“I was an Olympic alternate once. Just missed out.”
Paris realized it was the first time she’d seen anything like bitterness in Diana’s expression. “Nobody got injured or sick?”
“It was not to be.” She shrugged, but the loss still seemed poignant to her. “Will you think me an awful person if I confessed to wishing someone would get the flu? Or pull a groin muscle? Nothing permanent,” she added hastily. “Only enough to knock them out of the competition.”
“I think that’s just human nature. You didn’t poison anyone.” She tried not to make it sound like a question.
Diana burst into laughter. “That’s definitely not in my skill set! No, I watched from the sidelines for the entire tournament. The next Olympics was after my injury, so I was all the way out.”
I love watching her laugh, Paris thought. “How did it happen?”
“I misjudged. A mental error. I’ve watched the video so many times and it all came down to the position of my wrist when I started to mount the beam.” Diana demonstrated with her arms held out in front of her. “They were supposed to be like this.” She made a minute adjustment to her left hand, rotating it slightly clockwise. “They were like this. Yes, it was enough to throw my balance. My hands slipped and my shoulder kept right on going. It was a difficult mount.”
“Such a tiny thing.”
“So that’s how I crashed and burned. What about you?”
Paris raised her eyebrows.
“You crashed and burned in something. You said you left your job and then became Anita Topaz on the page. That you moved all the way across this really huge country of yours also says something happened. Relationship breakup?”
It was Paris’s turn to give a not very convincing shrug. “That too.”
They paused to give the waiter their order of drinks and added street tacos and plantain fritters.
Paris moved her fingertips lightly on the table surface as she summoned up the brief history of the total destruction of her life. “I blogged about video games. Reviews, and stuff like that. One day I decided I was tired of the endless stream of games that used women in violent and degrading ways. How often single shooter games ran through rooms of women who were obviously prostitutes. How killing women in the games was something both the good and bad guys did equally without remorse. How women’s suffering was used as art design in a way that men’s suffering never was.”
“And there was blowback?”
“To put it mildly. I was called a saboteaur, a spoilsport out to ruin what was only a game—and those were the mildest attacks. I got death threats, ones that local police called ‘credible.’ I got hate mail—email and the real thing. A virus took down my company’s servers for a couple of hours. And then they put my address on the web in really bad places—not just my address, but a picture of the outside of my apartment building and tips on how to get past the lobby. Over something that was only a game.”
Diana covered Paris’s hand with her own. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It was.” Diana’s touch was equal parts soothing and arousing. “My girlfriend at the time was also in danger. I mean, when they found out I was gay the bigots joined the misogynists and then the racists showed up. A woman, a homo, and skin not white? Who did I think I was? It was ugly on steroids. They threatened me, my girlfriend, and any of my family they said they’d find. My mom had passed away the year before. Those—” She changed her word choice. “Those idiots made me glad she wasn’t around to see it. When I miss her every day.”
“None of that is fair or right.” There was a mist of tears in Diana’s eyes.
“No, and nobody could do anything about it. They were real and they meant what they said.”
“Your girlfriend dumped you?”
“Not really. Not the way you mean. She thought I should stay and fight. Fight an enemy I couldn’t see. That had thousands of real live fanatics egging each other on. I had no defenders—at least no one brave enough to wade publicly into that kind of testosterone cesspool. Eventually some psycho was going to try to hurt me. I had a panic attack—worst of my life. It wasn’t going to get easier or better and I promised myself I would never have one again. I decided to leave, go underground, get myself off the grid completely. She didn’t have to do that, and didn’t want to. So… It was over. Just two people who suddenly weren’t in the same space anymore.”
“The appetite may sicken and so die.”
Happy for a change of subject, Paris said, “Twelfth Night is my favorite.”
“Mine too,” Diana agreed. “How long ago was all that?”
“Five years, a bit more. I found a new place to live that I liked. I started writing fiction. I entered a contest on a whim and got lucky enough that it felt like the universe evening up the scales a little bit.”
She might have added that sitting in a New York café on what seemed very like a real date looking at one of the most fascinating women she’d ever met and contemplating the sound of her breathless whispers—all of that also seemed like the universe finally giving more than it took.
Even if it was just for one night. It would be worth it.
At least that was what she told herself and for the moment, she accepted the lie.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Diana was used to noticing how people moved. Weighing their gestures, interpreting their vocal tones. Theater—and her style of thieving—happened by interplay. Cause and response. Nuance and improvisation.
All the many ways she’d spent most of her life working in reaction to other people hadn’t prepared her for sitting in a taxi next to a woman she wanted to touch. She had never focused on a gymnastics judge’s expression the way she watched Paris’s face as she spoke to the driver. She had never followed anyone’s line of sight to know what had drawn a smile.
It was all new.
She slid her hand into Paris’s as the cab carried them back to the hotel. It had never seemed like an overture to intimacy before now. She hadn’t thought about hands—certainly not another woman’s hands—as sexual. She had taken notice of how Paris tensed her fingers to lessen her tension. Now she was studying those fingers and feeling just a bit faint.
It wasn’t until they were alone in the hotel room, staring at each other with nervous smiles, that Diana felt completely helpless. It had been easier with the few men she’d known. They had had their agenda and got what they wanted. She’d felt removed from their experience and been disquieted by her lack of response. She’d blamed it on her nearly dormant hormones, but maybe she’d been waiting for women. Or at least this woman.
There was nothing dormant about the pulse between her legs and the heat of her ears against her scalp.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Paris said. “We flirted. No pressure.”
Did Paris not want to now? Diana was at a loss to interpret her expression. “Why do you say that?”
“You look scared.”
“I am, a little.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know that. I wouldn’t hurt you either.”
Silence again. Paris had moved toward the window, all the way across the room. The late afternoon sun had dipped behind an adjacent building, leaving the room warm and softly lit.
She laughed and said, “Want to mambo again?”
Paris grinned. “Maybe I should lead this time.”
Her coat and bag slid out of her hands onto the floor. Pretend the bell just went off, she told herself. With that thought she launched across the room, vaulted the sofa with a one-two landing, spun into Paris’s arms and knocked them both onto the fainting couch.
Paris let out a surprised oof, but she was laughing. “I have been thinking all along that this thing was conveniently placed.”
Diana gazed down into Paris’s face, liking how her eyes lightened when she was amused. “This may be my favorite dismount of all time.”
Paris’s hand was behind her neck then, pulling her down. Thei
r mouths met in a rush of shared air and breathless heat. Paris’s hands on her back were strong but suddenly even the thin silk of her blouse felt like too much of a barrier. She managed to get the blouse unbuttoned and the front clasp of her bra undone. Paris sat up, yanked her clothes over her head and all at once their breasts touched. Skin melted to skin.
Paris’s tongue and lips at her throat sent a flush over Diana’s chest. She’d thought her nipples not particularly sensitive to anything but cold but now they seemed on fire. The brush of Paris’s fingertip against one drew a throaty moan from deep inside her that she didn’t recognize.
She arched her back in an offer that Paris seemed to understand. Fighting back tears, she clutched Paris’s shoulders while the flutter of her tongue and the edge of her teeth reduced her to shivers. How could anything feel so good? How could she survive if she were naked, and Paris touched her in all the places that ached for release?
Her imagination was feverish with visions of Paris’s mouth and fingers exploring her. Shoes thumped onto the thick carpet. They struggled with zippers and yanked garments around knees until they were both naked and stretched out alongside each other.
Paris’s pelvis was against her thigh. Oh-oh-oh echoed in her head.
I know my body, she thought. The memory of her first release move on the bars—her hands hadn’t wanted to let go but she made them. She commanded her body, knew every muscle and bone. But she hadn’t known her skin could feel this.
Paris whispered something. It took Diana a moment to realize it was her name. The tingling of nerves and the fire on her skin were overtaken by a sense of awe. How could she crave something that she’d never desired before? She’d been in locker rooms all her life, in gyms, at tournaments, at school. Had never thought twice about being naked in front of other women. She’d admired, much as she did statues and paintings, the beauty of women’s muscles and bones.
How had the sight of Paris’s taut nipple transformed her aesthetic appreciation into a stomach-clenching desire to taste her skin? To fall into Paris’s body with hunger in spite of fear?
She gave into the desire, bent her head to take one nipple into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue. She heard Paris exhale a moan and she wanted to hear that sound again and again.
“Wait,” Paris whispered.
“I’m sorry—was I too rough?”
“No, but let’s do this first.” Paris pulled them both to their feet, leaving their scattered clothes. “Beds are more comfortable.”
“Yes they are.” Naked and laughing, Diana moved into Paris’s arms. “And step-two-three.”
“No, no, no.” Paris’s stern tone would have been more successful if her lips hadn’t been curved in a smile. “Like this. Kiss-step-two-three.”
Hands fumbling and teasing, they stumbled their way into Paris’s bedroom. A yank of the covers sent turn-down chocolates and pillows flying. Not knowing where the confidence came from, Diana curled onto the crisp, cool sheets and crooked a finger at Paris. “I have a different dance in mind.”
Paris’s smile faded as she joined Diana on the bed. Brushing her lips against Diana’s, she said, “Only if I can lead.”
“For now,” Diana said as she pulled Paris on top of her.
She thought for several minutes that her skin would peel open or her brain would go off like fireworks. Kisses and soft breath on her shoulders, her stomach, followed by the nip of teeth on the underside of her breast, at her ribs. All causing lights in her head to snap on with a sharp flash that forced her to close her eyes so she could focus on the path of Paris’s tongue from her belly button and downward.
She’d read the articles in Marie Claire and Cosmo. They used phrases like “feels great” and “favorite thing.” But now she was recalling passages in Anita Topaz’s books when heroines expressed joy and amazement, surrender and strength, and a surprising sense of feeling beautiful and whole when their lovers breathed in their sexual scent. Breathed it in and then opened them with lips and tongue, what Paris was doing to her now.
The intimacy of it made her gasp for breath. She was dissolving and tightening at the same time. She didn’t know what to do except welcome so many sensations, all at once. She reached down, hoping to touch Paris somehow, and found the soft brush of Paris’s hair. Paris’s hand met hers then, and they joined palm-to-palm, fingers clenched until their contact was the only anchor Diana had.
Paris’s voice sounded almost broken with need. “I want to go inside you.”
“Yes,” Diana managed, though she wasn’t sure she’d actually spoken.
Paris seemed to have heard her though, because she felt Paris’s fingers where her tongue had been. Her legs went limp and a flush of deep pleasure spread over her body. A small portion of her mind marveled that the soles of her feet could feel on fire from the inside. And so did her thighs and her breasts and all the places where Paris was touching her.
Paris was like a magician, working some spell of freedom on her body where the promise of ecstasy came with searing truth. There was no mask to hide behind. Loving this was who she was. An unsuspected and brilliant truth.
Her eyes were full of tears. Not fear, even though she was breaking to pieces. It was that everything she could feel was being touched by Paris from the inside of her, and she was going to cry. If she didn’t faint or dissolve or scream first.
Paris was holding her with one arm, murmuring soothing words while her fingers kept working magic deep inside her. Warm lips at her earlobe sent another shock wave over her damp skin.
“You’re making me crazy,” Paris whispered. “That you love this.”
She tried to answer and whatever sound she made brought another whisper.
“Relax. We’re in no hurry. We can do this all night.”
I won’t survive. The idea that she could relax when something so profound was happening seemed ridiculous. But she tried to take a long, deep breath and to her amazement her arms and shoulders melted into the bed. The only part of her that seemed alive was her heart, beating a pulse so strong and steady she could feel it against Paris’s fingers as they moved slowly and precisely inside her.
Paris made a sound of deep pleasure. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
She tried to say yes but Paris kissed her and the taste and scent of herself on Paris’s lips stole her breath again. She’d never struggled so hard for words and so she said yes with her tongue and bit gently at Paris’s lower lip.
Brown eyes gazed into brown eyes. Diana hoped she never forgot the bell sounding in her heart. Everything fell away but the glow in Paris’s eyes. Paris was seeing right into her, and that moment of profound nakedness sent her body into shaking tremors that made Paris cry out.
“Beautiful, beautiful, stay with me,” she was saying and Diana realized there was more. She was climbing a ladder and falling at the same time. The only safety was in Paris’s eyes and Diana stayed there until her head fell back onto the pillow and she felt utterly undone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She was having a dream she didn’t want to leave, but when Paris realized the dream was mostly a replay of the night with Diana, she risked opening her eyes. They had never closed the curtains and bright daylight and blue skies declared that it was early to mid-morning. Closer to breakfast than lunch, Paris decided.
Turning her head slightly she took in the sight of Diana, sheet pulled up over her breasts, hair in a glorious mess and face relaxed in deep sleep. It was a lovely sight.
Don’t get used to it, she warned herself.
She carefully edged out of the bed and found the hotel robe for a quick visit to the bathroom adjacent to the suite’s living room. Splashing water on her face finished waking her up. She, too, looked relaxed. Why wouldn’t she be? Last night… She had nothing to compare it to. Sex had been good with Kerry and the few others before her. Last night had been different in ways her brain hadn’t yet sorted out.
The sight of their abandoned clothes sent flutters thr
ough her stomach. The memory of Diana’s mouth on her body made her dizzy enough that she had to make herself focus on the matter of breakfast. She didn’t want to call room service—that could break the spell that had bound them so closely together.
She’d seen a coffeemaker and a selection of single brew cups in the kitchen area. There were some hermetically sealed cheese and crackers in the minibar and a banana in the fruit basket. Breakfast in bed coming up. After a brief panic that there was only decaf, she found a fully leaded dark French roast and brewed two cups. The cupboard held swanky dishes with the hotel’s monogram and there was even a tray—perfect.
Diana had shifted position. She was snoring, ever so slightly.
Don’t think it’s adorable, she told herself, though it was already too late.
She set the tray on the bedside table nearest Diana and fanned coffee steam in her direction. Diana made a soft sound but didn’t open her eyes. Paris decided that perhaps a slightly more personal wake up was in order. She edged back into the bed and slid across to nestle against Diana’s warm back. After a few moments she felt Diana take a deeper breath.
Brushing her nose against the soft neck, she whispered, “Good morning.”
Diana made a murmur of pleasure but then her entire body stiffened.
“What is it?” Fearing Diana was startled or offended by the intimacy, Paris put a few inches between their bodies.
“My back,” she croaked. “Give me a minute.”
“Can I get Advil or something for you?”
“Do I smell coffee?”
“You do.”
“You are a good woman. I’m the Tinman and that’s my oil can.” Diana took a deep breath and slowly rolled from her side onto her back. “That thing we did?”
“Yes?”
“We shouldn’t do that again.”
Her stomach flipped over. “Oh.”
“I mean the thing when I was—and you were—” Diana made a diagram with her hands. “That thing.”
Relieved, Paris grinned at the memory. “I did admire how limber you were. But I can live without it.” Lightly, even though it felt like a dangerous question during daylight hours, she asked, “What about the other things?”
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