by Harper Bliss
Amanda’s hair clings to her face and shoulders in dark strands. Drops of water slide down her skin to places I’ll want to explore very soon. I reach for the tap behind her and turn it off.
“Clean enough to proceed?” she asks. Mischief glints in her eyes, but her face is serious. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth. Her nipples point forward and underneath the wet layer of water, her skin crinkles up in goosebumps.
“You’re gorgeous,” I want to say, but the words don’t come—they somehow die on the way out of my throat—so instead of saying it out loud, I lunge at her and draw her near. The smell of her sweat has been replaced by the scent of her soap. I start licking drops of water off her neck until my tongue reaches her mouth.
The kiss that follows leaves me trembling against her. It’s full of everything I’ve always wanted from her—passion, lust, and need. This time it’s her turn to take the lead.
“Let’s get you dry.” She cups my chin in her hands and plants a soft kiss on my lips. “You’re shivering.” She leads the way out of the shower, pulls a big towel off a rack on the wall and covers me in it. Gently, she rubs my arms and back dry, but I’m still half-drenched when she quickly soaks up some water from her own body with it before coaxing me towards the bed.
It’s big and plush and—in a flash—I see myself waking up in it in the morning, Amanda’s body glued to my skin.
She backs up on to the bed until she’s fully on it. I take in the scene. Amanda’s wet hair dripping all over, her naked breasts heaving with the force of her quickened breath, her hand reaching out for me. I feel moist heat spreading through my body and throbbing between my legs.
I take her hand and let her drag me onto the bed. I kneel in front of her and her hands reach for my breasts. While inching forward to straddle her, she pinches my nipple between her fingers and a white flash of pure lust crackles in my blood.
Moisture trickles down my thighs as I spread my legs wide over hers. Amanda replaces her fingers with her lips and sucks my nipple deep into her mouth. I can’t but throw my head back, my body already shattering with ecstasy. With my nipple still firmly lodged between her lips, I push her body down into the pillows. She rakes her nails along my thighs and my body shudders as if a jolt of pure electricity shoots from every single one of her fingertips.
I bend my legs further and my burning pussy kisses the skin of her upper thighs. The connection seems to trigger something in Amanda and she releases my nipple from her mouth, draws my face in and slips her tongue in my mouth. The occasional friction of her flesh against my clit is enough to reduce me to nothing but a puddle of desire, but, at that point, I still have enough control to push myself up.
Amanda does not agree though, and, with her hands on my hips, she bucks up against me, pasting her body to my feverish lips. It’s as if, now that she has touched pussy for the first time, she needs much more of it—and I know exactly how that feels. So I give her more. I slide myself up and down along her moist, muscly thighs, careful not to apply too much pressure to my clit. As wonderful as it feels, I want her lips on my clit when I come, not her legs.
Gradually, I free myself from her grasp and start slithering down, kissing every inch of skin on the journey. I pause to bathe her nipples in my mouth, tasting how hard they are for me. Her body ripples underneath me as I make my way further down. My tongue catches a few last drops of water from her stomach and when my lips reach the edge of her trimmed bush, her body tenses.
I lock eyes with her to check if she’s still with me—if she still wants this as much as she claimed earlier. Then her hands are in my hair, pressing me down in the direction of her pussy. Her legs are still closed beneath me and I don’t let my lips wander lower than just above the hood of her clit. It’s enough to send her body spasming and squirming beneath me.
I lift myself off of her to take position between her legs. She draws up her knees and spreads wide. When I lower my head, I instantly smell the heady scent of her arousal. Her breath comes ragged and her body jerks this way and that. There’s no more time for postponing now. This is it.
Slowly, I drag my tongue all the way up her pussy lips, stopping at her clit. I repeat the process, slipping my tongue between her wet folds a little deeper every time. She tastes tangy and fruity and I know I’m already addicted to the smell of pure woman emanating from her.
“Good god,” she moans and I take it as a signal to go one step further. I’ve waited for this moment as well, and I take a deep breath before gently touching my tongue to her clit. Her body goes rigid for a fraction of a second, then relaxes beneath the touch of my tongue. I give her clit a few tentative licks before swirling my tongue around it and sucking it all the way between my lips. With her clit inside my mouth, I flick my tongue from left to right, until her muscles tremble so hard, I have to let go. But I’m not done with her yet.
I look down at her glistening pussy lips, at how they seem to open themselves up for me. I readjust my position so I lean on one elbow, giving free reign to my right hand. I find her eyes at the moment the tip of my finger circles around her entrance. Her pussy seems to suck me in and I don’t tease her any longer. One finger slips inside the wet, moist heat of her pussy and, in response, I feel my own pussy releasing a gulp of warm juice.
While I add another finger, I lower my lips and my tongue connects with her clit.
“Oh yes,” she moans, and I slip my fingers deep inside while my tongue dances over her clit. I quickly settle into a rhythm of licks and strokes until her body goes completely still for an instant.
“Oh god yes, yes,” she cries as the walls of her pussy contract around my fingers. A warm heat washes over me as Amanda comes all over my fingers. Her nails dig into my skull and I thrust deeper, until she can’t take it anymore and pushes my head away, then pulls it up.
Her body has gone limp when our faces meet.
“That…” I wait until she catches her breath. “…was every inch as spectacular as I imagined it to be.”
“Oh, so you’ve been imagining things.” I kiss her on the temple. “How presumptuous of you, boss.”
She smiles lazily while dragging a fingertip over my cheek. “What have you been imagining, Jo?”
“Who, Miss? Me, Miss?” I paint a surprised expression on my face.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” In a flash, she topples me over until my back hits the mattress. “I’ll find out for myself.”
Her knee is lodged between my legs and it feels so hot down there, I fear I might burn it with the sheer force of my lust for her. I have no more repartee because I’m lost beneath her gaze, beneath that look of pure longing in her eyes. She drops her body to the side, draping herself half over me.
“You have the most exquisite body.” Her fingers travel over my breasts to my abs. “I may have to ask you to start wearing long sleeves again, especially on Fridays.” Her grin is wicked and sly as her finger dips down between my legs. She tickles my inner thighs while her eyes linger on mine.
“Please,” I say, because I can’t wait any longer. I need more of her, need her inside.
She licks her lips and her fingers zone in, stroking along my thigh, through the wetness clinging everywhere.
Her eyes narrow to slits as she pushes two fingers inside of me.
It feels as if a month-long thirst is being quenched. As if every wish I ever had has been granted. Her fingers move inside of me unhurried and I arch my back to push myself towards her.
“You’re so gloriously wet.” Her eyes are still on me, wonder dancing in the green of her irises. Her wet hair clings to her skin and her breasts bounce with her movement.
And it’s all I need to let go. Her voice. Her eyes. Her fingers inside of me, rocking me to my core. She intensifies the pace of her strokes, meeting my need, reading me, and I go with her. I go where she takes me.
“Come for me, Jo,” she says, and I do. It crashes through me, unstoppably, for her. Lightnin
g in my bones and thunder in my blood. My climax makes me shiver in my skin, makes my pussy clamp down on her fingers, makes my eyes moist with tears.
Even after my muscles relax she keeps her fingers inside, as if she doesn’t want to let go and stay in the moment. Satisfaction glows beneath my skin as I pull her close and kiss her until she finally lets her fingers slip out of me.
“This was without a doubt the best run of my life,” she whispers in my ear before wrapping her body around mine. “Let’s keep on training, though.”
Suddenly exhausted, I sink into the mattress, Amanda’s skin all over mine, her hair in my mouth and her scent in my nose. “Whatever you say, boss.”
* * *
I wake up in a panic with cramps in my calves. My eyes scan the room for an alarm clock, but before I have the chance to check the time, Amanda’s arms draw me in for a hug.
“Morning,” she breathes into my ear, her teeth already nipping at my earlobe. “I hope you have nowhere to be today.”
I turn to face her. Her eyes are barely open and her hair is a tangled mess framing her face on the pillow, but she looks ready to eat. “Hey.” My voice is a mere whisper. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?” Her fingers trail along my spine, arousing my sleepy body.
“Don’t you have a marathon to run?” My lips quirk into a smile.
“I have my mind set on a different kind of marathon this weekend.” One of her fingers has reached a sensitive spot on my buttocks and I’m already melting.
“But what will you say on Monday when someone at work asks how your weekend was.” I push my pelvis against her, wanting to feel as much of her warm skin as possible.
“Depends. The weekend has only just begun.” Her fingertip travels down and slips between my legs. Any shyness—or reservations about sex with another woman—on Amanda’s part seems to have been dissolved by the night because her finger goes straight for my pussy lips. “I think it’s going to be a wet one.”
“I don’t mean to rain on your parade, boss.” The tip of her finger circles my entrance. “But I have training at ten.” My coach Stan does not accept any excuses.
“Can I write you a note?” She slips in an inch. Her finger can’t go further in the position we’re in.
I have to regroup before I can reply. “No,” I pant. “But think of how toned my arms will look when I get back.”
“I can think of plenty of arm toning exercises that don’t require you leaving my bed.” She shoots me a wicked grin, retracts her finger and pulls me on top of her. “Spread your legs.”
I straddle her, my arms stretched on either side of her face.
“Do a push-up every time my finger slips inside of you.” Her eyes sparkle and she doesn’t give me time to reflect. “It’s the perfect exercise.” As promised, her finger enters.
When I bend my elbows to perform the required push-up, the angle with which her finger probes me changes and a burst of pleasure sparks in my blood.
“One,” she says, her voice unfocused and her other hand clasping my right tricep.
She thrusts again and it’s hard to keep my balance when I press down. My face hovers over hers and her nails dig into my muscle as I flex.
“Two.” The angle of her finger inside of me shifts again and as I push myself up, she adds another.
We both lose count as she fucks me faster and harder. Our breath meets as I come down and her nails leave marks on my skin. My body transforms into a mass of pure joy. My arms tremble and my shoulders hurt while my pussy burns around her fingers. All I see are her green eyes and the astonished expression on her face as she keeps upping the pace until I can’t keep up and crash down on top her. Her fingers burrow inside and she takes me until I’m nothing but a shuddering, sweaty mess covering her body.
“I suppose I could call in sick,” I stammer once I’ve found my voice again.
“Excellent plan.” Her hands are in my hair, caressing my scalp. “As long as you never pull that trick at work.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” I kiss her on the shoulder. “Have you met my boss?”
Younger Than Yesterday
The garden looks beautiful under the setting sun, gorgeous but empty. A lone cricket launches into its raspy evening song, just like every night. The sameness of the days is comforting but sometimes, after dozing off for a brief moment, when I open my eyes, I expect him to sit across from me, his lips curled into a playful smile.
“You’re getting old, darling,” he would say. “And I had planned to keep you up all night.”
I put my book down, trying to make it last longer because it’s the only one I brought. Gazing into the black-green of the pine trees hedging off the garden, I let my mind wander freely. I allow myself to think about Michael and the times we spent here. This is his house, after all.
The loud jeer of my mobile startles me. So much for reminiscing. You can’t really escape life anywhere anymore these days, no matter how remote your Tuscan refuge.
“Rose, my dear,” John’s voice beams into my ear. “How are you?”
“Looking forward to hosting you and your lovely wife next week, as ever.” Solitude is good, necessary even, but Helen and John’s annual visit is always a cathartic trip down memory lane. John and Michael were best friends and John, although repeated hundreds of times, has the best stories to tell.
“Would you mind terribly if our Catherine came along? Her holiday plans with Jenny have fallen through and she’s in desperate need of some healing sunshine.” John’s always been a good sport about Catherine’s misfortunes in romance. Most fathers aren’t half as apt at picking up the pieces of their daughter’s broken heart.
“Of course not. Tell Cat she’s most welcome.”
Despite Michael being Cat’s brother’s godfather, she was his favourite member of the Archer clan. Every year, when John and Helen visited and we sat around the teak garden table, glass in hand and brain pleasantly fogged by alcohol, he would look at the old oak tree in the furthest corner of the yard and recount the story of how Cat climbed all the way up and broke her wrist on her way down.
“She was a fearless child,” he would say. “Just like me.” He’d peer deep into Helen’s glazed-over eyes and taunt her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was mine.” He’d wink and Helen would never know what to say. “Billy stood watching at the bottom of the tree as his sister conquered it with her tiny little hands and feet, agile as a cat. Good name choice by the way.” He’d smack John on the thigh. “And then she went flying. It must have only taken two seconds but I remember it in slow-motion. Her red t-shirt flashing between branches on the way down. The soft thud and crack with which she landed on the grass. The slight tremble of her bottom lip as she fought back the tears.” He’d shake his head and smile. “Such a rascal.”
“I should have known there and then she wasn’t like other girls,” Helen had said the last summer we were all together at the villa, two months before Michael’s heart attack. She was never good at hiding the disappointment in her voice.
“Honestly, Helen,” Michael butted in, louder than was necessary but unable to conceal his anger. “A little acceptance goes a long way.”
Spurred on by the alcohol in her blood, Helen lashed out. “You may think she’s yours. But she’s not, so mind your own business.”
John, always fiercely protective of his youngest child, rose to his feet and shot them both his well-practiced headmaster look. “Enough.” That usually put a stop to the perpetual row between Michael and Helen about Cat’s sexuality. Frankly, I never understood what all the fuss was about, then again, Helen has more than a decade on me—more than ten years to grow more ignorant, even when it concerns her own daughter.
Long after I put down the phone I contemplate the special relationship Michael had with Cat. They were always whispering in a corner, up to no good, plotting ways to get on Helen’s nerves.
Cat never goes shopping with Helen. They don’t trade sponge cak
e recipes or make-up tips. Instead, she smokes cigars with her dad and Billy and played football with Michael until it got so dark they couldn’t see the ball anymore. Always rowdy and giggling, testing Helen’s patience when they sat down in her beige couch with grass-stained shorts.
“If only you could see her now,” I say to the empty space inhabiting Michael’s chair. “You’d be proud. Often heart-broken, but definitely proud.”
* * *
“Have you really never considered another man?” John asks, his face earnest and his intentions good. The question doesn’t come completely out of the blue. He’s been trying to set me up with a new member of his tennis club for months, but I haven’t been able to muster up any interest. I tear my gaze away from Cat’s naked shoulder, unsure of how long it has lingered there. She’s been quite withdrawn since they arrived. Nursing a relationship hangover can do that to a person, but her dad’s question seems to peak her interest. I shoot her a small smile when she looks at me, curiosity brimming in her eyes. She responds with a wink and suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“I’ve dated.” It feels so incredibly silly to say that. “But you know better than anyone else Michael’s shoes are hard to fill.”
“Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way.” John’s voice wavers. He loved Michael just as much as I did. “It’s not about replacing Michael. It’s about companionship. You’re too young to go through life alone.” Every year, I get the same speech from John, but this one has come mighty early. They’ve only been here a day.
“If it makes you feel any better, dear John, I’ll come watch one of your and Lionel’s tennis matches when I’m back in London.” I give him a weary smile.
“Wonderful,” Helen cooes as if it’s a done deal. “I’ll make cucumber sandwiches and we can all have tea afterwards.”
John draws his hands up in defence. “This is hardly about me. I only want you to be happy.”