her lover, and Abby obeys her goddess, so she does.
☼
When Abby opens her eyes again, she is back in her room in the Riviera Luxuria. She is laying on top of the duvet on the bed. She is sticky with sweat and semen, gritty with the fine gravel and dirt, with plant matter and lip gloss. She sighs and stretches, content, so fucking content that she could fall asleep right there.
But then she thinks of matted hair, and being stuck to the sheets in the morning, and forces her body up and into the decadent Jacuzzi tub.
As the bubbles build into mounds, Abby presses the base of her thumb, right over the waterfall tattoo. Satisfaction lopes through her veins when she brushes it carefully with a knuckle. Soft, quiet satisfaction.
When Abby became a travel writer, it was for this. For water. For women. For experiences. For learning and for sharing and for cherishing. For discovering something new, and not claiming it, not conquering it, not exploiting it. For discovering something new to her, and old to the world, and just letting it exist. Revelling in that existence.
Abby has never believed in much of anything.
Now she believes in gods. And herself.
When the tub is full, Abby slips into the water with a contented sigh. Closing her eyes, she slips her hand between her legs, her tattoo pressed against her clit, and smiles as she begins to stroke.
She's never felt so at home before, so relaxed—any other time she'd fear falling asleep and drowning, but she's just promised herself to the goddess of water and women. She'll be fine.
The gods protect what is theirs.
☼
Peggy Barnett is the erotica pseudonym of a science fiction and fantasy author. She currently lives in Toronto, and is quite tickled by her first foray into the realm of the explicit. It’s a lot more fun when she gets to write the whole sex scene.
☼
Dear Abby Page 7