by Anna Burke
“Harder, please, Ivy.”
She screamed as Ivy obeyed. The shadows on the ceiling burst into streaks of color as an orgasm unlike anything she’d ever experienced ripped through her, shaking her loose from her bindings and growing as Ivy sped up, pushing her as she’d always pushed her, until she convulsed around her hand and begged her to stop.
Slowly, Ivy subsided, extracting tremors with each stroke. Lillian released her hold on the bedding and fumbled for her, finding it hard to see, let alone breathe. At last she found a shoulder and a face, which she turned toward her own. Ivy’s tongue danced over her lips and she cried out again, Ivy still inside her, her body hypersensitive to touch.
“I want to kiss you.”
“You are.”
“Not there.”
She laughed, or at least she tried to. The breathy sound that escaped her lips could have been anything. “I don’t think—that was incredible—I—oh god.”
Ivy ignored her attempts at protest and pulled up her shirt to kiss down her stomach, which seemed to have grown new nerve endings, then took her swollen clit in her mouth.
She worked her gently, sucking in long, even pulls, rolling her tongue over the tip and barely moving the fingers inside her—just a hint of pressure, pushing her clit deeper into Ivy’s mouth. She’d never been sucked like this. Didn’t know it was a possibility. Ivy’s teeth and tongue and lips pulled her, tugging her back into that land of twisting, colored shadows, gathering Lillian to her until the whole of her was concentrated in that pulsing, aching center. She thought she might be crying, or screaming, or both. Her cheeks felt wet. Ivy pulled again, holding her, teasing her, while Lillian tangled her hands in her own hair and writhed in abject need.
The first orgasm had nearly flattened her.
The second one came on like a summer storm. She felt it building, clouds boiling over the horizon as Ivy moaned into her, curling her fingers deeper, demanding Lillian rise higher. She’d hooked one leg over Ivy’s shoulder, but the other leveraged her hips, asking, begging Ivy for more. And Ivy gave and took and drew her out like Orion’s bowstring before letting her snap in a kaleidoscope of shadow and light.
Chapter Ten
Ivy wandered into Storm’s-a-Brewin’ for a cup of something hot, feeling slightly pathetic at the relief she felt seeing Stormy behind the counter.
“My favorite bunny,” Stormy said. “Is it cold out there or what?”
Ivy hadn’t noticed the temperature of the December air. Her insides had been burning steadily since last night, and she felt almost feverish.
“Uh, yeah. Cold.”
Stormy gave the quiet coffee shop, which contained a handful of middle-aged women gathered around a table and the usual high school students, a quick glance and then turned her full attention to Ivy.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said instinctively, and then, “no.”
“Ah, yes. That feeling. I know it well. Sit.”
Ivy sat. Stormy put a hot cup of something that smelled like lavender and warm soymilk in her hands and leaned on the bar. Her thick curls fell around her face, framing her smile.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Oh, you know. Everything.”
“Maybe I should have given you something harder to drink. The lavender is supposed to be soothing, but I can always pour you a tall one.”
“I’m not sure that would help, either.”
“Then it really is serious.”
The feverish feeling continued and, half delirious, she looked into Stormy’s face and wondered how much she could trust her and what it said about her that a bartender was her only friend. Even if that wasn’t entirely true, the fact that she hadn’t called any of her old friends in months was also telling, though whether it spoke to the quality of those friendships or her own insecurities, she couldn’t say.
“Have you ever had a secret that would change everything if other people knew? I mean absolutely everything, every part of your life.”
“You mean besides my role as Wonder Woman?” Stormy’s expression was serious despite the joke. “No, I haven’t.”
She poked the foam on the top of her drink, considered the absurdity of both the action and her last statement, and stared at the foam peak now clinging to her finger.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“That was kind of a big thing to say.”
“It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Not even the craziest thing I’ve heard this week. Apparently, Stevie knows a guy who adds diesel to his beer because, and I quote, ‘it’s the American thing to do.’ Carries a flask of it around. Something about supporting pipelines.”
“What?”
“I know, right?”
“That’s—wow. Super disturbing.”
“So you’re good.”
“That’s a pretty low bar.”
“I live to lower bars.” Stormy tapped the bar between them and made a cymbal sound. “Anyway, I’m sorry you’re dealing with that.”
She appreciated that Stormy didn’t ask questions, even as the urge to confess overwhelmed her.
You did this to yourself. This is what you wanted, remember? Anonymity. Punishment for leaving Kara. Reap the rewards of isolation, bitch.
She really needed to have a chat with her internal monologue about its tone one of these days.
“I never thought I would be this person.”
“What person?”
“The kind of person who spills their guts to a bartender.”
“Hang on.” Stormy ducked into the back and emerged a few minutes later with her coat.
“Jill will cover for me for a bit. She owes me hours. Let’s get out of here.”
“To where?”
“You have a horse, right?”
She nodded.
“Let’s go see him.”
Seeing Stormy in the barn brought a smile to Ivy’s lips. Her attire was entirely wrong—Doc Martins paired with thick leggings and an octopus-patterned knitted sweater dress beneath a battered peacoat, the whole affair topped with a handmade red hat and a bulky scarf. A teenage girl in jodhpurs raised her eyebrows until she saw Ivy watching her. Ivy gave the girl her best Valley Girl glare, and the child paled and retreated into a stall.
“This is my boy.”
Freddie poked his long head out of his stall at the sound of her voice.
“He’s so handsome.” Stormy let him sniff her hand, then stroked his muzzle.
“Do you ride?”
“Me? Hell no. I like horses, but I’m afraid of heights, and they’re too tall. But I love to kiss their noses.” She illustrated her point by planting a smooch on Freddie’s. He twitched his lip and nudged Stormy, hoping for a treat.
“He’s a real slut for kisses.”
“Can’t say I blame him. Have you met Stevie’s horse?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Olive’s a real sweetheart. She needs a friend, though. I’ve been trying to convince Angie to get a goat, but so far no luck.”
“Is Olive stabled at the house?”
“Yep.”
An idea flashed across her mind. She discarded it immediately. There was no indoor arena at 16 Bay Road, and Freddie was accustomed to luxurious box stalls. Moving him just because he was lonely and not getting enough pasture time was ridiculous. It was December. He’d be fine. And she did not need another excuse to see Lillian.
“I thought the barn was a doggy day care.”
“It is. Morgan built a shed for Olive. It’s cute and cozy.”
And cold. Freddie turned his dark eye to her and she stroked his cheek.
“Now that we’re not in the bar, I’m not your bartender,” Stormy said. “Congratulations. You’re no longer pathetic.”
Ivy laughed and rested her weight against Freddie’s stall door. “Fair enough.”
“You don’t have to tell me your secret, but I need to ask. Is it going to hurt Lil?”
&n
bsp; “I don’t see how it could.”
Her condition wouldn’t hurt Lillian, but it might repulse her. Which shouldn’t matter. I am not in love with Lillian. And Lillian certainly was not in love with her. They’d had a nice date, and then Ivy had fucked everything up by crying and then making love to Lillian like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, which was so fucking stupid she could cry.
This was why she’d left Colorado. She wasn’t a fit partner for anyone. Kara, who loved the outdoors and travel, had deserved so much more. Which is why she’d left, sparing Kara the agony of deciding whether she wanted to slow down or move on.
Is that true? Or did you run away before Kara could look at you with pity?
“Ivy?”
She looked at Stormy, doubt thudding in her chest in place of a heartbeat. Yes, she’d run. Right into the arms of her enemy. But why? Because she wanted to punish herself? Because Lillian already despised her, so she couldn’t possibly disappoint her? Or because she’d never gotten over the stricken look on Lil’s face the morning Ivy had ruined everything?
“I—”
You what? What are you going to say, you spineless scrap of shit?
“Oh god.” She covered her face with her hands and hoped no one but Stormy was watching. Freddie lipped her in equine concern, and she rested her forehead against his neck.
“Hey.” Stormy rubbed her shoulder in soothing circles. “It will be okay.”
But it wouldn’t. She’d be lucky if she was able to work, let alone date, and she couldn’t ask anyone to sign up for her baggage. Not when things were so uncertain. Her doctor had told her she could hopefully expect to lead an almost normal life, potentially for years. Someone else might have bought that. She knew there were no such guarantees. Treatments might improve. Her condition might hold off. Or she could find herself incapacitated and unemployed and living with a caretaker. She could not dump that onto someone she cared about.
Which was why Lillian was perfect, she reminded herself. Lillian didn’t want anything from her. That was clear by the way she’d been hiding their . . . whatever it was . . . from Morgan. Lillian was rebounding. Ivy could be a rebound. It didn’t matter if she got hurt in the end. She was already hurting. She would be hurting forever because the only thing she could truly count on was the certainty of pain.
She couldn’t tell any of that to Stormy.
Steadying herself against her horse and the worn wood of the stall, she forced a smile. “You see? I really am a mess.”
“Again, I’ve seen worse.”
Perhaps a small truth was in order.
“I’ve never been this person before.”
“What person?”
“The kind of person who falls apart.”
“You WASPs. It’s like you think repression is a virtue. You know what repression is? It’s dumb. D-U-M-B.”
“But it feels so good.”
“Just ’cause it’s tight don’t make it right,” said Stormy.
“Thank you for that visual.”
“Seriously though. Can I give you some professional advice?”
“Sure.”
“The longer you try to hold yourself together, the bigger the explosion, and the more civilian casualties.”
Casualties like Lillian.
• • •
Lillian hummed to herself as she scrubbed her dinner dishes in the white farmhouse sink. Lemon-scented dish soap frothed beneath the sponge, and she could hear Stevie and Angie arguing good-naturedly about something in the living room. A car door shut outside. She glanced out through the window and saw Morgan hopping out of her truck, her sable German shepherd, Kraken, at her heels.
“Hey, stranger,” she called out to Morgan as the front door opened.
Kraken raced around the corner to greet her. Morgan followed at a more sedate pace, and Lillian heard the thud of her kicking off her boots in the mudroom. She resumed scrubbing. There was something so satisfying about the way soap frothed under hot water. The heat of it penetrated the rubber gloves she wore to keep her hands from drying out as she dug into a particularly stubborn bit of burnt sauce.
“I need to talk to you.”
Morgan’s voice, right behind her shoulder, made her jump.
“I’m listening.”
Morgan turned off the hot water. Sighing, Lillian removed her gloves, crossed her arms, turned, and withered beneath Morgan’s accusatory stare. She had a good idea about its cause.
“What the hell, Lil?”
“What the hell, what?”
Morgan wore her work outfit: a monogrammed fleece pullover and Carhartt work pants, which were streaked with horse slobber. Keeping her voice pitched low, presumably so Angie and Stevie wouldn’t hear her, she dropped the bomb Lillian had been dreading.
“You do know Ivy’s place is on the way to Emilia’s, right?”
“Is it?” Playing dumb was . . . dumb, but she wanted to put this conversation off for as long as possible.
“Your car was in her drive this morning.”
She wiped her hands on the dish towel for something to do with them, even though they hadn’t gotten wet. Morgan put a hand on her shoulder and looked down at her with her eyebrows drawn in concern.
“What were you doing there?”
She could tell Morgan it wasn’t any of her business, because it wasn’t, but one look into Morgan’s stormy eyes suggested that would get her exactly nowhere. Which was bullshit. Morgan hadn’t enjoyed her friends prying into her love life just a few months ago.
“Nothing’s happening. I needed to talk to her about a case.”
“At six in the morning? On your day off?”
“I don’t need to be interrogated about—”
“She wrecked you.”
This silenced her.
Morgan let go of her shoulder and mussed her mop of curly hair, frustration evident in the lines around her mouth. “You told me nothing was going to happen.”
She chewed on her lower lip until she tasted blood. The shame of that long-ago cold run back to the apartment she had shared with Morgan flooded through her again. She’d felt used. Dirty. Betrayed by Ivy and her own body, and by the feelings warring in her chest. So different from how she’d felt leaving Ivy’s this morning.
“I get you don’t want to talk to me about this, and I want to respect that. You know I don’t like talking about my own shit. But if you’re sleeping with her again—”
“I’m not,” she started to say, but the words died in her throat, and all that came out was a croak. She turned away from Morgan and dried the edge of the sink, refusing to meet her eyes. The warmth that had stayed with her since she left Ivy’s house cooled by degrees kelvin.
“I’m not going to let her hurt you again.”
“It was never that simple, dad.”
“Lil.”
She forced herself to look into her friend’s face, and despite Morgan’s protective words, the compassion she saw there melted her resolve.
“I can’t help it. She messes me up.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Don’t apologize. Like I said, I get it, and nobody lets anything stay a secret around here.” Morgan cast a dirty look toward the living room as she spoke, and Lillian laughed.
“Don’t blame them. Stormy’s the real issue.”
Morgan snorted. “You don’t need to tell me.”
“Remember when Emilia first got here?”
“And none of you would leave off about her? Yeah, I remember.” Morgan’s frown smoothed into a smile, as if she couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed even though, at the time, she’d been impossible to live with.
“Do you think you could have stopped yourself from falling for Em?”
“You can’t compare Emilia to Ivy.”
And yet, there were striking similarities, now that she considered the comparison. Both women had arrived in town unexpectedly. Both had family ties to the area.
Both were running from something.
But Emilia hadn’t previously broken Morgan’s heart.
“Are we talking about my favorite Poison Ivy?” Angie asked, appearing in the kitchen with her black cat purring in her arms.
“No,” said Morgan at the same time Lillian said, “Yes.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes and glanced between the two of them.
“What do you mean, your favorite Poison Ivy?”
“Oops.” Angie winced at Lillian, clearly just remembering Ivy was a forbidden topic around Morgan. “Nothing. Love to hate her. That’s all. Also Stormy invited her to Holiday Thing.”
“What?” Lillian and Morgan said in unison.
“She didn’t tell you?” Angie said to Lillian.
“No.”
“Awkward.” Angie began backing out of the room.
“Wait. How long has this been going on?” Morgan asked Angie.
“That’s my cue to leave.” Angie darted out of Morgan’s reach and vanished into the living room, where Stevie immediately began interrogating her in a heated whisper.
“Um.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. Lillian exhaled slowly and surrendered to the inevitable.
“A few weeks. We hooked up at the clinic and then I got trapped with her on Rabbit and then we went to dinner and the symphony and I spent the night at her place, and I know I’m an idiot and I don’t know what to do,” she said in a rush.
“You got trapped with her on Rabbit? Why didn’t you call? I could have come to get you.”
“Your boat was out of the water.”
“I would have put it back in if I’d known.”
“In a blizzard?”
“You were out there that night?”
“I survived.”
“Do I even want to know how you stayed warm?”
Lillian’s cheeks heated, and Morgan shook her head, a grin tugging the corner of her mouth. “Was it good at least?”
Lillian sagged against the counter and groaned. “Oh my god, yes.”
“Better than Brian?”
“Why does everyone always hate on Brian?”
“Because he should have paid you more attention, and I still think you should have dated that lobsterman instead.” Morgan’s grin spread further. “You know which one I’m talking about.”
