by Harper Bliss
Martha ran a finger over Amber’s abdominal muscles. The hotness level of Amber Gilroy seemed to be going up by the minute. Amber had the typical pale skin of ginger-haired people. The sight of it was enough for Martha to feel her pulse pick up speed and throb in places she was becoming too painfully aware of. She remembered the reason she had brought Amber into her bedroom in the first place. She had already stated her intentions. It was time for action.
Martha leaned over, pressing her own almost-naked torso against Amber—and oh how amazing it felt—and found Amber’s ear again. “Undress me,” she said, realizing how lucky she was to be in bed with someone like Amber. And how it could just as well never have happened. Someone could have a heart of gold and abs of steel and turn out to be a disappointment. It still wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, but Martha couldn’t let herself worry about that further. That was not what this moment was for. Oh no. It was for taking pleasure from Amber Gilroy—to find out whether her tongue was as silvery as her heart was golden. Martha pushed herself off the bed and Amber followed her. They stood face to face for an instant. Perhaps Amber was waiting for further instructions but Martha had no intentions of giving her more. So much could be told from how a person undressed you. Which item of clothing they removed first, at which speed and how much resolve they had in their eyes.
Amber, as it soon turned out, was the ultra-patient kind. Of course she was. Martha saw the invented image again of Amber meditating in a hot room full of other sweaty people in a trance. She might actually be out of her depth here. Clearly, Amber hadn’t only trained for years for those abs of steel, she had also acquired buckets of resolve from it.
Amber stroked Martha’s arms with an almost unbearable lightness of touch, her fingers barely grazing Martha’s skin. They floated over her lower belly for what felt like long minutes before Amber flipped open the button of Martha’s trousers. To pull them down, she crouched down with such easy flexibility, Martha wondered whether she was showing off on purpose. But when their eyes were level again, the notion of Amber trying to show off left Martha’s mind. Amber wasn’t that kind of person.
Then Martha stood in her underwear, in front of this goddess of a woman. She really did look like an angel sent from heaven. Amber’s hair haloed around her head. The sides of her blouse fell open revealing a tantalizing amount of taut skin. Out of the cups of her bra rose a swell of breast so round, strong and delicious, Martha had to stop herself—for now—or she’d be all over them in seconds.
Next, Amber’s hands ran up Martha’s sides, upward and back to the fastening of her bra—or so Martha thought. Instead of unclasping, Amber’s hands moved to her front and she ran one of her deliciously long fingers just above the cups of Martha’s bra. God, those fingers. Martha wanted to just snatch Amber’s hands and push two of her fingers into her mouth, lick them until they were so wet they only had one place to go. Even more so than the surprise of her ultra-fit body, Martha was drawn to Amber’s hands. Her fingers were strong—from performing a million downward-facing dogs, or whatever they were called—but above all, they were long. Martha was not short by any stretch, but Amber’s length aroused her. The way the luscious mane of hair towered over her, the pleasure the size of her fingers promised, though, rationally, none of that made any difference.
Martha wanted to say something to make Amber undress her faster, but Amber’s fingers roaming across her skin had taken her voice away. As though Amber had absorbed all of Martha’s resolve, hidden it away behind that steel of hers. The way Amber was now tracing invisible lines on the skin above her panties was making her melt a mile a minute.
Amber gave her a hint of a smile. Just enough to make that freckle on her cheek dance up a little. Of all the ways Martha had expected this night to go, she had never thought she’d be eating out of the palm of Amber’s hand in a matter of minutes. As though the lighting of the candles had galvanized Amber in some way. Maybe she had come back from India half shaman, or she’d always been like this. Filled with secret tricks, invisible to the naked eye—at least for less enlightened mortals like Martha. Or maybe it had been some sort of ritual, and the smoke of the candles carried some kind of odorless vapor that drove women wild. Or, perhaps, Martha had just longed for Amber’s touch so much.
Finally, Amber’s fingers hooked around the waistband of her panties and started tugging downward. Martha felt her breath on her thighs as Amber crouched down again. It was different this time. She was fully naked down there and Amber’s crouch left her eyes at the same height as Martha’s sex. Martha stepped out of her panties and, instinctively, spread her legs a little wider. Amber remained on her haunches, her hands now digging into the back of Martha’s thighs. Was she going to... No, she wouldn’t dare. But, really, why wouldn’t she?
Lips pressed against Martha’s inner thigh. Ever so slightly, but enough to coax a low groan from the back of her throat. She was probably soaking wet already, her smell giving everything away. And really, why would she hide this desire? What was the point? She was in this room with Amber and they both knew what was going to happen. Martha let it all go, unhooked her own bra, and, backward, walked to the bed and crashed down onto it. From under her lashes, she watched Amber crawl toward her on hands and knees. It was one of the most intoxicating sights she’d ever seen.
Martha spread her legs again, drawing up her heels onto the bed. This foreplay had lasted months. Amber had made her wait. And Martha had waited, at everyone’s insistence. Then, after their first date, it had stopped feeling like waiting, because patience had taken another shape. It had morphed into anticipation. Into a sure path to this. Even though Martha had no way of knowing if Amber felt as sure as she did. It had only been a gut feeling, an instinct, that divine connection between them from the get-go that informed Martha, despite not having much empirical evidence, that they both wanted the same thing. They wanted to give this a go. Amber wanted to give Martha a chance she hadn’t given many other women.
Therefore, Martha spread her legs even wider, and when Amber’s lips touched down on her inner thigh again, it felt like they had always belonged there.
Amber kissed a moist path inward to where Martha’s sex was throbbing with a need so great, she believed it would be unquenchable in the course of one night. Amber’s hair fell onto her skin, not quite tickling, just adding to the overall sensation of having Amber all over her—of being in the delicious grips of Amber’s complete devotion.
Then Amber’s lips kissed her clit, and a shiver crept up Martha’s spine. Instantly, it felt like more than she could bear. Like more than she had ever been given. Because this was Amber kissing her there. Beautiful Amber Gilroy with the green eyes and the mass of red hair and a kindness in her voice that was always there, even when she tried to hide it. Martha could see that now.
Amber pulled Martha’s pussy lips apart and ran her tongue over Martha’s exposed clit, causing a moan to escape Martha’s throat. Amber’s tongue kept circling vigorously, making Martha wonder whether she’d finally lost her composure. Whether now that Amber had had a taste of her, she couldn’t control herself.
Martha brought her hands to the back of Amber’s head, hoping it would encourage her, because lightning bolt after lightning bolt was electrifying her flesh now, increasing that shiver up her spine until she was shuddering all over, trembling with desire. It had only been mere minutes and Martha was ready to surrender to Amber’s tongue.
Then Amber pulled back. Martha expected her to return to business immediately. That Amber just needed to take a moment to catch her breath, or to imprint the significance of what was happening onto her psyche, but Amber’s tongue didn’t return to its previous activity.
Instead, Amber crawled up to her, looked into her eyes, shot her a smile Martha didn’t know what to do with, and maneuvered herself in one swift motion so she straddled Martha with her backside inching closer to Martha’s face.
Chapter Fifteen
Amber slanted her head towards Ma
rtha’s pussy again, but it was different from this angle. She figured there was no other option but for Martha to catch her drift, despite, perhaps, being taken by surprise a little. Amber had taken herself by surprise. When she’d envisioned this night, and she’d done so many times, this image had never made its way from her subconscious to her conscious mind, yet here they were. In this position, which was arousing Amber to a level she wouldn’t be able to bear for long. Because Martha was indeed catching her drift and she felt her hands crawling up her behind, her nails digging in, Martha shifting beneath her.
Amber took it as a sign to find her own most comfortable position. She was able to shed all she had learned about neck alignment and proper posture easily—it dissolved in the atmosphere of extreme lust she found herself in. She hunkered down some more and as Martha ran her tongue over her sex, Amber sucked Martha’s clit between her lips. This double assault of sensation was making her skin break out in goosebumps and her pulse beat in her throat—and just about everywhere else.
Even on the most regular of days, Amber was hyperaware of her body, and now it seemed like she could feel every last cell pulse with mounting desire. As though every molecule in her body had been given its own awareness and all this new-found consciousness was making them scream out for only one thing. More of Martha.
Amber busied herself with Martha’s clit and Martha did the same to hers. And she could hardly claim that, whilst at her two-month retreat, she hadn’t thought about Martha every single day. She had dreamed about her eyes and the kind of woman that hid behind them. She had imagined them waking up together on summer mornings, the sun already slanting through the windows, and catching in Martha’s light-blonde hair. Martha opening her eyes and the color of them astounding Amber all over again. And all along, Amber had known she held all the cards. She could go home and ask Martha out. Yet, fear, the thing she knew existed only in the mind, had held her back. Besides, Amber knew how to overcome fear. Because she was the one who had created it. All she had to do was let go of it.
And now here she was, with Martha’s pale skin—they were so pale together—writhing underneath her. Amber’s breasts pressing against Martha’s belly as she craned her neck some more for better access.
Then Martha surprised her by bringing a finger into play. She circled it around the rim of Amber’s pussy for only a fraction of a second before pushing it deep inside. How was Amber supposed to focus on the task at hand now? It was impossible. It was too much sensation. Too much of Martha. Too much of what she had wanted for months and had deliberately denied herself. And for what? Because she was afraid? Of this? Only the most delicious sensation the universe was capable of bestowing on her.
Martha’s finger was insistent, as though she was trying to make a point. Maybe she was. Maybe she was trying to convey a message to Amber who couldn’t see her face—who had her own face buried in Martha’s pussy. Maybe she was trying to say she was glad they had finally reached this point. That Amber had made her wait long enough. That now the two of them as an entity growing closer and closer together could finally begin. Because that was how they felt together in that moment. As one. Martha’s finger inside of her tethering herself to Amber; Amber’s mouth puckered around Martha’s clit.
It quickly became evident that there was no way Amber, not even with all the focusing ability she had built up through rigorous meditation and yoga, could focus on Martha’s pussy whilst Martha was fucking her like that. Then Martha’s finger withdrew and Amber had a moment to regroup. But the finger returned swiftly, spreading Amber wider, telling her Martha meant business because she had just added another one and why would she do that if she didn’t have one very swift outcome in mind? As of then, Martha’s pink pussy lips only served as an aphrodisiac while Martha’s fingers stroked inside of Amber from an angle that was quickly driving her crazy. Martha’s nipples pressed against her belly; Martha’s fingers pushed inside of her; Martha’s pussy was on full display in front of her. Amber was engulfed in Martha. The world had narrowed down to only Martha Waltz in her bedroom, the candles flickering in the night and, with every flicker, taking away a bit of Amber’s sanity.
Then, as she had done with the fear that had prevented her from calling Martha months ago to get this started without losing time, Amber let go. There were no inhibitions left. They were both face-deep in each other’s most intimate parts. Amber had been ready to surrender long ago. Perhaps in that glorious moment when Martha had unbuttoned her blouse and had not been able to hide the awe in her eyes. Even though Amber didn’t see herself as someone who took pride in how her body looked. She didn’t practice yoga because it made her look good—anyone who practiced for that reason alone would never make it past a few classes. Yet Amber had felt a twinge of pride course through herself nonetheless, or maybe it was lust mistaken for pride, or just the fact that she had been able, for a split second, to enthrall Martha like that.
Amber let go and let her cheek fall onto Martha’s lower belly. She let go as Martha fucked her to an orgasm she hadn’t expected to need like this, but that was what it felt like when the first signs of it made themselves manifest in her body. Like much more than a physical sensation caused by Martha’s fingers inside of her and the thought of Martha’s face so close to the very center of Amber’s pleasure. It felt like years of need were being washed away by a single wave of climax. Amber’s mind went blank after that first wave and as the second one hit her, she cried out. A guttural groan pushed past her throat, fed by everything she had denied herself for too long.
After the waves subsided, and Amber felt as though she’d been lying cheek-down on Martha’s belly for hours, she pushed herself up, lifted her leg up and maneuvered herself so she could see Martha’s face. She needed to see her, more than she needed to finish what she had started herself. She would get to that in a minute, after she’d caught a glimpse of Martha’s expression.
Martha’s smile was sweet, sweeter than Amber had ever seen it. She looked as satisfied as Amber felt. Amber lay down next to her and kissed her hard on the cheek, hoping the pressure she applied would express her emotions adequately. Martha turned her face and before Amber had a chance to do anything else, Martha was kissing her, her tongue disappearing into Amber’s mouth.
While they kissed, Amber let her hand slide down, over the slope of Martha’s breast, resting there briefly, then down even more, over her belly, where her cheek had rested earlier when she had cried out, then down to her pussy, where Amber had already kissed her profusely. While their lips remained locked, Amber slid two fingers inside of Martha and having her fingers enter Martha’s wet, hot center made her feel like the rest of the universe—and all the happiness it entailed—lay at her fingertips as well.
Chapter Sixteen
Martha woke first. Amber was lying on her side, facing her, the covers half thrown off. Martha’s lips twitched up into a smile of their own accord. Because she knew that waking up next to Amber this morning meant something. Even though it had been frustrating, she was glad Amber had taken her time, and that they hadn’t fallen into bed together after their first date. This way, it simply meant more. It felt like a more informed decision. Like more than just desire that needed to be met before it boiled over and fizzled out. This Sunday morning felt like a new start in Martha’s life.
As if Amber knew Martha was awake, she opened her eyes, her lips stretching into a wide smile as well. Amber didn’t say anything, just looked at Martha with her green eyes, which seemed paler in the morning light, and scooted closer. Under the covers, Martha threw a leg over Amber’s, and Amber slid her knee in between. Martha hoped Amber wouldn’t have to teach many early-morning Sunday classes in the future, because she was convinced her life wouldn’t be right if every Sunday morning didn’t start like this.
Once their bodies were draped in a satisfactory intertwined position, Amber said, “Good morning.”
Martha pressed a gentle kiss to her nose. “Hey.”
She smiled more a
nd Amber smiled more in response. This is it, Martha thought. This is what it feels like to be in complete sync with another person. It wasn’t just the spectacular sex they’d had last night, or the waking up in each other’s arms, it was the thought that took root deep inside of her, that Martha and Amber together would amount to something special. Martha knew it when she looked into Amber’s eyes. She could look into those eyes for the rest of the day. No other sustenance would be necessary if she could lie here all day and look at Amber. Because she was the one Martha had waited for all along, perhaps all her life. What had Amber said late last night, just before they went to sleep? I knew the moment I met you. Not as such, but I had a feeling. That was why she had been so afraid, Martha suspected.
Martha couldn’t claim the same instant sensation, because that night when she’d met Amber had been so confusing, but, in hindsight, it hadn’t taken her subconscious very long to figure it out either. It just took a while before her conscious brain had picked up on it.
“Stay with me all day,” Amber whispered.
“I’ll stay with you much longer,” Martha replied.
Amber quirked up her eyebrows. “Looks like there will be many vegan dinners and yoga lessons in your future then, Professor Waltz.”
“One night with you and I’ve already been converted to the virtues of yoga and veganism.” To make her point clearer, Martha ran a finger over Amber’s lower abdomen. “No woman above forty should have abs like that. It seems to me that the only reason to do so is to put the rest of us to shame.”