Rogue Nights (The Rogue Series Book 6)

by Talia Hibbert

  When we get outside, I’m not sure what our next plan is, except DeAnne’s husband, Rob, who hustles after us, waving the keys to their minivan. “Where to, ladies?”

  “Not sure,” Fred says. “Let’s figure that out on the way.”

  * * *

  What we figure out is a room at an airport hotel. It’s home for the next two nights, unless we can bump up our flights, and it’s…beige.

  But it’s also private and ours, and my pulse jacks up as soon as the door closes behind Fred.

  She takes her time parking her suitcase next to the desk.

  I peel out of my parka and kick off my boots.

  She gestures at the minibar. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “You.” I sit down on the bed closest to the window and pat the blanket next to me.

  Her eyes go wide. “Right. That.”

  “Come here,” I whisper. “Let me kiss you again.”

  “I think, technically, I kissed you before, so it wouldn’t be again. It would be you kissing me for the first time, and really, that’s the first time for you to kiss—”

  “I’ve kissed people before.”

  “A woman.”

  Oh, that little detail. “Right. I haven’t done that. But I think your mouth is probably just softer and sweeter than other mouths I’ve kissed in the past, which is lovely.”

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m great.” I look at her boots. “Want to kick those off and join me on the bed?”

  “More than anything.” But she doesn’t move.

  I scoot back, moving myself up the bed. Giving her all sorts of room. And I wait.

  She rakes her gaze down my body, then back up again.

  I wait.

  A smile blooms on her face and she takes off one boot, then the other. Nothing has ever been hotter. When she climbs onto the bed, my heart actually skips for joy.

  She stretches out beside me, her head on the other pillow, and she tentatively reaches across the divide to brush her fingers against my cheek. “Hi there,” she whispers.

  “Hi.”

  “This isn’t how I saw today going.”

  “The yelling or the kissing?”

  “Both.”

  “Same.”

  “When did you…?”

  “I don’t know. When I followed you upstairs, maybe? Maybe last night, while we were talking about everything. Last week when I tried to get you to go home with literally anyone, and you didn’t want to…I was relieved. That was a weird feeling.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  She presses her eyes shut, and I take the moment to greedily soak up the gorgeous lines of her face. The elfin shape, the pink of her lips, the pale dusk of her eyelids. The dark, thick brush of her eyelashes.

  All of it is perfect.

  When she opens her eyes again, I’m a little closer. “I want you,” I admit. It’s the nicest thing I’ve said all day. “I didn’t see this coming, but it’s huge inside me. Like, I really need you to—”

  In a flash, she closes the small gap and presses her lips against mine.

  That. I need that.

  I need her slight weight as she rolls on top of me, I need her to show me where she wants my hands—oh, yes, she’s grabby once she gets going, and that’s so good.

  So very good.

  I gasp as she spreads her thighs and pushes up so she’s straddling me.

  “Take off your top,” I gasp, and she looks at me in wide-eyed wonder.

  “Really?”

  “Fuck yes. Get naked. Unless you’re a take-it-slow kind of woman, and then I’ll hold back on all my filthy ideas until sometime tomorrow.”

  She peels off her t-shirt.

  This is definitely new territory for me. I’ve never been with a guy who liked endless exploration of his skin, but when I push myself up a bit, Fred happily sits in my lap and lets me trace circles over her flesh, slowly making my way around her breasts until her nipples are tight and hard and standing proud.

  And then I still ignore them, because this is fun, and I want her to beg me.

  When she does, I swear I could come on the spot from the breathy plea. “Please, Ami. Please suck me. Taste me.”

  Wet panties everywhere. I haul her up, easily moving her around, and feast on her tits until she’s squirming.

  And then she takes over. We’re both breathing hard as she strips me down, piece by piece, and then stretches out on top of me again.

  Bare skin has never felt so erotic.

  I genuinely don’t know what she’s going to do next, but I have a wee list of wants. Her fingers, her mouth…

  But it’s her thigh she gives me first, to grind against.

  And she kisses me.

  Deep, endlessly, ravishingly. I could come from the kiss alone, and maybe I will later on, but there are so many things racing through my head it’s really hard to shake off the idea of “what’s next” and just enjoy the now—even though it’s fucking amazing.

  She stops kissing me and presses her hands against my cheeks. “You okay?”

  “Totally overwhelmed and ready for anything,” I admit.

  “Anything?” Her eyes light up.

  Oh Goddess. My heart stops. “Uh huh.”

  She licks her way down my body and taps on my knees. “Show me your secrets, sweet girl.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  I part my legs lazily, letting her push her way between them. But it’s really Fred who’s showing me her secrets. Like she gives head like a queen, and there’s no room between us for worry, because orgasms trump wonder.

  I come for her like a screaming banshee, and she laughs at me—with me—as she presses her face against the inside of my thigh.

  The look on her face when she crawls back up my body is a gift. “You’re a filthy girl, aren’t you?”

  I grin, my face hot and my heart full. “Oh yeah.”

  “I had no idea.”

  I wiggle beneath her. “It’s private.”

  “Very.” Her voice slides into a husky whisper. “Private, and sexy as hell.”

  That lights me up inside like whoa. “Fred…”

  “Yes, my sweet one?”

  I press my hips against her. “I want to lick you, too. I want to eat you up.”

  She groans. “Same time? Can you take more?”

  Can I? Hell, yes. I roll us so I’m on top. I’m taller. I thought I’d need to curve my back, but we actually line up perfectly. I brush my lips against the soft swell of her inside thigh, then follow my nose to her dark curls, perched perfectly on top of her mound.

  I’ve never looked at a pussy like this, upside down.

  It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.

  And wet.

  I use my fingers to gently part her slit, revealing her slippery pink skin, a firm little clit, and a tight hole beyond that.

  So much flesh to discover. To taste and touch. To love, over and over again. I shudder as I dive in tongue first, suddenly desperate to cover myself in her essence.

  Beneath me, between my legs, she’s sucking at my tender clit already. Sweet and gentle, like she wants to get me going but not distract me.

  My technique definitely needs some work, because there’s so many folds and where do my teeth go? But the tongue seems to go over well, and I love the taste of her. Like, I never want to be anywhere but between her thighs, unless maybe we’re kissing.

  So I lick her, keeping it simple, and I let her go to down, grinding and writhing beneath me while I give her my mouth to get herself off on.

  When she comes, a flood of slick joy slides against my tongue, and that’s it. I’m definitely not straight. All porn perving has been confirmed as yes, this is definitely something that gets me achingly hot.

  Somehow, I think it was her doing, because I stay upside down, my head at the bottom of the bed, she gets turned around and curls up against me.

  “That was wow,” I say.

  S
he giggles.

  “Fred?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I like it when you call me sweet girl.”

  “Fuck.” She swears. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Twice. It’s super hot.”

  “Okay.”

  “And…”

  I stop. This is harder to say.

  “What is it?” She turns and looks at me. The second she gives me her face, it’s not hard at all. I’ll start there. One thing at a time.

  “I love your face.”

  She looks at me. Takes it in. Then a smile blooms bright, and she nods. “Good. Because I love your face, too.”

  8

  Fred

  Christmas Eve

  I meant to call my parents this morning, but I didn’t, because deep down I didn’t want to. Now it’s the late afternoon, and we’ve drifted into the hours where they would be expecting a call, so it will no longer be a nice surprise if I call. It’ll be me barely meeting their minimum standard, after a month of no contact.

  Across the living room, Ami looks up from her textbook and catches my eye. “I can hear your brain going a mile a minute from over here.”

  “Thinking about calling home and wishing them a merry Christmas.”

  She puts her highlighter down. “Do you want to do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If the answer isn’t yes, then you probably don’t.”

  “But I should.”

  “Says who?”

  Society, and they can get fucked. I laugh. “Right.”

  She shrugs. “Send them an email. Order flowers. Put your message out there in a way that doesn’t require you to hear them say anything back.”

  I nod and take a deep breath. “Can I ask something of you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I send them a picture of us?” I know it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter if they think I’m still with Ami, or anyone, for that matter.

  I wring my hands together as she looks at me, really long and hard, before slowly tipping her head to the side. “Why?”

  “Why…what?”

  “Why do you want to send a picture of us to your family?”

  Emotions jam in my throat and I stutter over my first attempt at an answer. “Because—the thing is—if I…”

  She waits.

  I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to send a generic email. It’s probably too late for flowers. But I like the idea of sending something substantive, that shows I’m not alone on Christmas. As messed up as they are, I know that’s at the root of their concern for me. They don’t want me to be alone. And I’m not. I’m blessed, and I want to share that. I want to tell them that I’m happy, that I’m spending the holidays with someone I love.”

  She waits again, but she’s smiling.

  I take another deep breath. “Is it too soon to ask you to take a holiday picture together?”

  “Not if it’s real.”

  I jump out of my chair and cross to her, falling on my knees beside the couch. “It’s so real. I should have led with that. Let me try again. Hey, I was thinking we could take a picture together for the holidays. First and foremost, for us. And also, it would be nice to send that to my parents so they know I’m happy.”

  A smile blooms across her face. “Oh, yeah, I love that. That’s an awesome idea.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She puts her textbook aside and holds out her arms. I crawl on top of her and settle in for a cuddle discussion. “How Christmas-y do you want it?”

  I glance around her living room. Zero decorations here. “I have some lights at my place? Or we can go out for dinner, make our own Christmas Eve tradition, and take a picture when we find the right spot?”

  “Yes, that.” She reaches for her phone. “What do you feel like?”

  I don’t move. I feel like her right now, and I press my mouth against her neck in a lazy, soft kiss.

  She giggles. “Other than sex.”

  I twist my head to look at her phone, because I can hear her texting. “Who are you messaging?”

  “I’m asking people for their fav Christmas things to do around here, since I’ve never stayed in the city for the holidays before.”

  I stop molesting her and prop myself up. “We haven’t talked much about that.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Not much to talk about. I told you, my parents were fine with it. They went on a cruise.” And she’d wrinkled her nose at that, too. Two nose wrinkles about something is probably a sign that it isn’t nothing. I tell her as much, and she stops protesting immediately. “You’re right. I guess I am a bit out of sorts about that. But I’m happy I stayed. I worry a little bit—only a little—about my relationship with my parents. If all parental relations inevitably strain, because of generational differences. And I…” She sighs. “I miss my mom sometimes. Like my mom of a decade ago, when things were easier. Except they weren’t easier. I just didn’t know how complicated everything in life was. So…”

  I nod. I get it, I really do. “So, we’ve got each other,” I whisper.

  “I love your face,” she whispers back. Then her phone beeps. “Okay, Camilla says the Dyker Lights are a good bet, if we don’t mind going for a bit of a walk.”

  I’ve heard of the neighborhood light show before, but never checked it out. A walk with my love on Christmas Eve sounds perfect. “Let’s bundle up, then.”

  We get extra-large takeout cups of coffee on the way, and we talk about our parents a bit more, until we mutually agree that’s enough of that. Then we talk about her internship which begins in January, and my job hunting, and a kernel of an idea starts to form in my mind.

  It’s too soon.

  We love each other to pieces, but these things can’t be rushed.

  But sometime soon, I’m going to ask her to move in with me.

  It’s too soon, I remind myself again.

  And yet, when we arrive on the edge of the neighborhood that is all lit up in an over-the-top display—every house, as far as the eye can see, I’m struck with an awareness of this is how people end up doing things like proposing at ball games.

  I’m not going to propose, of course. I don’t have anything prepared, and it’s too soon, and Ami would be a ring kind of girl.

  But if I were to do something like that, it would be this kind of a setting, because her face has totally softened. She’s beautiful. And it’s the big inflatables, the extra gaudy decorations, that seem to amuse her the most. She sighs happily at light displays, but she keeps sneaking awe-struck looks at any giant Santa on a roof.

  We stop at the same time in front a stately brick home. The front door is framed on either side by larger-than-life nutcrackers. One of them is holding a pride flag in its hand.

  “Here,” Ami says at the same time as I say, “This is perfect.”

  We grin and take a couple of selfies together, different shots.

  “I want one a bit further back,” she says, and turns to a woman next to us. “Excuse me. Would you mind taking my picture with my girlfriend?”

  The woman gives us a friendly smile. “Sure thing, honey.”

  Ami hands over her phone and the woman steps back a few paces. Ami takes my hand and I turn to look at the woman more fully, but Ami tugs at me.

  I turn back just in time for her to kiss me full on the mouth. “This one is just for us,” she whispers, and I kiss her back.

  After we thank our photo accomplice, we head out of Dyker Heights and go in search of hot soup to warm us up. Ami’s favorite vegetarian Pan-Asian place on Ditmas is open, so we go there. As we wait for our order, Ami flips through the photos on her phone.

  “Oh,” she says softly, her face lighting up again, just like it had when she saw the Christmas lights.

  “Got a good one?”

  She nods. “Maybe it’s not just for us after all.”

  She hands over the phone. Our mystery friend took a gorgeous picture of us, right before we kissed. We’re looki
ng at each other and grinning, framed perfectly by the nutcrackers and the twinkly white lights behind them.

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s our Christmas card, I think.”

  “I agree.” She taps on the screen, and a moment later my phone vibrates.

  I don’t hesitate. I immediately add it to an email message. I don’t personalize it to my parents. Instead, I send it out as a group email, BCCing my cousin and high school friends, as well as some local people here in the city.

  Merry Christmas to all.

  I stare at the start. It’s a bit…cold. But then, until recently, that has been me. That is still me in so many ways.

  I add a bunch more.

  This has been quite the year, a rocky one at times, but I’m closing it out with a wonderful woman. Ami has been a friend for a long time, and we recently realized our feelings were a lot more complicated—and lovely—than friendship. Apologies for the over-the-top sappiness of this beautiful picture, but it perfectly captures how I feel tonight.

  None of that feels right, so I delete it all, leaving just the short, cryptic message. After hesitating a beat, I sign my name and Ami’s beneath it.

  Merry Christmas to all.

  Fred & Ami

  Then I hit send and put my phone away just as our food is served up.

  “All good?” Ami asks.

  I squeeze her hand. “All great.”

  Thank You!

  If you like this story, be sure to check out my other bi/lesbian resistance romances, Personal Proposal, currently available in the Rogue Affair anthology, and Personal Audition, currently available in the Rogue Acts anthology. These three stories are loosely connected in what I'm calling the Girls Who Love Girls series. More information about these and other books is available on my website, www.ainsleybooth.com. Turn the page for a complete list of my other works.

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