by Harper Bliss
She hunkers down and I clasp my hands against her ass cheeks. Pull her to me. Even though the action is localized to my mouth and her pussy, it feels like she’s all over me. I can sense her everywhere. I close my eyes because I can’t see much, and everything intensifies even more.
I slide the tip of my tongue over her pussy lips, let it skate over her clit. Camille squirms on top of me. She’s not only realizing a fantasy, but she’ll also have it on video. Well played on her part.
I repeat the motion of my tongue a few times, tasting her almost tentatively. This evening is not a race to the finish. It’s not about climax after climax. It’s about committing to memory. How she smells, feels, tastes. The sounds she makes in the back of her throat when she’s about to come. The sensation of her flesh in my eager hands.
I circle her clit with my tongue, suck it into my mouth, then trill the tip of my tongue over it for a few seconds. She trembles in my hands. The sound of her voice is muffled by her knees next to my ears. I can’t wait to watch this on video either. To see her when she gives herself up like this. It will be a deliciously kinky privilege.
I up the ante of my tongue action. I suck at her clit as though I want to suck her entire being inside of me. As though it will allow me to keep a part of her within me, resting there, until it can be replenished when I see her again.
Then I feel her hand on mine, which still resides on her ass. She takes control of it and guides it closer to the split between her cheeks. She doesn’t let go until the tip of my middle finger rests next to the rim of her most intimate orifice. I guess her fantasy was more elaborate than just sitting on my face. She gives my hand a squeeze. It’s the only way we have of communicating while my mouth is busy and my ears are deaf. But I know what to do. I want to give Camille everything she wants that is within my capabilities. This certainly is.
I move my finger down a little and coat it in her abundant wetness. Then I bring it back and I slide in the tip. I focus on my hand for a few seconds, my tongue going limp against her clit. My fingertip is met with such fierce warmth, it spurs my tongue back into action.
“Oh.” Camille’s groan is so wild I can hear it loud and clear. She wiggles her ass a bit, inches it closer to my finger. She wants more. I slide in a little deeper while my tongue goes crazy against her clit. The contrast between the gentle movements of my finger and the frenzy of my tongue is startling. It makes my own blood beat faster in my veins. But nothing is more important to me right now than giving Camille the orgasm she’s been dreaming of—perhaps for years.
Her voice increases in pitch. She moans loudly, as though the sound comes from the deepest place within her. She shivers against my finger. Her movements grow more out of control. She bucks against my mouth, against my finger, sucking it deeper inside of herself. Then she goes totally still for a few seconds, during which I don’t dare move.
Her yelp is so heartfelt, it has me worried for an instant. But then she maneuvers herself away from my finger and mouth, and pushes herself off me. She doesn’t smile when she looks down at me. She just crashes next to me and looks me in the eyes, then kisses me full on the lips.
After I’ve washed my hands and am lying next to Camille in my bed again—where I want to preserve the imprint she is making in my mattress forever—she sends me a big smile, and says, “I would like to amend my answer to one of your questions from earlier. Namely the highlight of my trip to Australia.” She leans her head on an upturned palm. “I’ve had many highlights, but nothing beats the feeling of making another woman climax.” Her smile goes soft. “There’s truly nothing like it.”
“Agreed.”
She arches up her eyebrows. “I feel like I have so many climaxes to make up for. Mine and others…” She paints a circle around my belly-button. My body responds accordingly. “And by others, I mean you.”
Though my body is in a high state of arousal, there’s one thing we haven’t yet addressed. “I wouldn’t want to limit your new-found sources of pleasure when you are back in Paris.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that we’re not going to see each other for at least two months. You’ve just learned all about the gratification of being with another woman. We can talk about this. If you want to… explore.”
“I’ve waited a long time for this. I’m sure I can wait a little longer for more.”
“I would understand, is all I’m saying.”
“Will you be exploring your pleasure with other women?” she asks, her finger still circling my navel.
“God no.” I smile up at her. “I’m pretty convinced no other woman can make me feel like this.”
“Like what?” Camille smiles at me coyly as she lets her finger dip lower. “Can you describe it for me?” Her voice has gone low.
“How about I show you instead?” I repeat her words from earlier.
“That works for me.” Her finger has drifted all the way between my legs.
Instinctively, I spread them more. It’s only the tip of her finger touching me, yet it feels like so much more. My body responds as though Camille has her hands all over me. My back arches up to her. My whole being is attuned to her. The first time we ended up in bed together, it still felt like I was trying to exorcise the last remnants of Rebecca’s presence from my mind. Now, it’s all about Camille. Everything associated with Rebecca feels like a lifetime ago. My life before Camille. The life that will, in a way, end tomorrow already. Better make the most of it now. No more thoughts about our upcoming farewell. I need to believe that there’s only now.
It’s not difficult, because Camille’s finger is skating along my throbbing pussy lips. She kisses me, then slides her body down. As she does, I find the camera and glance into the lens. I want to know what I look like in this moment. I want to remember it forever. These delicious few seconds of extreme anticipation. Her finger hovers, but it’s near enough. She sits between my legs and looks at me. To have this woman look at me like that. She looks like she’s about to lick her lips, but there’s awe in her face as well. I wish I had set up a camera at the head of the bed so her expression right now could have been captured as well.
She bows down. Both her hands are on my hips. She digs her nails into my soft flesh there. Then she folds her long body in half and touches her tongue to my lips. Slowly, she drags the tip up and down. It shoots through me like a dagger of red, hot lust. Tears prick behind my eyes. It’s the combination of her and me. It’s as if my subconscious realizes there’s some sort of magic in it. And all the chemical processes in my brain and body are working together to make me even more crazy about Camille Rousseau. Even her name sounds so delicious. My girlfriend, Camille Rousseau. It sounds so sophisticated. In my head, it sounds so real.
Her tongue is drawing circles now, and I don’t even need her to add any fingers. I can still taste her on my own tongue. I can still feel her heat on the tip of my finger. My arousal has grown to such levels, it doesn’t even matter what she does anymore. Because that’s Camille Rousseau’s tongue on my clit. Camille Rousseau with her small dark eyes. Her freckled, pale skin. Her long, gangly limbs. Her French sense of humor. The person is enough. The sight of her bowed down in front of me catapults me easily onto the next plane of arousal. But most of all, this is us. Camille and Zoya. In this bed on this night. I look into the lens again. That way I’ll be able to examine the changes in my face as Camille brings me closer to orgasm. I’m not far off now.
I feel a finger at the entrance of my pussy. Two. She spreads my lips. There’s a shift of air. She’s no longer licking me. She’s looking. Involuntarily, I buck up my hips.
Two fingers pierce me. Or is it three? I have no idea, but she spreads me wide. My pussy clamps down on her, wanting to trap her there forever.
Camille fucks me slowly and I feel it everywhere. Not only in my flesh, that sparks with heat and lust and anticipatory satisfaction, but it echoes throughout me so that my mind is filled with only her. Camille Rousseau. I forget abo
ut everything else—myself most of all. It’s all her—and me tethered to her fingers inside of me. And, oh, they feel so good. Camille has the kind of fingers I can just look at and get aroused. They’re slender, like her, and long and strong. I bet that, to most, she has the most ordinary hands, but to me, like her, they’re special. Especially because of what they’re doing right now. Burrowing into me, igniting my pleasure, calling it. But I don’t want to come just yet. I want this exquisite sensation of almost-but-not-yet to last a little longer. Want her fingers to remain for as long as I can take them.
I open my eyes and find her looking at me. I stare back and her gaze on me unleashes something. Tears first of all. The tears that have been welling behind my eyes break free. Because she is releasing more in me than orgasmic endorphins and this powerful blend of love and lust. Before I met her, I was bitter and angry. I felt slighted and wronged by the woman I loved. I felt sorry for myself and allowed myself to wallow in it endlessly. Camille put a stop to all of that when she asked me out.
I look into her eyes as tears stream down my cheeks. Wetness all around, I think, as her fingers keep delving down, keep taking me. She brings her other hand to my belly, then lower, and lower still. She flicks a finger over my clit while she keeps looking at me. I know what she’s doing. She wants the memory of my face, wants to remember what I look like when I come for her.
I want to keep my eyes open. I want that connection between us when I tip over the edge. That little something extra to make it more intimate.
She circles my clit with her fingertip while the fingers of her other hand become more insistent inside of me. Her strokes pick up speed, find a rhythm with the action she bestows on my clit. Her eyes are narrowed. The room is semi-dark, but I can still make out the freckles on her nose. The curve of her delicious lips, which are parted now—as though she’s right along on the path to ecstasy with me.
“Oh god,” I moan. “Oh, Camille.” Saying her name is the very thing that pushes me over. And as the heat engulfs me, and the white light erupts inside my mind, for the life of me, I can’t keep my eyes open. But even when my eyelids fall shut, she is still all I see. There’s no one or nothing else.
When I come to and open my eyes, a soft smile plays on her lips. Her fingers retreat and, in a gesture that has already become quite predictable, she brings them to her mouth and licks them. It’s enough for me to want them buried deep inside of me again. To want to repeat this all night long. I really do owe Caitlin for getting me the morning off tomorrow. Right now, it’s everything. Nothing is more important. Because it’s not just the extra few hours tomorrow, but the effect they have on tonight. It adds a carefreeness we need right now.
“You showed me,” she says. “I’ve seen more than enough.” She flanks my body with hers and kisses me. “I think we should reposition the camera now.”
Chapter Thirteen
The morning comes too soon, even though we have done everything possible to make time slow down. Nothing worked. Time just kept marching on, which, we concluded, would help us during the two months we’ll spend apart.
“No tears,” Camille says just after we’ve woken up. “What happened to us is a good thing. A glorious thing. Tears will only ruin it.”
“I’ll try.” I remember my tears from last night vividly, how they ran hotly over my cheeks, then pooled into a cold mess on my neck. “I promise.”
“I’ll call you when I get to Hong Kong. It’ll be evening here.”
“My phone won’t leave my side all day.”
“I will write you a long email when I’m on the plane.”
“God, it’s such a long journey.”
“Nine hours to Hong Kong. Five hour lay-over. Then thirteen hours to Paris. It’s not for the faint of heart.” She chuckles.
“My heart won’t be faint when I embark on the same journey in two months. I’ll book my ticket today.”
“Hopefully you’ll still want to come by then.”
“I can’t think of any reason why not.”
“Hm.” Camille pretends to be thinking deeply. “What if… Dominique Laroche invites me for a threesome with her and Stéphanie?”
“Then you’d better tell her to wait until July so we can make it a foursome.”
“I think we might be too old for her anyway.” She’s giggling like a schoolgirl. She scoots closer to me, if that’s even possible, her leg over mine, her warm body pressed to me, her arm wound tightly around my torso. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Your children are waiting for you at the other end of that journey,” I say, instead of what I really want to say. That I don’t want her to go either. But I promised her no tears and if we start talking like that there will be no holding back.
“I have to go back to work,” she groans.
“I’m sure French science has missed you,” I say into her hair.
“I’m not so sure I missed it.”
“The routine will help.”
“My poor neglected cat will be happy to be able to return home. She’s been staying with my neighbor.”
“You have a cat?” That’s the first time I’ve heard Camille mention any pets.
“Yes. Her name is Iris. She’s huge and black as coal and I’m sure she missed her territory more than her human.”
“Do you have any other pets?”
Camille shakes her head against my shoulder. “No. It’s just me and Iris.”
“After Rebecca left, I thought about getting a cat. But then I thought it better to move house first.”
“That’s a good idea.” She pulls her face away from my shoulder and looks at me. “Are you going to move into the Airbnb now?”
“That bloody apartment. I never wanted it. The whole Airbnb enterprise was Rebecca’s baby. I went to see the place with her before she bought it, and I had to sign the papers because it was bought in my name, but that’s about it. And look what it ended up doing to me.”
“If the place was her baby, how come you ended up in charge?”
“Let’s just say her interests changed.” I kiss Camille on the cheek. “But let’s not waste our time talking about my ex.”
Camille nods and silence falls. “Would it be easier for you if you didn’t come to the airport?” she asks.
“Maybe, but even if it was, I would still go. Unless you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to get on that plane with me. That’s what I want.”
“For what it’s worth, if it wasn’t for my job, I’d fly to Paris with you in a heartbeat. It would be different if you lived in Brussels or another boring sounding city like that, but Paris… oh, yes.”
“So, it would be more the city than the woman?” She grins. “I get it.”
“The no-tears thing we were talking about. Does it also count in the shower where you can’t see them?” I dig my fingertips into her biceps. “Because I’m about ready for a wash now.”
Because I don’t trust myself to drive back safely after saying goodbye to Camille, we take a taxi to the airport. It’s a beautiful day and we spend most of the way there gazing out of the window, fighting with our emotions—trying not to cry.
I’m wearing sunglasses and a hat, because at the airport just when I’m saying goodbye to a woman I’ve fallen in love with over the course of one short week, is not a time I want to be recognized by anyone. I wouldn’t usually bother, but today, I’ve made the effort.
When we arrive, she checks in first so she can be rid of her luggage—which is surprisingly light for a two-month trip—and then the time has come. We’re in a public space, so a drawn-out kissing session is out of the question. I can’t go past security with her. All we can do now is have coffee together.
“They should have special cubicles or something where people can say goodbye to each other properly without needing to resort to awkward public displays of affection,” I say, when I sit across from Camille for the last time. I gave her the yellow dress she wore last night, and, on her insistenc
e, a scarf of mine with my perfume on. But for the long-haul flight she’s wearing comfortable jeans, T-shirt and a blazer.
“Imagine what people would do in those things, though,” Camille says. “A few last minutes of passion before boarding.” She shakes her head. “Permanent cleaning staff would be required.”
“Yeah.” I’ve scooted my chair close to hers so I can at least put a hand on her knee.
“I’m going to have to go soon.” She checks her watch. “We stayed in the shower too long.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “It was worth every minute.”
“Call me as soon as you can.” I’m beginning to sound like a broken record.
She nods. “It’s been a while since I had someone waiting by the phone for me to call.”
“Are you going to tell your children?”
“I can’t see how I can keep it a secret from them. They’ll probably be able to read it off my face as soon as they see me.” She drains the last of her coffee, starts pushing her chair back.
The dreaded moment has come. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe the hours leading up to it will have taken out most of the sting.
“I’ll walk with you.” I take her hand in mine. The line at security is long, but I can’t line up with her. I can wait until she has disappeared behind the panels dividing the departure hall from the inner sanctum of the airport. I’ll see her inch closer to the spot where she will disappear from my sight. Then I’ll take a taxi straight to work.
“Bye, my love.” She turns to me, puts her cool hands on my neck. “I’m going to miss you so much, but I’m trying to look at it from the bright side. It was a privilege getting to know you, Zoya Das. And I’ll have hours of your show to watch on the flight.”
“I’ll edit our videos, then find some way to encrypt them before sending them to you.”
“See, we both have enticing prospects.”
