Sunscreen & Coconuts

by Eliza Lentzski

  Kate grabbed a t-shirt that had been hanging off the back of one of her kitchen chairs and pulled it on. “I got some good news, and you were the person I wanted to tell.”

  I thought the sentiment sweet, but also a bit far-fetched. “You couldn’t have picked up the phone?”

  Her lips twitched at one side. “I got rid of my cell phone.”

  “I noticed,” I observed. “I tried to text you and the message bounced back.”

  Kate leaned forward in interest. “You texted me?” Her voice lilted on the question.

  “Tried to,” I emphasized. I felt the heat on my cheeks, and hoped the dim lighting in her house would help hide my blush. “I’d been drinking,” I excused.

  “Had you been drinking when you booked the flight to come see me?” she posed.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  She slowly licked her lips. “That’s encouraging,” she seemed to purr.

  I cleared my throat. “You, uh, you said you had some good news to tell me?”

  Kate blinked a few times. My question seemed to have disrupted the moment. “Oh, right. I got a job.”

  “But you already have a job—painting coconuts.”

  “I mean a real job. I convinced my mom to hire me. I’m going to head up the family’s philanthropy efforts—give away Michelle and Tom’s inheritance.”

  “Wow.” I shook my head as I let the information settle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why? I thought you really loved your life down here.”

  “Donating all that money to your school was like my gateway drug.”

  “Maybe not the most flattering analogy,” I pointed out.

  Kate laughed. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m not good with words.” She raked her fingers through her hair, causing it to stand on end even more. “It’s hard to explain.”

  I reached for her hand and interlaced our fingers. “Can you try?”

  She bit down on her bottom lip and worried the pliable flesh. “It felt nice to feel needed. No one needs me, Mercy. Not even my pet. She’d be fine without me—probably even better.” She waved her free hand in my direction. “And here you are—a public school teacher—which is like the most admirable profession out there. And it made me think about things—like what was I doing to make a difference? How was I contributing to society?”

  “I think that’s very admirable. But now I feel kind of guilty—like I messed up this really good thing you had going.”

  “I would mess it up and more for you.”

  I couldn’t take her seriously. It was such a line. But she stared at me with such intensity that I started to believe the sincerity to her words.

  “I think you’re better with words than you give yourself credit for,” I said softly.

  “You know what else I’m good at?”

  Kate stroked the side of my face. She held my chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilted my head up. She leaned down and gently pressed her mouth against mine, in a soundless kiss.

  “You’re freezing,” she remarked. She roughly rubbed her hands up and down my arms. “How are you so cold?”

  I didn’t have time to remind her I’d been searching for her pet chicken in the rain before she was grabbing my hand and pulling me in a new direction.

  “Come on, let’s warm you up.”

  I found myself very attracted to this take-charge version of Kate. It wasn’t surprising though—I was attracted to all of her versions. The Hawaiian shirt, the wool dress, and everything in between.

  “Where are we going?” I questioned.

  “The shower’s outside,” she reminded me. “Two birds, one stone. You can warm up, and I can wash the airplane off of me.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly, with no hint of seduction or foul play, just that this would be the most reasonable thing for us to do at that exact moment.

  “O-oh. Okay.”

  Kate flipped a light switch that was connected to a string of twinkle lights. The decorative bulbs provided just enough light for me to make out the silhouette of the outdoor shower. The overhang of the house’s tin roof sheltered the shower from above while the shower’s three concrete walls and plastic curtain provided a modicum of privacy.

  “I wish I could see you better,” she complained. “We’ll have to do this again in the morning.”

  “I could be into that,” I concurred.

  Kate twisted the lone knob on the outdoor shower. The pipes groaned and clunked until water began to fall from the showerhead. She stuck her hand under the flow to test the water’s temperature.

  “It takes a while to warm up,” she told me.

  “Unlike me,” I quipped.

  The sweatshirt I had borrowed was the first thing to go. I grabbed the bottom hem of the cotton shirt and pulled it up and over my head. I’d trapped my tank top as well, leaving my torso covered only by my bra. Despite losing layers of clothes, my internal body temperature seemed to elevate.

  My hands had been off of her body for far too long. I only had myself to blame, but I was determined now to make amends. I put my palm in the center of Kate’s chest and pushed. She stumbled back several feet until she was directly beneath the shower’s lukewarm spray. I joined her beneath the showerhead and captured her surprised mouth with my own. Her startled noise pressed against my lips as I refused to let it free. I didn’t care that we were still partially dressed. I’d waited too long to be with her again; I wasn’t going to let a pair of shorts keep me from what I wanted.

  Kate’s wet t-shirt clung to her like a second skin. Her pebbled nipples stuck out defiantly from the rest of her unblemished body. I peeled the shirt up her torso, but left it gathered just above the top of her breasts. I flipped her bra up, letting her breasts pop free from the underwire. I moaned around the tightened nipple in my mouth. I lightly chewed on the spongy tissue, enjoying Kate’s quiet sighs and restrained grunts.

  I kissed my way down her torso, lapping at her fragrant skin and the clean water that poured down on us. Water droplets collected and beaded on her clenching torso. I loved the look of how they clung to her flawless skin.

  I unfastened the button snap at the top of her board shorts and loosened the shoelace that took the place where a zipper should have been. I steadied myself on my knees before hooking my fingers under the waistband of her shorts. Pebbles trapped in the concrete floor dug into my knees, but I didn’t anticipate being down there for long. I wasn’t in the mood for slow.

  “Are you ready for this?” I challenged. I ran my hands up and down the back of her thinly muscled calves.

  Kate’s mouth formed a wide smirk. “Give me your best shot.”

  I wiggled the board shorts past her hips and hummed appreciatively at her lack of underwear. The shorts dropped to the shower floor with a wet sound. I held tight to her upper thighs and drank her in. I dug my short nails into her skin. My nose attacked her clit while I assaulted her slit with the full length of my tongue.

  There was nothing to hold on to in the shower—no towel rack or soap shelf to grab. Kate’s hands slid uselessly down the sides of the tiled shower until they came to rest of the top of my head. Her fingers twisted in my wet hair, pulling me tighter and closer to her core. I couldn’t have let go though, even if she’d asked.

  I looked up to see her face—eyes closed, mouth agape, chin tilted up. She looked like an angel in ecstasy.

  “Why are you so quiet?”

  Her eyes flipped open to look down at me. “Wh-what?”

  I kicked my lips, tasting her on me. “You hardly make any noises. Don’t you like it?”

  “Of course I like it.”

  I gripped her thighs harder. “Then let me hear it.”

  I twirled my tongue around her clit in tight, rapid circles.

  “Oh, God, Mercy,” she breathed.

  I lifted my head briefly. “I think we can do better than that.”

  I pressed my middle finger against her opening. I dipped inside to the first knuckle, making shallow thrusts unt
il I felt her arousal build and coat my finger. I sank inside to my second knuckle and groaned at the feeling of her tight around my single digit. I licked her harder, thrusting the tip of my tongue back to her slit and drawing it up and over her clit.

  I felt her legs wobble before she widened her stance for stability. “Shit, shit, shit,” she swore. Her voice echoed off the shower tiles.

  “Better,” I approved from my knees.

  I suckled on her clit while pushing two fingers into her tightening hole.

  “Oh my god, oh my god,” she chanted. Each line of praise became louder than the one before. “Oh. My. GOD.”

  I wrapped my free arm around her waist. I moved my tongue in erratic patterns across her clit while penetrating her in long, smooth strokes, pulling my fingers almost all the way out before slamming them back in.

  “There. There. Right there,” she encouraged. The fingers in my hair tightened even more.

  “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Mercy.” She slapped her palm against the shower wall, nearly in time with my own rhythmic thrusts. “Holy shit, I’m gonna cum!” she wheezed.

  The words caught in her throat, but her body revealed her orgasm. Her pelvic area jerked and spasmed while I clung to her as if riding a bucking bronco.

  She bent over my shoulder before righting herself and leaning back against the shower wall. Water poured down Kate’s face. The hot water had run out, but the cooler temperatures didn’t seem to register with her. I withdrew my fingers, but continued to suckle on her clit until her hips’ spastic movement subsided.

  “Kate?” I called to her.

  She still hadn’t opened her eyes, and goosebumps had begun to form on her arms and legs.

  “Mmhm?” she hummed.

  “Are you okay?”

  I watched the muscles in her throat work on her answer. “Yeah,” she husked. “I’m just really happy I left that coconut behind.”

  I pulled myself up on shaking legs. My knees felt raw from the shower floor. “I hope you know I didn’t come all this way because of that. You know this isn’t about the money, right?”

  I wanted to make clear that I hadn’t come down to see her, and that I was willing to try a long-distance relationship, despite of—not because of—who her family was.

  She threw her arms around my neck. “Well that’s a relief,” she smiled dreamily. “I thought maybe your kids needed new textbooks. I’m a wool heiress on a budget.”

  EPILOGUE

  Book. b-o-o-k.

  Clap. c-l-a-p.

  Stop. s-t-o-p.

  Field. f-e-i-l-d.

  Oof. Not again.

  “Picture with my lizard, Miss?”

  I looked up from my grading at the question. A short, dark-skinned man stood in front of my beach chair. In his outstretched arms was a large iguana.

  “No, I’m okay,” I waved him away. “Thank you.”

  He took a step closer. The iguana stuck out its long tongue. “He does not bite.”

  “I realize that. I’m just not in the market for a picture right now,” I tried to explain.

  A third voice, less polite than mine, entered the conversation. “Hey, buddy. Scram. We’re not tourists, man!”

  My knight in floral prints approached with an aggressive gait and two drinks in her hands to shoo the man away.

  “I can’t leave you alone for a second without you getting into trouble,” she teased.

  “I’m just sitting here!” I defended myself.

  “It’s your red hair, babe,” Kate clucked. “You’re like a magnet to those locals looking for gullible tourists.”

  “You’re blonde though!” I protested. “It’s not like that’s naturally occurring on the island.”

  “But I could be Dutch,” she reminded me.

  “We need to find a tropical island full of redheads,” I complained.

  Kate dropped down on the lounger next to me. “Treasure Beach in Jamaica,” she named. “Scottish sailors got shipwrecked off the coast in the 1830s. They swam ashore and stayed.”

  I shook my head in wonder. “How do you know so much trivia?”

  “I had a lot of free time before I met you.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Is that a complaint?”

  “Absolutely not.” She grabbed onto my hand and brought it up to her mouth for a small kiss. “I am so happy that you monopolize all of my time.”

  I pulled my hand away so I could lightly swat her with it. “You still look like a tourist. I don’t know what’s worse—your shirt or that laptop.”

  Kate opened up the aforementioned laptop and waited for the screen to come to life. “I know, I know—who brings a laptop to the beach? But I promised my mom I’d look through this final round of grant proposals before the end of the week.”

  It wasn’t the all-inclusive resort where Racy and I had once stayed; I was finally getting to see Curaçao—my home one hundred and eighty some days out of the year—one beautiful beach at a time. Luckily I had the island’s most entertaining tour guide to show me around, even if she refused to let me buy a scooter of my own. We were on a budget, she told me—but secretly I think she enjoyed me clinging to her back and my gasp of terror each time she unexpectedly accelerated.

  She leaned her laptop toward me. “What do you think of this proposal?”

  “No way,” I rejected. “You’re not pawning your work off on me. I’ve got spelling quizzes to grade.”

  “Can’t I just give all the money to your school?” Kate sighed.

  “You’re the one who wanted to do more good.”

  “It’s your fault,” she retorted. “Once I started giving money away, I couldn’t stop.”

  In between selling coconuts, Kate was typically on her laptop reviewing grant applications. She still didn’t rely on her family’s money—not really—but received a modest salary for being the grant coordinator for the family trust. She spent more time in Boston now, but maintained her business in Curaçao to pay for our tab at the Thirsty Coconut.

  “How goes the grading?” she asked.

  I tapped the top of my pen against my stack of grading. “I before E. It’s still tripping them up.”

  “Why are you wasting their time on that? Isn’t that what spell-check is for?”

  “You’re the worst,” I scoffed.

  “I don’t know. There must be something about me you like.”

  “Maybe a few things,” I mused.

  “Like what?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “You’re going to make me say it?”

  She grinned. “Forget about like—is there anything about me that you love?”

  Her passing mention of the L-Word caused me to sit up straighter in my lounge chair. We hadn’t yet exchanged those kinds of sentiments with each other and I could never be sure with her. She was either being nonchalant about wanting to say the words, or was testing me.

  “Well, I love that you’re so passionate about giving away your siblings’ inheritance. And I love that you’re still painting even though you’ve got a boring adult job now.

  “It’s not boring! I’m a philanthropist!”

  I couldn’t help leaning over to kiss her pouty mouth, effectively silencing her protest. She hummed contentedly and leaned back in her chair.

  “I love the little noises you make when I kiss you,” I continued. “And I love that you’re starting to be more vocal when we do other things, too.”

  Her smile broadened. “I’m still waiting for round two in the outdoor shower, you know. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

  Our mouths connected again, and this time I deepened the kiss. A louder hum—almost a purr—rolled up her throat.

  “Hey, lesbos! Get a room!” Racy bellowed from her beach chair a few feet away. Beside her, Mark, the timeshare salesman, sipped on a Mai Tai.

  I stuck out my tongue in my friend’s direction. “After all those times you ditched me, and now you’re sticking around?”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Mercy. This littl
e love-match would have never happened if I’d been a better friend.”

  “She kind of has a point, babe,” Kate piped up.

  “Hey! Whose girlfriend are you?” I complained.

  “Oh, we’re girlfriends now?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it. We’d never formally had a conversation about labels, but I was flying to a foreign country practically every week to see her—what else would that be?

  “I mean—I didn’t want to assume,” Kate noted, “but you don’t seem like the fly-across-the-world-for-someone-who’s-not-your-girlfriend kind of girl.”

  “You’d be right about that,” I concurred.

  We met again for another lingering kiss, this one seemingly a contract to our committed relationship. My senses were overcome with the scent of sunscreen, but not so much that I couldn’t hear Racy’s song: “Mercy’s got a lovely set of coconuts …”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Eliza Lentzski is the author of lesbian fiction, romance, and erotica including the best-selling Winter Jacket and Don’t Call Me Hero series. She publishes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the penname E.L. Blaisdell. Although a historian by day, Eliza is passionate about fiction. She was born and raised in the upper Midwest, which is often the setting for her novels. She currently lives in Boston with her wife and their cat, Charley.

  Follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @ElizaLentzski, and Like her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/elizalentzski) for updates and exclusive previews of future original releases.

  http://www.elizalentzski.com