“If we sell a copy to everyone in the league…there are five hundred women in our division alone, and that’s not counting family, friends, coworkers…” Tristan glanced up in thought, her index finger pointing in a way that Cyndy would have welcomed near her warm, moist crotch. Tristan was undeterred by the grumblings of the group. “At say, twenty dollars a pop, that’s a thou right there.” She gathered her curls in a makeshift ponytail and then let it fall. If she tossed her head to and fro, she could pose for a Pantene shampoo commercial. “Let me finish, please.”
“Okay. Quiet down, people,” Cyndy ordered. “Go on.” She stifled a smile because Tristan deserved credit for not letting anyone intimidate her. Fortitude was one quality that Cyndy admired most about Tristan and something that puzzled her a great deal too. Contrary to popular belief, Tristan, the team’s sweetheart, probably didn’t need as much protection as she got. A clap of thunder brought Cyndy back to the brainstorming and she caught the tail end of Tristan’s idea.
“We make it a Butch Cookbook, with recipes for hungry women in a hurry,” Tristan added.
“Let’s have a show of hands.”
A low-flying jet overhead couldn’t drown out the unanimous vote that decided the next fundraiser.
The storm lifted and steam rose off wet grass in the bright sunshine. As long as the players avoided puddles, they were able to remain relatively dry as they walked to their cars.
It was a done deal. They were going to put together a cookbook. The titles ranged from “The Way to a Woman’s Heart,” to “The Morning After Buffet,” Cyndy set up the committee, but let Tris run it. The group met weekly in alternating homes for discussions over beer, chips and dip. ESPN often provided background entertainment. Cyndy found herself looking forward to it as much as winning games.
When it was Tristan’s turn to host, Cyndy got her first opportunity to visit inside her house. A bit too country and frilly for her taste, but suited Tristan with its welcoming upstate, down-home charm.
Tristan answered the door. Her legs were bare, and in flat sandals, she was three inches taller than Cyndy’s five-foot-two inch frame. The low-cut, empire-waist, lilac sundress was a knockout on her and the daisies danced with each movement. “Make yourself comfortable in the living room. Lucky and Sylvia are already here. Excuse me while I take the cheese puffs out of the oven.”
Cyndy joined the women and settled in a high-backed chair, not unlike a throne. When Tristan came out of the kitchen holding a tray of munchies, her mouth watered from more than the delicious aroma.
“Would someone mind taking out two cases of beer from the fridge?”
Lucky and Cyndy shot up at precisely the same moment. Cyndy stared her down until Lucky backed off.
She tightened her grip on the beverages when she caught the sway of Tristan’s ass as she sashayed into the living room. Lucky and Sylvia pounced on her like starving poster children. She blocked them. “One at a time, ladies. Please.”
As Tristan bent down to put the tray on the coffee table, the swell of her breasts spilled out of her dress. It irked Cyndy that she gave a hoot about other women getting a preview. Tristan was not her girlfriend. One moment the woman exuded sex appeal and vulnerability, and the next she could be on top of her game commanding respect. What was up with the roiling in the pit of her stomach anytime someone paid attention to Tristan?
Lucky stuffed a handful of nachos, layered with melted cheddar, guacamole, sour cream and salsa into her mouth and then chased it with a hefty slug of beer. With her mouth full, she managed, “I say we start with Clit-Teasers for appetizers,” and chewed through a self-satisfied grin.
“You would,” added Cyndy dryly.
“What’ll be the main course?” Sylvia, the catcher, offered helpfully. “Pussy Pot Roast?” She looked like she ate more than her fair share of pot roast, heavy on the potatoes and gravy with a half-dozen biscuits to lop up the juices.
“Be serious, you guys,” Tristan chided, but grinned.
“Meaty Chicken Breasts baked to perfection.”
“Or a recipe for homemade, hot, sweet and sour Tongue with mustard, sauerkraut, potato chips and Russian dressing on rye.”
“What kind of combination is that?” They all howled.
Between jokes and munchies, they’d managed to outline the Table of Contents and figure out the best way to get recipe submissions so they could taste them before accepting them. Cyndy checked her watch, stood, and smoothed out her jeans. “Well, it’s getting late and tomorrow’s work.” Standing offered a slight relief from the pressure her pants placed on her crotch after one too many beers and whatever Tristan called those addictive cheese things that melted in her mouth. She hadn’t had anything as tasty in quite a while.
She waited while Tristan let the others out. Lucky lingered, chewing on her lip in that way she always did before going after her next prey. Short, but quick on her feet, Cyndy practically pushed Lucky out. “See you tomorrow, bro.” They worked in the same firm, only she was in distribution and Lucky in design. Cyndy might have dissuaded Lucky from participating, but a graphic designer would help the cause.
Tristan closed the door. “Well, that went well.” She clapped off imaginary crumbs. Her fingernails were well manicured and painted a neutral shade. Even though her nails did not extend past the tips, they appeared long because of lengthy nail beds. Cyndy’s hands were stubby in comparison, but once upon a time she made up for it with technique and equipment. Back then she enjoyed playing the field and freely indulged her kinky side, but those days were gone.
Tristan gathered the empty bottles.
“Here, let me help you with that.”
“That’s okay. I can do it in the morning.”
“I insist. Besides, I owe you an apology for scoffing at your idea.”
“I bet you a million bucks we need a second printing. We’ll get a break publishing because my uncle is in the business. It’ll be pure profit.” Tristan’s enthusiasm was contagious. Cyndy thrummed with excitement akin to a hormonal surge and fought the urge to carry this lovely woman to her chambers.
It was torture each time Tristan brushed past her to remove the leftovers from the living room. Not much for domesticity, Cyndy had an unusual calm replace her jumpy nature as she assisted Tristan in the mundane task. It was a shame when the job was done. “I guess I’ll be going then. See you at practice.” Did her voice tremble? She never got this way, ever.
“It’s only minutes past eleven. Stay a while longer. I’ll make us some coffee laced with whatever you want.”
“I can’t. Caffeine keeps me up all night.”
“So?”
Tristan’s breasts were too close to her face, but Cyndy resisted temptation. If she so much as lightly touched the soft peaks, she’d never stop. Tristan’s floral scent mingled with her own musk in the tiny kitchen. The proximity of her object of desire intoxicated her senses and revived her sexual appetite. Cyndy was reminded of the lyrics she coincidentally heard on the radio driving over, “You can view the menu and you just can’t eat…” and glumly thought, how fitting. Not usually such a klutz, she moved away and knocked the tray of nachos off the counter. It crashed to the floor. Guacamole and salsa went flying and created a colorful display on the stark white cabinets and linoleum.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” They both went to clean up and bumped heads on the way down. “My fault. Allow me.” Cyndy tried to gather the sauce in her bare hands and only made more of a mess as it dripped through her fingers. She licked the outside of her palm in an attempt to avoid getting it on her shirt. “Mmm, this is quite good.”
“I’m glad I washed the floor today.” Tristan’s good-natured laugh ended abruptly. She captured Cyndy’s wrist. “Oh, crap, your shirt. Hold still.” Tristan reached behind her for a dishtowel, which was stuck to a spatula also tangled up in an oven mitt. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but in her haste, she bumped into a pitcher half-filled with iced tea.
Cyndy caught it befor
e the glass met the floor.
“Good save,” Tristan said. “Oh, but look what you did.”
Cyndy surveyed her surroundings.
“I don’t mean the kitchen. Look at your clothes. The stain will set if we don’t try to get it out right away.”
Cyndy peered down at her shirt. The light blue button-down resembled an art project gone wrong. A smattering of green and red glided towards her belt. Tristan caught it along with Cyndy’s hand. She ate the glop off both their fingers. Cyndy shook from a craving so powerful, it threatened to knock her out. She struggled to regain control and withdrew her hand. “I have lots of other shirts.”
“I’m sure you do, but I like the way this one hugs your—”
Tristan flushed and that gnawing in Cyndy’s gut grew. She couldn’t stop the want any more than she could stop the rain as Tristan stepped nearer. Cyndy warned, “Not too close or I’ll ruin your dress.”
Tristan thwarted her effort to move away. “I don’t care about this old thing.”
Cyndy leaned in and ran her tongue over the lips she dreamed about. Tristan’s mouth welcomed her. Soft moans amidst spicy salsa and smooth avocado was tasty, but Tristan was delectable. She pressed Tristan’s mouth more urgently. With their breasts squashed between wet clothes, her nipples became as hard as Tristan’s.
“Let me take this off.” Her words were like a faint breeze as she allowed Tristan to unbutton her shirt, revealing her naked flesh covered in remnants of Mexican dip. Tristan hummed as if savoring a gourmet meal. Cyndy’s body jolted when Tristan nipped at her nipples and clamped her teeth around the tips.
“Tris, you drive me mad.” She cradled Tristan’s head and as hard as it was to make her stop, she had to.
Tristan’s eyes went wild, the green becoming barely visible, shrinking as her pupils expanded. Cyndy sucked in her moist, quivering lips, but she wasn’t after a one night stand, not with Tristan. “Wait,” she started, but when she noticed her palms firm upon Tristan’s chest, she retreated, and banged her hip on a cabinet. In a heated rush, she buttoned her shirt and haphazardly stuffed the ends into her pants.
“I’ve waited…patiently, I might add, and now it’s time to take what I’ve wanted since the moment I joined your team.”
Tristan’s pout accentuated an irresistible, willing mouth. Cyndy ignored the lack of space between them and stood taller. “That was like two years ago.”
“That is precisely why ‘wait’ is not the right answer.” Tristan gathered her hair the way she always did. Raising her arms had the advantage of lifting her breasts until Cyndy could not ignore the moisture pooling in her pants.
“We can’t do this,” she said, regretting it the second the words passed her lips, but seeing no other alternative.
“And why not?” Tristan moved closer until their noses were a hair apart.
“Because I said so.”
Tristan chuckled.
“There’s also the matter of who is in charge here.” Cyndy puffed out her chest.
Tristan placed her fists firmly on her hips. “I’d say I am, seeing how you’re standing on my turf.”
“I hadn’t figured you for the type.”
“Looks can be deceiving then. You’d be surprised by what I’m capable of when I want something. And I just might have to teach you a lesson for being so darn smug and so incredibly sexy.”
“Are you challenging me?”
“Perhaps.” Tristan slinked her hand along Cyndy’s collar for a brief moment and then turned towards the sink to run the tap. She made a spectacle out of washing the front of her dress. The vigorous splashing drenched everything within reach, including Cyndy.
“Hey, you’re doing that on purpose,” she protested.
“Perhaps.” Tristan’s tone was more playful this time.
Cyndy was more than a little surprised. Every pressure point in her body sent distress signals, like, get out of here before it’s too late. Been there, done that. Love and commitment were costly and came without lifetime guarantees. The warning signs reverberated in her brain, but her painful nipples and pulsating clit drowned out the sounds of reason.
Too late. Tristan Rizzo, Cyndy’s naughty, nightly fantasy moved in for the kill. “I intend to show you just how bossy I can be. Better brace yourself.”
Since when was Cyndy one to stand on ceremony where a gorgeous femme with a generous mouth, ample tits, and the most fabulous ass was concerned? There was something different about Tristan. And it was more than her magnificent body, quick wit, and charm. She was a lot of fun and easy to be around. She also had a brain. The last time Cyndy fell for a team member, it had landed her in the damaged goods department. She had vowed never to think with her clit again, especially when it came to her more risky proclivities where her heart was concerned. Tristan tugged on her shirt, obliterating further ruminating about past regrets.
“You buttoned it all wrong.” Tristan opened her shirt and pinched Cyndy’s nipples again, sending pleasurable vibes directly to her clit. “Better yet, take it off this instant.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
Cyndy slid off her shirt and handed it to her captor who then promptly dropped it in the sink.
“Next, the pants. I can be quite convincing when I set my mind to it.”
Cyndy didn’t need further persuasion. She kicked off her shoes and removed her socks and pants, but thought better of letting Tristan off the hook that easily. “And how do you plan to manage that,” she asked, despite wearing nothing except underpants, but more than up for the challenge.
“You’ll see. Off with the panties too.”
The draft did nothing to quell her blazing, exposed areas that were already too hot to handle—even with oven mitts. Tristan’s gaze perused her body in a smoldering caress. Cyndy prepared to linger, but Tristan pulled a fast one and grasped her wrist. She was escorted towards the rear of the home that led to the bath. A quick, cool rinse did not diminish her fevered flesh.
Every time Cyndy exerted her signature authority, Tristan smashed it. Surprisingly refreshed, she found submission delightful for a change. Something was off kilter, though. She hadn’t realized how little she knew about Tristan Rizzo. But she desperately wanted to learn everything.
“I’ll towel you off and then you can follow me,” Tristan said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re a quick study.”
The bedroom was filled to the rafters with country style knick-knacks as neatly arranged and stacked as its occupant. Cyndy stood in awe as Tristan cleared her four-poster bed of a mountain of pillows and blankets. Her knees weakened in anticipation, and longing set in, renewing her hunger for this luscious femme.
“Sit over there.” Tristan indicated the precise spot Cyndy hoped she would. “I won’t be a minute.”
She didn’t need an engraved invitation and hopped up on the cushioned mattress. All the while, her gaze was stuck like caramel to a candy apple on Tristan’s ass as she exited the room. An unsolicited gasp escaped Cyndy’s lips when Tristan returned wearing a bright yellow apron with big black polka dots. Judging from what could be seen from the sides and completely open back, there was a white lace bra and a barely there thong beneath. High-heeled cowboy boots completed the outfit. In the crook of a sculpted arm, she held a picnic basket. There was no telling what sort of delights made it impossible for the wicker top to lay flush with its bottom. Draped over a shoulder appeared to be a red version of the girly apron.
Tristan placed the basket and kitchenware on the floor and offered Cyndy the apron. “Put this on.”
“Although you look quite, um, sexy, there’s no way I’m wearing that.” Her chuckle came out more like a weakling’s attempt at bravado.
“Oh, come on…play.”
“Uh uh.” Cyndy felt more comfortable nude than she would in that get up.
“You wouldn’t do this for me? Pretty please, with sugar on top?”
“What happened to t
he tyrant who dragged me in here a short while ago?”
“She has surprises galore, if you behave.”
All qualms about wearing the silly thing evaporated once Cyndy’s full attention was hot-wired to those places that cloud the brain and would make the strongest butch relinquish her resistance. She licked her lips, but made no move to comply.
“We’re gonna cook us up some fun here tonight. And if you’re a good boi, then maybe you’ll get to sample my morning after buffet.”
“Sounds yummy,” Cyndy croaked, and promptly wet Tris’ pretty floral sheets beneath her molten core. She slipped the apron over her head and admitted that dykes like her couldn’t resist a begging femme. The adage, top in the streets, bottom in the sheets, is often true.
“You look so cute.”
Cyndy groaned and was tempted to fling the apron out the window, but she had to have Tristan, even if not on her own terms.
“You’re such a good sport and you shall be duly rewarded.” Tristan anchored her palms on Cyndy’s shoulders and climbed onto the bed. She placed a knee on either side of Cyndy’s thighs and squeezed.
“You have to lie back with your eyes shut tight. And no peeking,” she instructed and climbed off, much to Cyndy’s disappointment.
Cyndy leaned back when a thought occurred to her. “What’s with the fry pan and wooden spoon?”
“None of your business. Do you want your surprise or not?”
Cyndy was on her back quicker than her fastest curve ball.
“That’s better.” Tristan turned and bent down to the basket. Cyndy stole a peek unable to see what Tristan was doing, but capable of viewing the crack between her firm cheeks visible through the lace panties. Her clit involuntarily jumped.
Tristan caught Cyndy in the act. “I said not to look!” Her lips were enticing, swollen, puckered, and wet as they met Cyndy’s for an unexpected flavor burst that made every inch of Cyndy’s body spring to attention. She feasted on the bitter and then deliciously sweet sensation that culminated into a most satisfying and highly erotic kiss. Cyndy never wanted it to end. Tristan pulled away before she had her fill, but then a lifetime would not be enough.
Attractions of the Heart Page 6