by Harper Bliss
“Is this… okay now?”
I shrug. “I really don’t know. But how could it be wrong?” In many, many ways, flashes through my mind. Ali’s vulnerable tonight. Am I taking advantage of that? She will still be my boss at some point. Jeffrey would fire me if he found out. But I look into Ali’s eyes, not a hint of brazenness in them, and I know none of that matters. Not right now. She needs someone. She needs more than words. She needs someone who cares, and I do.
23
Ali
I did it again. I kissed Jill again. I didn’t mean to. I certainly didn’t come here with that intention in mind. I just did it. A wave of desire came over me and I pressed my lips to hers and, this time, she didn’t pull back. This time, she kissed me back. And her question lingers between us: how could it be wrong?
It will always be a little bit wrong—that’s probably one of the reasons why, since I’ve met her, I’ve wanted to kiss her so badly. But the reasons are of no importance now. Because in that sense, Jill is correct. How could this be wrong when it feels so incredibly good—so utterly right?
I lean in again and, as I do, I marvel at the shape of her lips, at the wonder of them. They look as though their sole purpose in life is to be kissed and to kiss back. And Jill’s kiss is divine. It sucks me right in, tethers me to her, makes me never want to leave this place, her couch, her arms. A hot flash courses through me, and it hits me that, when it comes to Jill Gold, I want so much more than this kiss. First of all, I want to know so much more about her. I want to know who the woman in the picture is. I want to know why she works so much. I want to know what she looks like underneath that turtleneck sweater. Is she hiding something?
“Oh, fuck, Ali,” she says, on a sigh, when our lips part. “What are we doing?”
For the first time, I seem to lose all my game around her. Because I have been playing her. From the very beginning, I’ve been testing her boundaries. And I haven’t always been nice to her and I’ve made her do things she didn’t want to do. All the while, she has shown me such kindness, which is not something I always respond to, but with her, I do.
“The fuck if I know.” My breath comes quickly. God, I want her. I don’t know if I can have her—I don’t know if I should.
“I want… more,” she says, “but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Even if it was the worst idea in history, it still wouldn’t matter.” I look into her steel-blue eyes. “We both know that.” It seems like my game is back. I wish it wasn’t. I wish I could just stop and just be me. Show my true self. Hasn’t Jill shown me enough that I can trust her?
“Do you want that drink now?” she asks.
“Jill,” I whisper. “I only want you.” And what I’m saying—it comes from the bottom of my heart. I bring my hand to her cheek and caress her skin with the back of my fingers. “Do you want me?”
“Ali,” she says, as though just saying my name is causing her pain. Then she nods.
Jill wants me. I try to parse the information, but my attention is already drawn to her pillowy lips again. She pursed them slightly when she nodded and it’s an image I will never forget.
I kiss her again and, this time, it’s different. The intention behind it is different. I know where it will take me. I don’t know the details, but the outcome is secure, of that I’m sure as her lips touch mine.
And kissing Jill is different than kissing anyone else I’ve ever kissed before. Because of the circumstance and because of who she is. She’s not some girl I just met at a party. She’s not someone I will want to kick out of my bed as soon as I’m done with her, although I can’t be sure that she won’t want to do that to me. It’s also the challenge of that: of making sure Jill still wants me after tonight.
“Come with me,” Jill whispers. Her lips look deliciously swollen. Her hair is disheveled even though I haven’t touched it yet. She must be hot in that sweater. She takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom.
Once inside, she pulls me to her and I finally feel her entire body pressed against me. Because we’re standing, I need to lean down considerably as she’s so much shorter than me. I guide her toward the bed while our lips keep meeting clumsily.
“Wait,” she says, before we lie down, and hoists her sweater over her head.
Finally.
Underneath, she’s only wearing a bra—black as well. She kicks off her shoes and, all the while, she keeps her eager gaze on me. Of all the things I had expected to happen tonight, frantically getting rid of my clothes in Jill’s bedroom wasn’t one of them. I might have dreamed of it, after that first, stolen kiss, for a split second once in a while, but if I did, I relegated that thought to the back of my mind immediately. But perhaps this is what happens with thoughts like that when you try to ignore them. They come bursting to the fore with such undeniable force later.
My top has buttons that need to be undone and I’m much slower to undress than Jill. She’s already on the bed in nothing but her underwear. When it hits me that this is actually Jill Gold sitting in front of me like that, I suddenly seem incapable of undoing any more of my blouse buttons. My fingers freeze at the sight of her, at the vulnerability of her near-naked body, at how ready she is for this.
Her gaze locks on mine again and she scoots to the edge to give me a hand. Although it’s not really helping because she has put one hand on my belly and her touch ignites every nerve ending in my body. But it does spur me on to get at least as naked as she is. I let go of my aspirations to be all suave and cool in this moment. The only thing that matters is that Jill is waiting for me. She wants me. She said it—nodded it—earlier and it couldn’t be more obvious now.
When I’ve finally stripped down to my underwear, which I just want to rip off as well, I join her on the bed. We stretch out and then, we’re face-to-face again.
I look into her eyes and I forget about everything that has brought me here tonight. I only focus on her. On the two freckles on the right side of her nose. On the web of crows’ feet circling her eyes. On those soft lips that I’ve now had the extended privilege of tasting. I already know that Jill Gold is a remarkable woman. She’s smart and kind and tough when she needs to be. And I want her for all of those reasons.
She runs a finger along my side. “You’re so gorgeous,” she says.
“So are you,” I reply, and I mean it. Because, in her own way, Jill is so much more beautiful than the last person I ended up in bed with. Or any actress or model I’ve been with and who would be considered objectively more beautiful than most people. And yet, to me, Jill Gold is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing undressed, of running a finger over the skin of her belly, of losing myself in the dreamy blue pools of her eyes before I lean in to kiss her. And this time, another dimension is added again, because we’re both almost naked and Jill’s skin is warm and inviting and I just want to wrap myself around her and kiss her all night long.
So I throw my arms around her and hug her even tighter while I explore more of her lips and her tongue and then her neck and clavicle, where I would, one day, like to remain for an extended period of time. I taste her skin and inhale her scent until we reach that moment where we can’t get any closer, any more intimate, without taking off the rest of our clothes.
She comes for my bra first, unhooks it with a steady hand. I lower it off my body and I watch her as her gaze is glued to my breasts. Her eyes widen a bit, as though she’s truly in awe of what she’s seeing—and maybe she is. Or maybe she’s not. We have lots to talk about, but not right now. Because right now, I’m reaching behind her back and doing the same thing she just did to my bra, but once I’ve unhooked it, she doesn’t remove it straight away. She presses her hands against the cups.
“I’m not… in my thirties. Or forties,” she says, suddenly shy.
“You’re beautiful,” I repeat, and put a hand over hers.
“I don’t look anything like you.” This must be Jill at her most vulnerable.
“Th
ank goodness for that.” I caress her hand, gently coaxing it away from the bra she’s still holding up. It’s all I can do, because this is not the time or place to give a speech about the complete unimportance of the tautness of her skin or the pertness of her breasts. I’ve been with plenty of women whose breasts were modeled and manipulated into something nature didn’t intend them to be and not once has it given me the slightest shiver of pleasure to clasp my eyes on them. The greatest thing about Jill is that she’s real. Everything about her is unfiltered. She still has plenty of East Coast in her and I bet she’s never considered seeing a plastic surgeon.
Together, we remove her bra and, once it’s gone, the need to cover herself seems to have disappeared with it. There’s a new audacity in her glance, as though getting rid of the fabric covering her breasts has given her fresh confidence.
I can’t help but reach for her. I cup her breast in my hand and I marvel at its warm softness. It feels so good in my hand, so perfect, so final, in a way. As though I’ll never need to feel any other woman’s breast again. This is it. I’ve come home in more ways than one.
I push her gently onto her back and lower myself on to her. I suck her nipple between my lips and then, the biggest marvel of all, she lets out a very gentle but extremely arousing little groan. Then she says my name.
“Oh, Ali,” she moans, and it drives me completely crazy.
I shower her breasts with kisses and I taunt her nipples with my teeth. Jill squirms beneath me, until there’s only one road left for me to take. I kiss her nipples one last time before making my way down. Jill doesn’t seem to have any issues with taking off her panties. She pushes them down for me and I guide them off her legs and then she’s naked in front of me.
24
Jill
I take in the sight. Ali’s sitting on her knees. I can’t keep my eyes off her breasts. No wonder I had a moment of hesitation when I took off my bra. She has the most sensational breasts I’ve ever seen. And she has also just taken off the last of my underwear. I would be lying if I claimed this isn’t a bit of a mind-fuck. This is not why I told her she could come over. Yes, I wanted to comfort her, but this was not on my mind. Not even an inkling of it. And now look at me.
Ali leans over me again and she brings her face close to mine. I take the opportunity to—finally—roam my hands over her breasts, to catch her nipples between my fingers. Oh God. I’m about to combust with sheer arousal. And I don’t know if it’s her youthfulness that excites me so much, or her brazenness, or simply who she is. It’s probably a little bit of everything. All I know for absolute certain in this moment is that I want her to fuck me. I want her hands all over me, inside me, giving me a release I didn’t know I so sorely needed.
I need it more than I need to hold on to the last shred of my sanity. I pull her close to me, find her ear, and whisper, “I need you to fuck me now.” Words I’d never thought I’d speak to anyone again. Not after Melissa. Even though I’ve been with other women since her, I’ve never asked this of them in that particular way. Merely saying the words sparks a new fire beneath my skin, as though it lights up at her touch, at the prospect of what’s to come.
Ali looks down at me and nods gravely. She doesn’t say anything. She looks almost solemn, as though I’ve just given her a very difficult task. Maybe I’ve overwhelmed her, but I really don’t think so. Ali Lennox is more than up to it. Then the left corner of her mouth draws upward ever so slightly and she’s herself again, the gravity of the moment has passed, and I know I’m in for the ride of my life. Because ever since that night in her room, something’s been going on between us. I might have scolded her for kissing me at the time, but, deep down, that wasn’t what I wanted to do. Now, I finally get to kiss her back, again and again. So I do. I pull her close and I kiss her deeply, while pressing her body against mine. Until she starts kissing my breasts again—she kisses them like they’re the most beautiful breasts she’s ever kissed. She takes away the last of my worries, because it’s simply not possible to feel insecure when someone kisses you with such vigor.
Her kisses meander down and I spread my legs for her, and open to her fully. Then I welcome her—her hot breath at the apex of my thighs, her fingertips digging into my flesh, the increased heat of her actions.
Even the mattress feels different beneath me. I’ve slept in this bed a thousand times, yet it seems to yield more generously underneath me—underneath us.
Ali positions herself between my legs. Even though it’s moments away from happening—it is, in fact, already happening—I still can’t believe it. My sanity must have gone out of the window quite some time ago, because this is utter madness.
Then she pitches forward and it’s not just her breath I feel. She kisses me lightly on the thigh and my breath stalls in my throat. Her kisses keep landing on my inner thigh, as though she’s painting some kind of pattern there, but if she is, it isn’t one I can discern. I only feel the heat building between my legs, as though Ali’s already firmly kissing me there. On my raging, pulsing clit. On that spot at the center of me that hasn’t felt this alive in years. As a result, everything that’s been dormant inside of me for far too long comes alive as well. I’m hyperaware of the sounds in the room, of where Ali’s hands are, of the small, soft moans that emanate from her mouth as she kisses me again and again. And then, her lips land on my clit and I’m the one who does all the moaning.
A long, loud yelp escapes me, as though that particular part of my body has been deprived for too long. And maybe it has, even though I hardly ever take the time to consider this. But it’s something else as well, because, for the life of me, I can’t remember any of the women I’ve been with in the past few years eliciting such a reaction from me. It’s because it’s Ali Lennox doing this to me, with all her pain and confidence and contradictions. It’s because my subconscious already knows that this will be the one and only time this can happen. There are no encores. There’s only tonight.
Her tongue flicks around my clit and with every touch, I lose more of my mind. This is the single-most arousing moment of my life since I met Melissa. Then it hits me that Ali reminds me of her, not in looks, because Melissa was all dark hair and heavy brows and eyes the color of summer grass. Ali looks very different, but her personality reminds me of Melissa. Maybe that’s why I went to her stupid party that night. Maybe a part of me knew that if I didn’t go, I’d miss out on something important.
Her fingertips dig deep into the flesh of my thighs and maybe it’s foolish to see this as an effort, nevertheless, this is the most effort Ali has shown. The most devotion. The most passion. And I can’t see her face but I see enough of her to know that she’s all in, that she can be all in to something that’s not solely centered around herself. To give someone else this kind of pleasure. To gently seduce them into allowing it is, for her, a selfless act. And isn’t that exactly what she has done to me?
I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. My muscles tense up, the fire raging inside me spreads to every cell, Ali has turned me on to such an extent that I have no choice but to spur her on.
I bring a hand to her head to get her attention.
She smiles up at me from between my legs and the sight of her, the sparkle in her eyes, is enough to make me forget my most acute intention.
And then she just nods. She has understood. And, that, perhaps, is what floors me the most. To not have to say something out loud to someone, to have them wordlessly understand what you need, is a form of intimacy I’ve only ever once reached—because I’ve only ever let one person in like that. It’s probably just a coincidence, but it’s enough, more than enough, for me to surrender completely.
I feel Ali’s fingers at my entrance. She slides them through the wetness that has gathered there. My body squirms with need, with pure want. But she’s teasing me, looking at me there, making me wait. I’ll have to pay her back for that.
“Ali, please,” I beg, not caring how that makes me sound.
; Then she finally slips her fingers inside of me. It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted—like the only thing I’ve wanted since I met her. But that can’t be true. I can’t let it be true. We’re going to lead Lennox Breweries together. That’s what I wanted, I remind myself.
There’s nothing tentative about her strokes inside me. She means business. With her fingers inside me, she scoots up until her face hovers over mine. Once she’s looking into my eyes, she starts fucking me again, and I’m about to lose it.
I try to keep my eyes open, to share this moment with her, to take in as much of her as I can as she fucks me, her fingers deep inside of me. All I can think, as I ride her fingers ever closer to orgasm, is that I’m hers. In that moment, she’s got me, all of me. All of my attention is focused on her, all of my desire is wrapped around her fingers. Maybe this is what she wanted all along or maybe it just happened. Maybe I’ll never know.
Something inside me gives, can no longer hold on, and a burning climax rips through me, throws my head against the pillow, has me screaming out her name. I come again and again, as though my body is making up for lost time, until my limbs sag against the bed and all I can do is utter a limp sigh.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter.
It takes a few moments before I can open my eyes again. I’m unsure of what I’m about to encounter. Will she give a smug grin? And if she does, will I be able to bear it?
But there’s no smugness in Ali’s expression when I look at her. There’s only kindness and warmth and, perhaps, a little bit of doubt.
“That was amazing.” I pull her to me, and as I do, something inside me already starts aching, because I know the night has only just begun, but whatever this is between us, is already ending.
25
Ali
