“I like to have the windows open to the sky.” Freya gestured to the bare frames. “The light doesn’t keep me awake. I hope that’s okay for you.”
“Yes.” Lily moved further in and turned a slow circle. “This is exactly the sort of room I would expect you to have. A serene space. Uncluttered. I like it.”
A soft meow announced Dorcas’s arrival. Freya scooped her up and set her outside the door and closed it in her face. “Not tonight, kitty cat.”
Freya turned, and the desire that flared in Lily’s eyes warmed her. Her fingers moved to the buttons of her top and she flicked them open. When the top hung loose, she moved to shrug it away, but Lily closed the space between them. She took Freya’s hands and spread them wide so her shirt gaped open. baring her braless breasts to the half-light.
Lily laid her palm on Freya’s chest, covering one small breast. The taut, rosy nipple peeked through her spread fingers. Little shocks jumped down Freya’s body at the contact. Lily bent and touched her tongue to the peak. Freya’s knees trembled and she wound her fingers into the thick silk of Lily’s hair.
Frantic thoughts tumbled and tangled in her brain. The pleasure of the here and now warred with the memories seeping into her head of the last time she had made love in this room. But then Lily moved her hand away and closed her lips over Freya’s nipple, flicking the tip with her tongue whilst her fingers meandered their way over to the other breast.
Freya’s eyes shuttered and Sarah’s face flickered briefly behind her closed lids. But in the shifting colours of pleasure, as Lily’s mouth mapped a leisurely path to the other breast, Sarah’s face dissipated into the moment that was now. Freya gave a long shuddering sigh of acceptance, and her fingers tightened in Lily’s hair, pulling her back up so she could kiss her.
The kiss was long and soft, and melted her bones to wax. She was pulled in to Lily’s orbit, flying too close to the sun of passion.
It was right where she wanted to be.
When Lily finally pushed Freya’s shirt from her shoulders so it fell to the floor, Freya worked her hands under Lily’s loose top, touching the soft skin of her belly above the maxi skirt. With frantic hands, she pulled the top up and away and dropped it to the floor, leaving Lily clad in a scarlet bra of lace and satin with impossibly thin straps. The garment seemed like it couldn’t possibly support her full breasts. Lily reached behind and unclipped the bra and cast it away. Freya rested her hands on Lily’s shoulders, traced a pattern down her outer arm and back up the inside until her fingers circled her breast. Around and around the nipple, until the dark centre peaked in her fingers.
The bed was only a step away, but it was too far. Freya took the pace. She paused, then lifted Lily’s fingers and put them on the clasp of her trousers, then placed her own on the fastening of Lily’s skirt. Taking their time, each of them stripped the other, barely touching one another’s skin, fingertips brushing lightly across hips and buttocks as their remaining clothing slipped to the floor.
Freya knelt on the bed and held out a hand to Lily. One light tug and the two of them were together on the bed, the sheet kicked down to hang off the bottom. Lily’s skin glowed warm copper against the crisp white sheets. Freya rested her hand on Lily’s stomach, where her hips flared out from a small waist. Freya’s fingers curved around Lily’s hip bone. The dark patch between her thighs beckoned and enticed, drawing Freya’s gaze and her fingers. She moved her hand down to cup Lily’s mound, curving her fingers in to settle between her damp folds,
“Wait.” Lily raised up on one elbow. In the dim light, her body was a bronze sweep. “Not without you. Never without you.”
And then she moved, rolling to face Freya, her hand curving over Freya’s hip to delve into the cleft between her thighs.
It had been three years since Freya had done this. Three long years, and in that time she had subdued and repressed her desires. No more. The white heat in her head built to an obliterating crescendo. Briefly it registered that the woman touching her so intimately was someone new, was not Sarah, but when the touch was so light, so skilful and seemed to know exactly how she liked it, what she’d expected to be a maelstrom of emotions and tears became a tide of pleasure and letting go.
Lily’s gaze remained fixed on Freya’s face, charting her reactions. When Freya’s eyes widened at an unexpected pressure, Lily eased back, resuming with a lighter touch as Freya relaxed once more into the moment.
“I’d like to go down on you.” Lily’s voice was rough, husky with desire. “I want to know what you taste like.”
The rawness of her voice, the picture the words painted, brought Freya closer to the edge. Her thighs, which had been tense with need, relaxed. Lily turned her hand so her fingers could stroke Freya’s pussy lips, tickling lightly over the outer surface before slipping back to stroke her clit.
“Do you want me inside you?”
Did she? Such an intimate thing to be inside someone, one finger, maybe more, pushing in, feeling the hot, wet clasp. And herself, feeling the slip of fingers, in and out, a slow movement, a hot, wet glide. Did she?
But then Lily’s finger traced a tiny circle around her clit and she was lost. The time for debate had passed. Her hips raised up off the bed in silent encouragement. The push of a finger parted her sex and slid inside. Freya bit her lip. Her mind focused between her legs, on the points of contact, on the delicious press and release of Lily’s fingers. Lily wasn’t forceful; she simply let her finger lie inside, her thumb passing over Freya’s lips in almost idle afterthought.
Freya grabbed the sheet, clenching it in her fist. The ache of need had built to an unbearable level, and whilst she appreciated the thoughtfulness behind this slow, slow burn, it was time for more.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice a husky croak, so thick was her throat. “More.”
Lily’s finger moved with agonising slowness, a slip and slide, her thumb a soft friction on Freya’s most intimate part.
How could she survive this much pleasure? She squeezed her eyes shut tight, as much against the tears that threatened as the concentration.
“Look at me.” Lily’s voice was a deeper pitch, as though she, too, was battling the emotion of the moment. “Please.”
The rawness of the final word made Freya’s eyes fly open. Lily’s face was a study of insecurity. A myriad of expressions flitted across it. “Who are you thinking of?” Lily’s voice trembled, even as her thumb moved a tiny circle once more. “If it’s not me, that’s okay. But I’d rather know.”
The tremor in Lily’s voice ripped through Freya, shattering the final barrier, pushing aside the tiniest lingering doubt. This strong and beautiful woman, brought down by something as small as shuttered eyes.
“You,” Freya said. “I’m only thinking of you.” She looked over at Lily, at the dear face that was already so beloved. She groped for Lily’s free hand, half blinded by the mist of tears. Finding it, she clasped it tight, then coherent thought blasted from her head in a suffusion of joy as Lily’s finger and thumb took her over the edge and into the rosy glow of light and love.
Lily left her hand in place as the aftershocks of climax rippled through Freya’s body.
Then the tears fell. Not just in a silent trickle, but in a wave of release, a flood of letting go and moving on. Lily moved to lie beside her and gathered Freya into her arms, bringing her head onto her soft breast, stroking her hair away from her damp face.
“It’s okay,” she whispered against Freya’s hair. “It’s allowed. Let it all out.”
The comfort of the warm embrace was a balm long missing. Freya’s tears sprung from a place she hadn’t know she still kept, a wellspring of emotion pent up by the wall of self-control. Every gulping sob, every heaving breath, every dampness on Lily’s skin was a release. Gradually, her tears eased enough to regain control. Her breathing patter
n helped, calmed and soothed. And Lily’s hand, stroking her skin as if Freya were a skittish filly. Freya lifted her head. The dampness on Lily’s cheeks surprised her. Freya raised up on one elbow and bent to kiss her lover.
Lover. A word she had pushed out of her vocabulary, one that should never have applied to her again, but one that now sat comfortably in her mind. Lover.
“Thank you,” she said. “For more than you know.” Her fingers clenched with the desire to touch Lily, to learn her body, to complete their joining.
Her fingers rested on Lily’s collarbone, and she traced its jutting shape. The full breast was just below, a pillowy softness, inviting to touch and taste. Her finger strayed closer, towards the dusky nipple.
“No.” Lily raised up, and Freya’s finger fell away. “Not now. Next time. This time is for you, only for you.” She leant forwards and touched her lips to Freya’s forehead.
Freya swallowed. The gifts kept coming, both in words and actions. “No,” she said, even as the urge to fall back on the firmness of her mattress and rest her head on Lily’s breast again and let their breath synchronise overwhelmed her. “I can’t let you—”
Lily pressed a finger to Freya’s lips. “Sssh. We will have our time again. There will be time and enough and more. Maybe even tomorrow. What you let me do meant a lot to me. I want to savour that.”
The simple words warmed her. She turned to press a kiss to Lily’s shoulder, her body already relaxing into the soft bonelessness of sleep.
“Thank you.” One swift indrawn breath, a long exhale and the patterns behind her eyes were the shifting colours of dreams, shot through with images of Lily.
Chapter 21
Lily didn’t know where she was for a moment. The light slanted through the window in a muted, diffuse way and the room was cooler than her bedroom. She raised on one elbow, seeing the grey-green leaves of the tree outside the window.
In the small bed, the woman beside her slept on. Her silver-streaked hair was spread over the pillow, its wiry halo subdued. Freya. Lily studied her lover as she slept. Freya’s face was relaxed, her shimmering defensive shield absent. She lay curled on her side facing the window. The sheet rested just below her shoulders, hiding her small breasts from Lily’s gaze. Beautiful breasts, smooth and creamy, a dusting of freckles on the upper curve, and rosy nipples that hardened in an instant.
A light scratching noise sounded at the base of the bedroom door, along with a plaintive meow. It was the scratching that had woken her. She got quietly out of bed and opened the door. Dorcas and Mabel tumbled in and leapt onto the bed. Dorcas nestled in the small of Freya’s back and glared at Lily. Mabel kept going off the other side of the bed and stalked the room, tail quivering as she explored.
Lily’s glance flitted between the woman and the bed that she had just left, and the doorway to the kitchen where there would be coffee.
Freya muttered in her sleep and rolled onto her back, just missing Dorcas, who moved to crouch like a small rounded hillock on the pillow.
The bed was a lot smaller with Freya sprawled in the middle of it, so Lily headed for the kitchen. Freya didn’t have a coffee machine, but Lily found a plunger and a packet of ground coffee. By the time she returned to the bedroom, full plunger and two mugs in hand, Freya was stirring. Lily put the coffee down and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I thought I’d dreamt last night.” Freya pushed the disordered mess of hair from her face.
“As long as it wasn’t a nightmare.”
“Definitely not. It was rather erotic actually.”
Lily pushed down the plunger. “Coffee?”
Freya’s glance flicked from the plunger to where Lily, still naked, sat on the edge of the bed. She rolled onto her side and propped her head on a hand. “I was thinking of something a little different to coffee.”
It was suddenly hard to draw a breath. The room was too warm, and she was thirsty—both a physical thirst and for something else entirely. The first she could do something about; the second… Right now, that was up to Freya. She poured a mug of coffee and took a sip. Strong and black, it burned her mouth.
“Impatient.” Amusement resonated in Freya’s voice. “What else can’t you wait for?” She traced a line along the outer curve of Lily’s thigh with a finger.
Lily didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “I can wait. I’d rather you were sure. No morning-after regrets, no second thoughts.”
“None.” The fingers crept higher, stroking over Lily’s hip, tickling the sweep of her hip bone. “My only regret is that I didn’t do this to you last night.” The fingers moved up, mapped a path to Lily’s breasts and lingered on the underside of one, stroking the curve.
“I don’t regret it.” Lily captured the wandering fingers and clasped them to her chest, stilling the movement. “Last night was for you.”
Freya’s fingers fluttered like a captive bird in the cage of Lily’s hands. Freya tugged her hand free and levered herself upright in the bed. She cupped Lily’s cheek. “And this morning is for you.”
How had she ever thought Freya’s eyes were cold? There was no cold mercury glare this morning; the grey eyes were the softness of unfurling petals.
Freya leant forwards until her lips hovered over Lily’s. “I want this. Do you?”
The yearning in the words made Lily swallow hard. She had desired this for a long time. Had thought it was a place she would never be. This morning still had the unreal air of a dream, something nebulous she had to knot her hands into, to grasp before it could fade away. But then Freya’s fingers slipped from Lily’s cheek, down over the sweep of neck and shoulder to cup her breast in the same deliberate, careful way she had cupped her cheek. But her fingers danced over Lily’s nipple and the shocks of pleasure sent spirals of desire deep into her belly. Freya’s fingers mapped a careful path to Lily’s other nipple. Lily closed her eyes, the better to focus on the ache building low and hot. An image of Freya burned behind her closed eyelids. She opened them again, wanting to see the real woman who was causing such joy.
“Stand up.” Freya issued the command in a husky voice, as if she couldn’t speak with a clear throat.
Lily stood, helpless in the face of Freya’s authority.
Freya’s hands came to rest on Lily’s hips, her fingers spread.
Lily’s knees trembled. Surely Freya must smell her arousal. She could smell her own musky heat, all hot and yearning. For long moments, Freya studied her, her glance flickering over Lily’s belly, her womanly hips, and lingering on the junction of her thighs.
The clasp on her hips shifted, lower, more central, so that Freya’s fingers pressed on Lily’s belly, and her thumbs moved lightly over her pussy lips. Just a gentle touch, just a slow, tortuous to and fro, tickling over their engorged fullness. Freya bent forwards and kissed Lily’s belly, her breath hot on Lily’s navel.
Lily wound her hands into Freya’s hair. Despite the humidity and heat of a Queensland summer, it still sprung from her head in a crinkly mass, gold and silver blending to some fantastic new colour. Lily shifted her stance so there was a gap between her legs. Freya took full advantage and her fingers trailed lower, touched briefly on Lily’s upper thighs, fingering lightly before reversing to inch up the inside curve. Her finger touched Lily’s lips.
Lily’s fingers tightened in the wild hair. The buzz in her head was anticipation, and a joyful bubbling release. What would Freya do next? She must surely feel her damp desire, must surely realise how much Lily wanted this. Wanted her. Her knees shook again, a fine tremor, but she was caught in the web of Freya’s weaving and she couldn’t—didn’t want to—move.
Freya’s lips moved down, over the curve of Lily’s belly, and her fingers moved up, briefly dipping between her lower lips. A swirl, a light fingering, then the fingers crept up even as her mouth moved down and the two me
t and melded right above Lily’s mound. She looked down at the silver-gold head and the fingers and mouth working such magic on her belly. What would that mouth feel like if it moved lower? Was that something Freya liked to do?
And then she was doing it, and Lily shifted position to allow Freya’s lips and fingers to come together at the junction of her thighs. The lightest of touches and then the movement of her lips combined to create an explosive symphony that threatened to overwhelm her in its intensity. Her breath came in hard, hot pants, bursts of sound that rose in intensity.
Freya lifted her mouth long enough to say, “Put one foot on the bed.”
Years of yoga made it easy for her to raise one leg, balance, and rest her foot on the mattress. Warm air caressed her sex, and then Freya’s lips were there once more, mobile lips, agile tongue, and despite the yoga training, despite her strong thigh muscles, she would have crashed to the ground as her knee shook if it weren’t for the anchoring clasp on her lover. She moaned with the joy of it, a high keening wail that grew louder with each tiny peak.
When the wave of pleasure passed, she sank to the bed, bringing her feet up to lie in the middle. Gripping Freya’s hand, she urged her alongside. Freya’s slighter body burned hot and she moved over half on top of Lily. Her firm thigh rested on Lily’s softer ones, and Freya’s nipples pressed hard points of urgency into Lily’s side.
Lily kissed her, content to let the slow burn reach a simmer, and then a boil. Soft kisses, ones that tasted and sipped rather than demanded. “You’re incredible,” she whispered into Freya’s mouth, and her hands glided a long slow journey down between her lover’s thighs once more, as Lily delighted in how this pathway already seemed familiar, as if they had been joined for a long time, instead of simply the night.
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