by Renée Dahlia
“Rosalie.” Priya barely recognised her own voice, all throaty and hoarse.
“Yes?”
“Can I undress you?” Please. Priya needed to touch Rosalie everywhere, to explore her and find out all her secrets. She wanted to know if she was ticklish and which spots made her moan. For the love of all the gods, she needed to make Rosalie moan and squirm and cry out.
“On one condition.”
Priya giggled. “Spoken like a banker. What are your terms?”
“Only that I get to do everything you do for me.”
“Tit for tat?” Priya’s old nervous energy burst out as a riotous laugh—a release that anticipated the very different type of release she craved—and Rosalie grinned before she kissed her and drank in the sound.
“Oh yes.” Rosalie swept one hand over Priya’s waist and up to cup her breast. “Tit for tat, indeed.” It took all of Priya’s concentration to push Rosalie’s jacket off her shoulders, and not just arch her back to lift her taut nipples towards Rosalie’s hand. With the other hand, Rosalie still held Priya’s left hand, the one she’d kissed, and her knuckles still seemed to shimmer with the remnant of that initial brush of Rosalie’s lips. Priya tugged gently on her captured hand, and it slipped clear of Rosalie’s hold. She lifted it up to trace the edge of Rosalie’s jaw, along her ear, and when she pulled on Rosalie’s earlobe, the answer was a moan that vibrated through their kiss. Priya slid her hands across Rosalie’s shoulders and pushed her jacket away to expose the lovely silk of her evening gown. The gown was adorned with beads in the latest fashion and they were a rough texture under her palms.
“You have me trapped.”
Priya nearly retorted that it was all part of her plan. “I’m sorry.” She stepped away and finished removing Rosalie’s jacket.
“Don’t be sorry. Please. I like it.”
Priya deliberately raised one eyebrow. “I will tuck that knowledge away for later.”
“Please do.” Rosalie’s mouth flickered at the edges, encouraging Priya as she laid Rosalie’s jacket over the back of a chair. “Follow me.”
“Where?” Priya stilled for a second.
“To my bedroom. To my bed.” The wide eyed hope in Rosalie’s gaze was all it took for Priya’s stomach to clench. No, she would not panic and run again. She would be brave and let Rosalie into her life, so to speak, since technically Priya was stepping into Rosalie’s domain. Why did that bother her more than if it were the other way? Oh, because she was truly relinquishing control to Rosalie. Was she ready to gift herself to someone else?
“Are you willing?” Rosalie asked.
“Yes. Yes. Lead me to your bed.” Yes. She was ready. It was now or never, and Priya’s growing desire—like a burning ember in her chest—told her now was her chance. Her opportunity to discover if the light between them still burned as hot as it did six years ago. So much had happened since then, and yet, one thing remained true. Rosalie inspired a chemical reaction in her veins like no other. Once she’d tried to kiss a man to see what it was like. She’d chosen a good kind man—Mr Patel—one who she was attracted to physically and emotionally, and yet, when they kissed, he asked her for too much. He proved he was as kind as she’d hoped when he stopped after she’d said she was uncomfortable, and she knew how fortunate she’d been that he’d eventually listened before they’d gone too far. The experience hadn’t been catastrophic. Men like the persistent Mr Flannery would never make it on her list of options, not that there was any telling him that. Kissing Mr Patel had been fine, nice without any desire to do it again, and more importantly the memory of that one kiss was instructive. The experience allowed her to see that kisses with Rosalie where special. And not just because Rosalie knew how to balance the question of desire and wanting more, while also providing the answer to her desires without causing her discomfort. Rosalie kissed her as if she understood her needs.
Rosalie held out her hand, and Priya placed hers against Rosalie’s warm palm. She followed her along the hallway towards Rosalie’s bedroom. With every step, her heart beat faster; twice, thrice, speeding up as her steps began to feel slower, and yet, she knew it was an illusion. She wasn’t walking slower. It was only that her heart raced out of time with her footsteps.
Chapter 13
Rosalie couldn’t believe Priya was finally—finally—walking willingly into her bedroom. For years, she’d lain in her bed at night, and touched herself with images of that one night six years ago occupying her thoughts. Now, she would discover if she’d spent so long fanaticising to the point where her memory overtook reality. Would Priya’s presence be as good as Rosalie remembered? If their kisses were anything to use as a judge, then yes. To quote her grandfather, she should stop borrowing trouble from the future. Analyse it and make a decision. There was nothing to be gained from continual speculation. The fact was that Priya was here, and from the way she held her hand, and cast her thumb slowly over Rosalie’s pulse, she wanted to be here as much as Rosalie. It was time to throw off her gown with gay abandon and embrace the moment. To press her skin against Priya’s warm body and revel in this evening’s pleasures.
“Through here. You can hang your gown in my wardrobe if you want.”
“Thank you. The fabric is quite fragile, and I do adore this gown.” Soon enough, Priya shimmied out of the gown, and hung it carefully on a hanger. She wore a long corset down over her hips with the latest slimline shape, and stockings with the garter barely visible at the top of her thighs. Her stockings covered her shoeless feet, and when Rosalie slid her gaze back up towards Priya’s face, she discovered a coy smile and gleaming eyes.
“You like what you see?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
Priya slowly shook her head. It was a quick reminder that Priya wasn’t completely comfortable, and Rosalie wanted to reassure her, even though she wasn’t sure that was what she should do to achieve that. She didn’t want to startle Priya into running again. Was it disingenuous to worry about that now? After all, they’d already discussed it and Priya had been firm in saying she would stay.
“A question, but I think I see the answer in your gaze.”
“If the answer that you think you see is yes, then you are certainly correct.” Rosalie stripped off her evening gown and hung it over a chair.
“Are you going to leave that like that?”
“Yes. Mrs Walsh will sort it out tomorrow when I’m in the office.”
“It’s not good for the fabric to lie like that. Let me.” Priya walked past Rosalie and picked up the gown from the chair. She gently uncreased it before hanging it away properly. Rosalie should have taken the time to keep undressing, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Priya doing such a domestic task. A woman who’d grown up wealthy would have staff to do those basic tasks for her—just as Rosalie employed Mrs Walsh—and yet, Priya bustled through the motion of caring for the gown as if it really mattered.
“I don’t—” Rosalie stopped. She didn’t want to break the moment, not when she was almost naked in the same room as Priya; something she’d wanted, desired, for years. Was it nerves that made her stomach flip like that and her tongue try to run off in unnecessary directions? It must be.
“You don’t what?”
“Nothing. Shall I help you with your corset?” Rosalie’s fingers tingled. She needed to see Priya’s skin, all of it, and touch her everywhere. A faint memory of the tangy taste of Priya’s most private juices made her mouth wet and her thighs tremble.
“No. I can manage.”
Rosalie smiled and reached out to stroke her hand along Priya’s arm. “It’s not about managing. I want to help you because it would please me.”
“And would it please me as well?” Priya’s tone teased and her lips curved upwards, almost in a smile.
“I certainly hope so.” Please let that be an invitation. Rosalie licked her lips. How could her mouth be moist and her lips dry? Priya answered all Rosalie’s imaginings by shifting a few steps closer
—close enough that Rosalie could breathe in Priya’s soft orange blossom scent—and then Priya spread her arms wide.
“I’m all yours.”
Three little words that were music to Rosalie’s ears, and fingertips. She traced her hands along the edges of Priya’s corset, across the lacy top that hinted at Priya’s curves underneath. Priya’s breath quickened against Rosalie’s neck as she began to unlace the corset. The modern style was laced down the front; another fascinating fact that spoke to Priya’s independence and lack of her own maid. Rosalie parked the question for later, because as she loosened the laces, the corset began to fall apart and reveal the lush mounds of Priya’s breasts. She could easily bury her face in the hollow between them and lick. Not yet. Rosalie suppressed a shiver, although it still sizzled down her spine, and pushed the corset wide enough that it fell to the ground.
“Wait.” Rosalie bent down to pick up the corset and Priya stepped out of the encircled garment. Priya bent forward to help, and Rosalie rocked back on her heels. “Let me.” She lifted the corset off the ground and placed it carefully on the side table. “Priya. Look at me.” Rosalie stood before Priya and placed her hands on Priya’s hips with the soft cotton camisole under her palms, and waited for Priya to step forward into an embrace. Priya didn’t glance at her garment once, instead she stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed Rosalie. At first a soft hesitant kiss, one that belonged to someone who was uncertain. Rosalie waited; it took more patience than the approvals process for a mortgage, and yet it would be worth the wait. Slowly—too slowly—Priya began to deepen their kiss, and as a fresh band of confidence started to flow in the way Priya angled her head and pressed her tongue into Rosalie’s mouth, Rosalie let desire spark up and down her spine. She responded to Priya’s exploration with the beginnings of the urgency growing in her chest. Her pulse beat too fast and all she wanted to do was devour Priya and be devoured in return. She spread one hand on Priya’s lower back and with the other, she caressed along Priya’s arm and shoulder until she grasped the back of her neck. She used a slight pressure to deepen the kiss and was rewarded with a groan. One that she returned in full, a guttural moan of pleasure, as Priya’s tongue tussled with Rosalie. Priya’s fingers tugged at the laces on Rosalie’s corset and the tight undergarment loosened with a rush of air to her lungs. Rosalie didn’t lace herself in tightly, the current fashions allowed for more room than the Belle Epoque of the pre-war fashions, and she was surprised to notice the intake of air to her lungs. It took her temporarily back in time. With another breath she centred herself again, back into the present, with Priya. Not the youthful Priya of before the war. A more mature, emotionally interesting Priya whose sly little grin as she undid Rosalie’s under things sent another wave of heat surging inside Rosalie’s torso. Every little touch of Priya’s fingers as she pulled the laces completely free taunted her. With one last tug, Priya pulled the corset off, and before Rosalie had time to brace herself, Priya shoved up her camisole and exposed her breasts to the air. Priya slid her hands around to hold Rosalie’s shoulder blades, then sucked on Rosalie’s nipple. Rosalie shrieked as pleasure shot down to her core.
“Priya.”
“Too much?”
“Again. Please.”
Priya nodded, then did the same, and this time, even though Rosalie was ready for it, the pull of desire was still a shock. Before she knew it, they were tangled on the bed together, hands and arms intertwined with Priya’s mouth exploring all over Rosalie’s breasts. Rosalie traced her fingers along Priya’s arms and threaded her fingers through her thick black hair.
“I love how you’ve kept your hair long.”
Priya flicked her tongue over Rosalie’s nipple, then glanced up. “I tried a bob cut, but my hair was too thick, it wouldn’t swish the right way, so I gave up and kept it long.”
“It’s fantastic. So heavy against my hands.” She followed the curve of Priya’s ear and tried to ignore the way Priya’s breath sent wave after wave of shivers over her naked breasts. Priya covered one nipple with her mouth as she hummed an agreement and Rosalie’s hips bucked underneath Priya’s glorious weight. All her skin rubbed against her, hot and delicious, and when Priya nudged her knee between Rosalie’s, she willingly spread her legs wide, hopeful that Priya might slid lower to where she was wet and ready. But Priya didn’t do as she expected, instead she gripped Rosalie’s waist and wriggled higher to kiss her again. Rosalie opened her mouth, desperately kissing Priya in return, and used her tongue to taste every available part of Priya’s kiss. Her soft lips became her only focus; the whole room faded and disappeared until all she could do was feel. Taste. Priya’s gentle orange blossom perfume surrounded her, and as she breathed her in, she smelled the tangy salt of Priya’s arousal. She rolled them both onto their sides, freeing up Priya’s body and let her hands drift down Priya’s side, over her curves and down to her hip. She still wore her stockings, a notion that brought a grin to Rosalie’s face.
“What makes you smile?”
“You felt that?”
“I’m kissing you. Of course I felt your smile.” Priya slipped her hands up to cup Rosalie’s breasts, then over Rosalie’s sensitive nipples—sending another flush of heat over her skin and making gooseflesh rise on her arms—before gently shifting her hands over her throat to cradle Rosalie’s face. Warmth added to the burning heat of desire; she felt something more than lust, because Priya held her face as if she were a precious treasure.
“I was—” Rosalie cleared her throat. “I was thinking about your stockings.”
“These ones.” Priya lifted her knee and rubbed her stocking clad leg across Rosalie’s leg. She wrapped it over Rosalie’s prone legs, and Rosalie glanced down because she knew the action would open up Priya’s core and expose all the soft flesh for Rosalie’s view. But their bodies were too tightly embraced, and she saw nothing. She could feel though, and she ran her hands down Priya’s spine, over her round bottom, and slipped one hand between Priya’s legs. Slickness and heat met her fingers as Priya shifted again, sliding her knee higher and angling her hips to give Rosalie more access. Rosalie leaned forward and sucked on Priya’s neck as she slowly eased one finger inside Priya. The resulting moan vibrated between them, and Rosalie arched her spine to rub her body tighter against Priya. Priya hooked her leg tighter over Rosalie, drawing them even closer together, until their pubic bones rubbed hard against each other and their curls tangled. Rosalie had just enough brain power remaining to coordinate her finger strokes with her teeth, and she nipped at Priya’s neck, right where she must have placed a spot of her perfume earlier tonight, as she slid her fingers up to tease her quim. Priya groaned, and her response was remarkable. Priya’s hands moved everywhere, caressing Rosalie’s skin until it burned and sparkled. The fire between them hadn’t dimmed in six years, if anything it burned brighter this time, with a mature need to explore and touch each other everywhere. Six years ago, Rosalie had knelt before Priya and worshipped her. This time, Priya was less distant, more involved and the whole experience built and built inside her. Every stroke of Priya’s hands over her skin, every brush of her thumb over her nipples and the caress of Priya’s fingertips on the tender, almost ticklish, part in the crook of her neck had her moaning with desire. Joy.
“Priya.” Rosalie was close, she could feel it in her stomach as a spiralling pressure. One that made her breath hitch shorter and faster in time with her galloping pulse.
“Yes?” The question was guttural, low and throaty.
“Touch me.” Rosalie used her height to keep one arm stretched over Priya’s hip, where her hand slid inside her, and tried to shift Priya’s leg where it trapped her tight against her hip to give herself more access. The action pushed their bodies tighter together.
Priya wriggled. “I can’t reach you, like this.” She rolled away and slid one hand between them, but the change forced Rosalie’s own hand to shift away. She didn’t fight the change, just pushed Priya gently onto her back, and her hands gli
ded over her hips and onto her stomach. Her black curls beckoned, and Rosalie greedily threaded her fingers down through Priya’s curls. She pressed her thumb on Priya’s quim at the very moment, Priya did the same to her. Hands tangled and Rosalie lost track of her exact movements as she spread her legs and panted, her own fingers desperate and needy. All it took was a hard kiss from Priya on her mouth, and Rosalie came in a rush. She fingered Priya in desperate movements, in and out, with Priya’s slickness coating her hand, and all around her, the sounds of Priya and her own cries filled her ears with joy and the type of connection that she’d never felt with anyone else. It wasn’t elegant and it wasn’t really considerate either. It was pure unadulterated need, a frantic frenzied need to be as close to Priya as possible. Her breath caught in her throat as she spiralled, letting herself fall under the spell of that delicious loss of control that was so incredible.
“Priya.” The wrung out cry culminated in more waves of pleasure, until her stomach muscles ached and her skin was tender. She felt raw inside and out, and all she wanted to do was kiss Priya all over. Again and again. Priya nuzzled against her neck, her breath all hot against Rosalie’s skin, as she shuddered around Rosalie’s fingers. The shocking pleasure subsided, leaving Rosalie’s limbs so relaxed they felt somehow weightless and heavy at the same time.
“Why did I wait so long?” Priya’s breathless question barely registered before she closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 14
Priya woke up disorientated with scratchy eyes. The sunlight seeped in through a crack in the dark blue curtain to reveal an unfamiliar room with pale yellow walls, and a William Morris rug on the floor. She’d seen the same design at an exhibition in Paris before the war.
“Good morning.” Rosalie looked far too chirpy and Priya blinked. Realisation flooded in and she jerked awake, sitting up so quickly that she knocked her head on the wrought iron headrest of Rosalie’s bed. The Morris rug should have clued her into her location; and she cursed internally at the way her brain could recall a carpet designer while she was barely awake and not remember that she’d spent a wonderful night in Rosalie’s bed with her.
