Window Dressing

by Lucy Felthouse

The amused look on her face told me she knew perfectly well what a cliché her words were, but it didn’t matter, not to either of us. What mattered was that we were both naked and in a shower together. There was only one logical step from there.

  “Backs?” I replied, still cupping the shower gel in my palm. “How about fronts?” With that, I reached out and swiped the liquid across her breastbone, watching with fascination as it ran down toward her breasts. The piercings in her nipples shone in the light coming through the bathroom window.

  Edith’s eyes narrowed, but I could still see that her pupils were dilated. Taking a step forward, she then reached around, grabbed my buttocks and yanked me so our bodies were flush. Breasts squashed against breasts, and bellies against bellies. Then, ramping up the already very erotic scenario, Edith began twisting at the waist, rubbing her top half from side to side, transferring shower gel from her body to mine and turning it into soapsuds in the process.

  I moaned, overwhelmed at the sensations from her soft skin and the hardness of her nipple piercings. It was new, different, but either way, I definitely liked it. I liked her.

  Suddenly aware that I was now standing there like a fool, one hand still clutching the bottle of shower gel and the other hanging uselessly at my side, I snapped into action. Opening the shower gel, I then lifted the bottle above where our slippery bodies were joined and squirted. Then, after returning the bottle to the shelf, I cupped Edith’s nape and pulled her in for a kiss.

  She tasted of coffee and blueberries—she’d been healthier than I and had fruit on her pancakes—and I thrilled at the feel of her tongue stud, another new experience for me. I wondered what it would feel like against my clit, if I’d get chance to find out…

  Releasing her neck, I let my hands wander as we continued to kiss, and she did the same. I encountered inch after inch of soft, warm, wet skin. The backside I’d so admired earlier was the ideal mixture of pert and squashy, and I thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of the mounds of flesh as I touched them. I squeezed and lifted them, loving the little grunts Edith made, which I swallowed into my mouth.

  She was clearly more of a boob than a bum kind of a girl, as she’d homed in on my breasts. Her movements were much the same as the ones I was making on her bottom, with the addition of her also having nipples to play with. She made circles on them with her palms, gliding around and around, aided by the slickness of the soap. The touches were light, teasing, tantalizing…and I wanted more. I groaned.

  She responded by pinching my nipples, hard. Despite the rushing water, I felt cream gush from my pussy and run down my leg. Christ, but I was horny.

  Dipping down into her crack, I stroked her swollen pussy lips and dipped in farther still. She was soaked and red hot.

  And when I found the piercing in her clit, I almost spontaneously combusted. Holy fuck! Pulling away from the kiss, I said, “But you don’t even have your ears pierced!”

  With a smug smile, she said, “That’s what makes it so much fun. Not everyone notices my tongue piercing, so they won’t necessarily know I’m into piercings. It’s cool, having all these secrets beneath my clothes that nobody knows about.”

  “I know about them.”

  “Yeah, but I want you to.”

  I tentatively brushed my fingertips over her most intimate piercing. “Does it…hurt when I do that?”

  “Hell no!” she replied. “Bloody hell, do you think I’d have had it done if it meant I’d never be able to touch my clit again, or have it touched?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, never thought of it that way. Silly me.”

  “Just touch it like you would normally touch someone. Or yourself. Don’t be scared, you won’t hurt me. I promise.”

  “All right.” I moved my hand around to her front, giving me much better access. Gathering up Edith’s juices, I smeared them over her clit—which, even with the piercing, I could tell was swollen—and began stroking it.

  She purred and bucked into my touch, still playing with my tits and nipples, but was clearly distracted. It didn’t matter—I suddenly wanted nothing more than to get her off, to watch her gorgeous face contort as she was in the throes of a shuddering climax. A climax that I’d given her.

  Unable to resist, I thrust two fingers into her molten, clenching channel, gathering up plenty more of her slickness. Then I pulled out and returned my focus to her swollen bud. She’d abandoned my breasts for now, and clutched the tops of my arms, her eyes wide and peering at my face as each circle, each stroke, brought her ever closer to coming.

  Soon, her eyes drifted shut, her eyelashes settling against flushed cheeks. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. I carried on, trying hard to keep the same pace, as it was clearly doing the job.

  Then, just as I was starting to worry that my hand and wrist would cramp up, Edith came. Her nails dug into my upper arms, the shocking pain soon morphing into pleasure and making my own clitoris swell and ache with need. With a gasp and a bunch of expletives, she arched her back, letting loose a long, low moan.

  Sure she was past the point of no return, I quickly moved my fingers from her clit and slipped them back inside her, relishing the powerful and heady sensation of her walls clenching and undulating around my digits. Good God, but she felt like heaven. And she looked stunning, too, all flushed skin, erect nipples, wide eyes, parted, pouting lips…

  As I felt her orgasm ebbing away, I pulled out and immediately put my fingers in my mouth, tasting her. I’d rather have tasted directly from the source, but it wasn’t an option at that moment.

  As she realized what I was doing, Edith’s lips curved up into a lazy grin. “Horny girl.”

  “Yes,” I replied, seeing no point in denying it. “That was so fucking hot, feeling you come for me like that.”

  “It felt pretty damn hot. Thank you, that was amazing. Now…strangely enough, we don’t seem to be getting very much cleaner in this shower. So why don’t we rinse off before the hot water runs out and go somewhere more comfortable? I would like this”—she stuck out her tongue and waggled it cheekily—“to become much more closely acquainted with this.” She slipped her hand between my thighs and cupped my vulva, grinding the heel of her hand all-too-briefly against my clit.

  “Fine by me,” I quipped, leaning my head back under the spray and running my hands over my hair to ensure all the conditioner was rinsed away. “I’ve got ages before I need to hit the road. So I’m sure lots of our respective body parts can become much more closely acquainted with each other.”

  With a tweak of my nipple, Edith stepped away and opened the cubicle door. “I can hardly wait. I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re done.”

  “Which one’s the bedroom?” I called out, hurriedly sluicing the last of the stuff from my hair.

  “Oh, you’ll find me,” she replied with a chuckle.

  “Damn right I bloody will,” I said, not sure if she could still hear me or not. Made no difference. I shut off the water, exited the cubicle and grabbed the towel she’d left for me. Rubbing it quickly over my body, I then squeezed as much water from my hair as I could, then stuck it back up into the hair tie I’d left on the edge of the sink. I’d probably look like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward when my hair dried, but I didn’t care.

  All that mattered to me was finding Edith and picking up where we’d left off. We had just a few hours left, and I fully intended to make the most of them.

  Also available from Pride Publishing:

  Worth a Shot

  Cari Z

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Oh, Denver. God damn you and your massive influx of newcomers, your skyrocketing rental rates and your inability to produce enough housing for everybody. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the new blood, but you know how many of them were looking for a place to live? Almost all of them.

  You’d think that would be good, since I needed to rent half my duplex, but in reality? It just muddied the waters with so many candidates that I couldn’t tel
l good from bad on paper, because everybody was trying to make themselves out to be perfect. And separating the real McCoy from the pretenders was hard. I mean, like, destroying the Death Star hard. You could see the pinhole target you were shooting for, but none of the shots went in. It was kind of a phallic metaphor, which really wasn’t my thing at all, but it fit.

  Sure, maybe it was easy if a girl didn’t have standards. For instance, I could have taken the guy who showed up smelling like an open bottle of Drano with everything he owned obviously stuffed into his car. He was willing to pay cash, three months up front, but he wouldn’t give me an ID. Hell to the no, and get your beater out of my driveway before someone associates me with your Ford Fiesta, pal.

  Then there was Bachelor Number Two, who seemed nice enough until we got to the subject of pets. “Your ad didn’t say anything about no dogs,” he ventured, and I nodded.

  “Right, a dog would be fine.”

  “Cool, cool. What about cats?”

  “No problem.”

  “How about a gator?”

  “I’m…sorry?”

  “An alligator. I’d keep her in the tub, I promise. Except when she needs to stretch her legs, but I’d let you know before I let her out in the back. Is the fence solid?”

  I didn’t know what a solid enough fence would be for an alligator, but I had a feeling that mine wasn’t going to do the trick. Thank God. “Actually, no. It’s completely porous, wouldn’t keep in a kitten, much less an alligator.”

  “Aw, darn.”

  Prospects three through six were turned away due to a previous eviction for setting her last apartment on fire, a previous conviction for robbing a marijuana dispensary, insufficient funds, which I hated to do but I had bills to pay too, damn it, and a disagreement over how many vehicles they could house here―four was three too many. By the time I got around to appointment number seven, I was this close to just slamming my door shut, slapping a hot pack on my shoulders and settling in for a Fast and Furious marathon, because nothing soothed my soul like the sight of Michelle Rodriguez behind the wheel of a muscle car. When the doorbell rang, I literally cringed before making myself get up and respond.

  What I saw pulled my angst up short. It was a woman, with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and the kind of skin that looked as if it went red in under five minutes of direct sunlight, who was dressed in jeans and a sweater and wearing a Yankees ball cap on her head. She’d arrived riding shotgun in a black sedan, but the driver, an older woman in a dark suit, didn’t bother getting out of the car.

  “Hi,” the newest prospect said, and held out a hand. “I’m Katie Hansen.”

  I shook her hand with tentative hope. “Samara Wynne, but call me Sam. Come on in.” I led her into my little living room and pointed to a chair. “Please have a seat. Can I get you some water?”

  “No, thanks.” She sat, and I hoped it wasn’t too obvious I was checking her out as I sat down across from her. She looked so…average. Normal, if one could actually put a face to something like that.

  I tried to stomp on my enthusiasm. With my luck, she’d turn out to be a smuggler or drug dealer or something. I shuffled through the applications on my coffee table until I found hers. Huh. Good credit score for someone so young.

  “So, Katie, tell me a little about yourself.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “I’m twenty-three, I’m taking courses at the University of Denver, I’ve never been arrested for anything and I can pay a month’s rent and the damage deposit up front.”

  I smiled at her. “Not your first time giving this speech recently, huh?”

  “No.” She looked a little sheepish. “I’m new to the area and I don’t have a job, since I’m going to school full-time right now. A lot of landlords don’t seem to like that kind of uncertainty.”

  I could understand that, but I was also so done with interviewing people. “It’s not an issue for me as long as you can make the rent. Do you have any pets?”

  “No, but I was thinking of getting a dog.”

  One dog? Child’s play. “Cool. Are you up for signing a yearlong lease?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Do you play music over eighty-five decibels on a regular basis?”

  “I don’t even know how loud that is, but I don’t think so?” she offered.

  Oh yeah, we were cooking now. “What about a car?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “No?” I raised one eyebrow. “What about the one you drove here in?”

  “That belongs to a friend of the family.” She made a little wave toward the parking pad out front, as if indicating the woman who’d declined to come inside. “Personally, I prefer to take the bus.”

  Seriously, was there anything wrong with her? “Great. Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Yeah, a few.” She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Would you mind if I added another lock to the door and installed security cameras?”

  “Um.” Weeeell… “No, not as long as I could still get into your half of the duplex, but is there any specific reason you’re so concerned about security? A psycho ex or something?”

  “No, no,” she assured me. “No psycho ex. Just… I’m from Brighton Beach, back in New York, and there were some…crime issues I dealt with there. It’s left me kind of paranoid.” She looked at me closely. “If it’s a problem, that’s fine. I can—”

  “Hey, no.” I wasn’t going to lose a lead on a decent renter just because she was safety-conscious. “It’s no problem, I was just curious. Any other questions for me?”

  “Really just one important one.” Katie stared me straight in the eyes. “Are you a Red Sox fan? Because if you are, I’m afraid we can’t be friends.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “That’s your line in the sand? The Red Sox? Oh my god, I thought you were gonna ask me if I smoked pot or something. Which, yes, but not often. Red Sox. That’s baseball, right?”

  Katie looked aghast. “You don’t know who the Red Sox are? I mean, great, because they suck, but you really don’t?”

  “Not my sport,” I explained. “So no, I’m not a fan.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah.” We stared at each other in silence for a moment longer before I pulled myself together. “You want to see the other side?”

  “Yes please.”

  Katie signed the lease half an hour later, and moved in over the weekend. Everything she owned fit in the back of a little U-Haul, which at least proved that she could drive even if she didn’t. I helped her move things in exchange for teasing out a little more about her, and over the course of a few days I learned a few interesting tidbits. Not as many as I thought I’d get, which was interesting in and of itself, but some.

  I learned that Katie had been born and raised in Brighton Beach, that she had an older brother she rarely spoke with and a father she never spoke with. I learned that she was studying psychology with the intention of becoming a counselor, that she had absolutely no interest in drugs of any kind but didn’t proselytize about it, and that her favorite color was red. I learned that she had an amber ring on her right hand that came from her mother, that her favorite television show was Orphan Black, and that she would literally fight you if you said anything negative about the Yankees.

  “This is Broncos Country, you know,” I mentioned as we got her television set up. “Nobody cares if you like the Yankees as long as you’re faithful to the Broncos.”

  “I don’t know much about football.”

  “Oh, you’ll learn.”

  By Sunday evening she was all moved in and I was feeling good about my decision. Katie seemed as though she’d make a perfect renter, responsible without being a complete drag. If I was lucky she might even turn into a friend, although several conditions had to be met before that could happen. One concerned food.

  “I’m making Indian tonight, you want to come over?” I asked as I brushed the dust from her futon off my pants
. I was a little surprised by how dusty all of her stuff was, as though it had been in storage for longer than it took to drive out here from the East Coast. Maybe she’d taken some detours, done some sightseeing on the way over. God knows I would have.

  “I love Indian food,” Katie said.

  “Good.” First test passed. Now for the ringer. “How do you feel about watching Fast and Furious while we eat?”

  Katie considered the question for a moment. “Can we start with one that has Gisele in it?”

  I grinned at her. “Sure, if you want. Four?”

  “Let’s go with Five, it’s got her on the Ducati.”

  I shook my head. “But that one has almost no Letty in it.” It was my least favorite for that very reason. No Michelle Rodriguez? Fuck that.

  “Why don’t we compromise and watch Six?” Katie asked. “It has both.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Even though your girl dies in it?”

  Katie shrugged. “She dies very heroically, though.”

  Couldn’t argue with that. “Sure.” I cooked and Katie cleaned up afterward, and we drank craft beer from the new brewery down the street and watched a movie together on my couch. It was the nicest non-date I’d gone on in longer than I could remember. I had no idea if Katie was interested in women, and didn’t plan on asking just for the sake of it. I was pretty happy regardless—after weeks of looking, I’d finally found the perfect housemate.

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  About the Author

  Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novel Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 140 publications to her name. She is also one eighth of the Brit Babes.

  Email: lucy@lucyfelthouse.co.uk

  Lucy loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.