French Kissing: Season One

by Harper Bliss

  Juliette was always too preoccupied with enjoying Nadia’s moves to care much about her own clumsy attempts at bopping to the music. On the dance floor, she would always be in Nadia’s shadow—exactly where she wanted to be.

  Just like so many pleasures of their early days, dancing had taken a back seat. Life got in the way. They became too old for clubbing, chose wine-laden dinners over dance floors with beats that throbbed in their ears for hours after leaving. Coming here tonight, was like stepping back in time.

  Nadia was already at it, twisting her hips this way and that, turning heads in the younger crowd, because nothing on this world was sexier than a woman in her forties finding a missing piece of herself again. Juliette could tell by the look on Nadia’s face, the way her features relaxed and her lips naturally curved up into a smile, her eyes half-closed. In that moment, they were both happy.

  When Nadia beckoned Juliette to come closer, to dance right next to her, hips glued together, a shudder of lust ran up her spine. She realised that with the frantic love-making they’d embarked on of late, foreplay had become a thing of the past. Until now. This was foreplay of the sexiest, most enticing kind.

  Juliette wouldn’t last long.

  She ground her hips against Nadia’s backside, not the way teenagers did on TV these days, but slow and sensual and with all the right emotions lurking behind the action. With one hand she grabbed Nadia by the shoulder, while the other scooped the hair away from her neck and ear. Juliette leaned forward, hips still rolling, and whispered, “Come outside with me.”

  Nadia turned around, bliss portrayed in every line of her face, her eyes sparkling in the disco lights. “One more song.”

  It was a tune Juliette had never heard before, with staccato female vocals, maybe a bit too high-pitched, but it didn’t matter because Nadia was grooving again. The mesmerising appeal of it didn’t lie so much in her movements or the way she tilted her head back, but in the complete effortlessness and supreme confidence she displayed.

  Gulps of hot, wet anticipation already unleashed between Juliette’s thighs, but she waited patiently, ogling Nadia, not having eyes for anyone else. It was just the two of them. The way it should be.

  “Come on,” Nadia whispered, the sultriness of her movements leaking into her voice. “Let’s get some air.”

  NADIA

  Nadia knew nothing turned Juliette on more than watching her dance. She’d be like putty in her hands the instant they found that secluded spot in the alley, with a glimpse of the Seine, just behind the club. She was tipsy enough to forget what she had done for now, the thoughts in her head blurred into almost not being there anymore. It was easy to ignore that nagging little voice coming at her from the back of her mind when she was on the dance floor, a thrill she’d, seemingly, so easily forgotten about.

  It was early and the alley was deserted, something that would surely change over the course of the night as more women succumbed to the call of too much alcohol, pheromones and dance floor seductions.

  Nadia stopped and turned to face Juliette, their fingers still intertwined. About to take the initiative, as usual, she was surprised when instead, Juliette pushed her against the coarse brick wall—possibly the first time in her life Nadia had felt the roughness of this particular, well-used wall against her barely protected skin.

  The alley was scarcely lit, mostly shadows with a bit of fractured light coming from a street lamp on the corner, but Juliette’s eyes burned so brightly it simultaneously ignited a fire in the pit of Nadia’s stomach and racked her with icy, inescapable guilt. Nadia had no choice but to let the moment seize her, to fall into Juliette’s arms—no commands, no control—and let her be who she wanted to be then. The woman on top, the one in charge, the person telling her when to come, and how.

  The night turned to liquid around her as Juliette hoisted up her dress—a flowy, deep red one that was as flimsy as the breeze catching it. Juliette’s lips were on her neck, moist, sucking hard, and then on her collar bone, kissing their way down. Surely she wouldn’t expose her breasts? No? Yes. She scooped them out of the low-cut top of the dress, baring them to the night, her lips already wrapping themselves around a hard nipple. The early summer air swept over her skin, leaving it in goosebumps. Juliette’s other hand made its way under her dress, fumbling with the panel of her panties, pushing it aside.

  There were no words, only sounds. Chatter from the street. Cars humming in the distance. Their breath caught in their throats as Juliette entered with one finger, brusque in its swiftness but tender in intent. Nadia opened her eyes to the sky—no stars, only diffused summer darkness—and felt Juliette inside of her. This was different, almost new. In this alley, on this night, after a dance of seduction as well as rekindling. It was love and lust and sadness and memories all colliding and melting into a burst of energy in her blood.

  It wasn’t how Juliette added more fingers, increased the pace, and sucked the nipple between her teeth harder, that made Nadia’s knees buckle. In the moment of surrender, when she gave herself up to Juliette for that brief instant of nothingness and everything at the same time, Nadia knew they would make it. She knew because they had love, they had this, would always have it.

  Her muscles trembled as she stood panting against the wall. “Jesus christ, who are you and what have you done to my partner?”

  Juliette’s eyes were glazed over, as if she didn’t know what had just happened, what had come over her. It took a while before she could speak. “We should go dancing more often.” She regarded her fingers—the ones she’d used on Nadia.

  “If you call this dancing.” Nadia grabbed Juliette’s hand and wrapped her lips around her fingers, sucking off her own juices, her eyes locked on Juliette’s.

  Juliette curled the fingers of her other hand around Nadia’s wrist and gripped tight. “Come home with me tonight.”

  Nadia let Juliette’s fingers slip from her mouth and, with the scent of herself on her lips, said, “Okay.”

  Juliette’s eyes grew and the joy reflected in them ignited that twang of guilt inside of Nadia again. She took Nadia’s hand and coaxed her out of the alley. “Then I’ll wait my turn.”

  STEPH

  Nadia and Juliette were fucking away their differences somewhere outside and Claire and Margot only had eyes for each other. So much for a night out amongst friends. Not that Steph minded that much. She came to Les Pêches on her own almost every weekend. It was the place where she felt most at home—its damp, sweaty air like pure oxygen in her lungs.

  She knew all the bouncers by name, and Melanie behind the bar, who slipped her lemon drops until her eyes burned and she could barely walk straight.

  An extremely attractive couple had been ogling her for the past fifteen minutes, making no secret of their intent. Steph had seen them around before, but had always ignored their advances. She believed that, by definition, amongst lesbians, threesomes were always messy and she didn’t want to get caught in the middle—both literally and figuratively. But tonight, her head overflowing with tales of Nadia’s betrayal and Dominique’s seductive messages, she decided not to care. Maybe in the middle was exactly where she should be.

  The woman doing all the heavy lifting—the eye contact at regular intervals, the strategically placed hand on her girlfriend’s bare shoulder—was tall and blonde and tom-boyish and definitely something Steph could go for. Her partner had dark, curly hair falling to her shoulders in waves, her lips painted a peculiar, almost purple colour. Both dressed in the lesbian clubbing uniform of jeans and tank top, they displayed enough arm porn between them to take Steph’s mind off Dominique Laroche. At least it was worth a try.

  She made her way through a throng of high femmes by the bar and headed for the ladies room, passing through the couple’s personal space just enough to let them know she was considering their offer. Her mind only half on it—the image of the delicious glint in Dominique’s eyes just before she was about to go down on her still too lodged in her memory—sh
e wasn’t going home with anyone tonight before some serious vetting.

  When Steph exited the stall, after a short but enraging debate with herself whether to check the messages on her phone or not, and ultimately deciding not to, the couple awaited her just outside the hallway leading to the washrooms.

  “Hey,” Blondie said. She was so tall, she almost towered over Steph. “I got us some lemon drops.” Obviously, she’d done this before. Offering Steph the shot glass, she let her finger linger on her knuckles a fraction longer than necessary. She sported a sideways cut fringe that covered half her face, but when she tilted her head back to drink, her green eyes and high cheekbones exposed, another flashback dashed its way through Steph’s mind. Dominique’s bare throat as she drank, the confidence in her eyes when they landed back on Steph.

  Steph knocked back the shot and was eager for another. The woman appeared to possess the power of prediction because as soon as Steph set down the glass, she handed her another. Or maybe she needed some liquid courage herself.

  The liquor boosted Steph’s self-confidence. She looked at the two women and, usually, in a situation like this, when she was drinking with someone she was interested in going home with, the booze would blur her mind in a way that she could see it already. A film projecting the outcome of the night would play in her mind’s eye, uncensored. She’d see herself taking off the other person’s clothes, visualised the bounce of their breasts as they were freed from undergarments. Only this time, she didn’t see it.

  All she could see, as the alcohol did its work and clouded her blood and her judgement, was Dominique, sat in her sofa, prying a glass of wine from Steph’s hands. Steph had been seduced many times, but this was different. She had no clue why. Maybe it was the chemistry women’s magazines she didn’t read, kept mentioning. That elusive spark that she’d encountered many times but had never managed to trap for much longer than a few dates, the fire already dimming by the second meeting.

  She let her eyes wander around the club, her gaze landing on Claire and Margot whispering in each other’s ear, the very picture of two people falling in love. It warmed and broke her heart at the same time. She was happy for them, but, simultaneously, a sense of hurt, of being denied something very basic and necessary, clung to her. If this was what falling in love really felt like, she’d ignore it happily. But how could she fool herself when, apparently, the simplest of pecks of Claire’s lips on Margot’s cheek could make the doctor burst out into such a wide smile?

  “Thanks for the drink,” Steph said. “I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid I have to go.”

  L’Avenue Foch was miles away from Les Pêches, but Steph needed the walk. Maybe she’d sober up before she got there, but she doubted it.

  CLAIRE

  “I think everyone has ditched us,” Margot said, scanning the dance floor.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” Somehow, the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of other women, but hunched so close together, made Claire feel even friskier than she had been the previous night, when she’d kissed Margot goodbye in her doorframe, staring at the elevator for a long time after its doors had slid shut behind her.

  “Sure,” Margot whispered in her ear, her lips lingering just below. Claire could feel her heartbeat pulse between her legs. “Let’s go somewhere more quiet.” Claire fervently hoped Margot meant her place, which wasn’t that far from the club.

  If Nadia and Juliette had hoped for some nostalgic night out, the five of them going crazy on the dance floor, they’d ruined any chance of that when they left barely an hour after they’d arrived.

  “Where’s Steph?” Nadia’s voice suddenly sounded from behind them.

  Claire turned to face Nadia, whose dress looked dishevelled enough to give away what they’d been up to—not that Claire didn’t already know. Between them and Steph disappearing, she felt like a granny amongst a bunch of teenagers.

  “Who knows?” She shrugged. Juliette had the biggest grin on her face. If everyone was getting some, then so was she. “We’re heading out.”

  Juliette nodded, indicating she understood. Nadia was already making eyes at the dance floor again, ready for round two. They kissed each other goodbye and Claire and Margot exited the club.

  “Where to?” Claire asked as they stood on the curb, a mild breeze whipping up Margot’s hair.

  “Shall we walk to mine?” Margot curled her arm into Claire’s. “It’s such a gorgeous night.”

  Yes please. “Sure,” Claire said, trying to sound casual, but mentally high-fiving herself. Come to think of it, her behaviour was starting to resemble a hormonal teenager’s as well. “I’m betting Nadia won’t make it home tonight.”

  “We’ll see,” Margot, still the voice of reason, said. “No matter where she sleeps tonight, she’ll be at the club for the next few hours.”

  Claire wasn’t sure what to make of that, if it meant Margot was starting to ‘feel ready’ or if it was her way of saying Claire shouldn’t expect an invitation to stay the night.

  But the night air was mild, the Boulevard Saint-Germain quiet, and, if she squinted and used a bit of imagination, she could spot some stars in the sky. Claire straightened the arm Margot had hooked hers through and found her hand. It felt good against hers, cool and steady, its fingers strong. All the blood in Claire’s veins seemed to rush to one place again. She needed to focus on something else if she wasn’t to slam Margot against the nearest wall and thrust herself upon those fingers.

  “Where do you get those leathers?” It was the first subject that sprang to Claire’s tipsy, one-track mind.

  Margot chuckled, her giggles echoing faintly in the darkness. “Why? Would you like a pair?”

  Until she’d met Margot, Claire had never really been a leather kind of girl. “No, I don’t know, you wear them so well, I was just wondering if you have them tailor-made?” Any trace of keeping her cool slid away from her like an oily fish would from her hands.

  Margot squeezed Claire’s fingers before replying, indicating—she hoped—that she understood she was babbling, and the reason why. “I get them from a shop in Bastille. I’ll take you some time. I bet you’d look hot in a pair of leather trousers.” She squeezed Claire’s hand again, not helping with that rush of blood.

  They approached the side street on which Margot’s building was located. Despite not having been there yet herself, Claire had gotten the details from Juliette—including the whereabouts of its exclusive location.

  “This is me.” Margot stopped abruptly.

  “Am I just walking you home or are you inviting me up for a nightcap?” For a split second, Claire was afraid of Margot’s reply.

  “Not that you haven’t had enough, but I can’t leave you in the street like that.” She punched in the code and opened the door. Claire followed, anticipation building by the second.

  Once upstairs, Claire, despite being mildly drunk, was thoroughly impressed by Margot’s flat. Possibly because of the state she’d been in when she first visited, Juliette hadn’t relayed any information about the size of the place, and its, frankly quite unexpected, plush and cosy interior.

  Claire whistled through her teeth. “Do you rent or own?” This was Paris and real estate conversations were never out of order.

  “I own, but I’m not as well-off as that makes me sound.” Margot kicked off her shoes and put them in what looked like their designated spot by the door. “My parents got it for me and my sister. I bought her half when she got married. She’s more the suburban type.”

  “How generous of them.” Meeting the parents would surely be interesting. Without thinking, Claire heeled off her shoes as well and left them by the door.

  “Mm,” was all Margot said, and then, there they stood. Alone in Margot’s flat. Claire wondered if Margot suffered from the same flush of heat building beneath her skin.

  “Would you like some water?” She flicked a switch and a bank of soft lamps hidden behind a beam in the ceiling lit up, bathing them in
dim, yellow light.

  “No, not really.” Claire reached for Margot’s wrist and pulled her close. They stared into each other eyes for an instant, wordless, before the first kiss.

  The fire stealing through Claire’s flesh this time was much fiercer, much more insistent, than any other time she’d kissed Margot. It shot from her belly to her groin, to every little tip of her fingers. She let her hands roam across Margot’s biceps.

  There was no chasteness about this kiss, no room for doubt about where it was headed, their lips crashing together with a hunger that had been building for days. Until Margot pulled back.

  “What?” The word exited Claire’s mouth without thinking, her guard down completely.

  “I need you to be sober for this.”

  “Are you joking?” Claire pulled Margot closer.

  Margot shook her head. “It’s our first time. I want us to be fully present.”

  “Look, I know we had a few, but we’re hardly off our heads—”

  “You’ll thank me later.” Margot pressed her lips to Claire’s cheekbone.

  Yeah right. “Do you want me to go?” Claire’s heart sank.

  “No, silly.” Margot looked her in the eyes. “You can sleep it off in my bed, but keep your hands to yourself.”

  Fat chance. Claire bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from uttering the words in her head. “Lead the way to your boudoir.” Claire could only hope that Juliette and Nadia were about to truly patch things up, as she didn’t want Nadia arriving at Margot’s place at any time of the day tomorrow. Waiting was good, but her patience was about to run out—especially if she was supposed to sleep next to the hot doctor.