Best Lesbian Romance 2012

by Radclyffe

  Blake tells her she’s right. It’s perfect.

  Aimee nods, almost giggling, and kisses her again. Blake catches the cherry vanilla of her lip gloss; her tongue feels like wet brown sugar. Aimee presses her body into Blake’s. She’s soft. She gives her weight to Blake’s right side, like she knows the left is still sore even though the sling is gone.

  Blake unties the bakery apron Aimee is still wearing and pulls off her blouse. Aimee unbuttons Blake’s shirt, leaving her undershirt because she can feel her breasts through the thin cotton. Their fingers tangle as they unbutton each other’s jeans. Aimee finds brushed cotton under Blake’s fly; Blake finds lace that dampens under her touch.

  Aimee spreads a patch of frosting onto Blake’s collarbone when she has her eyes closed. She licks it away and kisses Blake when it’s only half-melted on her lips. Blake frees Aimee’s left breast from her bra and spreads caramel over the circle of pink at the tip. Aimee throws her head back as Blake kisses her a dozen times to clear it, her hand pulling aside the lace of her panties and finding the softness underneath, like the frilled petals of marigolds.

  By the time the muffin pan cools to room temperature, their clothes cover the floor of the apartment kitchen. The scent of salt and caramel still hovers like sugar clouds. Aimee’s fingers play at Blake’s underwear, drawing out her wetness until she aches and throbs for direct touch and her longing soaks a patch of the heavy cotton. Aimee lifts the waistband and eases her fingers inside so slowly that Blake startles when Aimee finds her little point of hardness, like a round bead of carnelian. When she finishes, she barely takes a breath before she turns Aimee onto her back and kisses the inside of each of her thighs, alternating, drawing closer to the center each time. Aimee moves her hips with impatience, but she laughs with the pleasure of waiting. When Blake reaches the midpoint between her thighs, she finds the sugar and salt of her, like fleur de sel and wildflower honey.

  TRAINING OP

  Radclyffe

  I’m a federal agent, not a soldier, so “don’t ask, don’t tell” doesn’t apply. That’s a good thing for me, since pretending I’m someone I’m not just doesn’t fly. Oh, I can hide what I’m feeling all right. When I’m working my guy, standing post at the edge of a crowd, observing, assessing, I have the perfect Secret Agent poker face. For some reason, people always try to get me to laugh or engage in conversation, as if the very fact that I’m there to protect someone isn’t really all that important. A few seconds of stony silence usually convinces them to move along.

  But in the off hours when it’s just us agents—waiting, checking the weapons, preparing the vehicles—conversation predictably flows from sports to movies to good-natured gossip. And gossip always leads to sex. At least talking about it. The guys don’t care I’m a lesbian, and they’re too polite or too shy or just too nice to ask for details. It’s my straight female fellow agents who are the real problems. They like to flirt just to see if their suggestive comments can make me blush, and when I finally do, they tease me all the more. They’re my friends, they have my back, they know me better than my family, and I don’t mind the flirting. It passes the time. Except for Kris. I’ve been more than nine-tenths of the way in love with her for years, and when she flirts, it hits me hard and stays with me. All the way back to my lonely room and my empty bed, where I think of her sometimes—okay, a lot of times—when I come.

  Kris and I were in the same recruiting class and shared a room for the whole training period. She had a boyfriend at the time, another agent. Liaisons between agents are pretty common because when you work fourteen hours at a stretch and your schedule changes from one day to the next and you’re doing things you can’t always talk about, it’s tough to maintain a relationship with someone outside the agency. I was single then and still am. I don’t have a lot of time to date, and honestly, there just aren’t that many women I meet off the job who turn me on. And the ones who do all remind me of Kris, and somehow, that kind of kills the mood.

  After training, Kris got posted to the New York field office and I ended up on a permanent personal protection detail. Fortunately, I wasn’t that far away and whenever our schedules meshed, we’d grab lunch or dinner. She was really the only one from the original class of recruits I kept up with. So when we discovered we’d both be attending the Women in Federal Law Enforcement meeting, we immediately made plans to share a room.

  Arriving at the hotel that first afternoon, I felt the same spurt of excitement I had the first day I showed up for training ops. Kris dumped her luggage on the floor by her bed and grinned at me across the hotel room. “Just like old times.”

  “Yeah, except we’re not green recruits anymore…” We finished together with our insiders’ mantra: “We’re Big Bad Federal Agents!”

  Kris cracked up and flopped on her back onto one of the queen-sized beds. We were about the same age (early thirties) and the same height and weight (average and average), but the similarity ended there. She loved to box and her shoulders were broad, her thighs muscular, and her ass strong and hard. I was a runner, lankier and leaner. With shoulder-length hair so black it looked blue in the sunlight and dark chocolate eyes, she was the exact opposite of my strawberry-blond, blue-eyed coloring. I even had a few freckles scattered over my nose that got more prominent in the summer. And of course, when I blushed I couldn’t hide it.

  I fell onto the other bed and rolled onto my side, staring at her across the divide. She was every bit as beautiful and sexy as I remembered, and I got the old familiar ache deep down inside I always got when I looked at her. We’d shared so much. Not just the physical and mental rigors of training, but in the dark, late at night, we’d shared our uncertainties and even our fears. Somewhere in those quiet hours, I’d fallen in love with her.

  “So did you start dating that guy Rodney you told me was interested?” I asked to remind myself not to go down that road again.

  “Nope.” Kris reached over her head to grab a pillow and curled up to face me with it against her chest, her arms wrapped around it like a lover. “Haven’t been dating anyone recently.”

  “Too busy?”

  “Not that so much,” she said, her eyes seeming to be searching mine. “I just felt like I was going through the motions, you know?”

  “Uh, isn’t that the point?” I started to make a suggestive hand motion and she threw the pillow at me.

  “I forgot what a pig you are.”

  “Me?” I sat up on the side of the bed, feigning innocence. “Who was it that leaned over in class one afternoon and whispered, ‘You’ve got really great breasts. If I were into girls, I’d be all over them’?”

  Kris laughed. “Come on. How many times did we hear the same talk about probable cause and right to search? Your breasts were way more interesting!”

  “And I’m just saying you’re way more bad than me.”

  “So how about you,” Kris asked while staring at me hard. “Got a steady girlfriend yet?”

  “Who has time?” I got up quickly, wanting to change the subject. Talking about why I wasn’t with anyone, especially with the woman I really wanted to be with, just plain hurt. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs to the bar and see if anyone else we know has shown up.”

  The lobby was jammed with women, most wearing shirts with law enforcement logos, and a few random men who looked like their eyes were about to fall out of their heads. Not every woman was beautiful, at least not in the conventional sense, but every single one was confident and capable, and there’s nothing quite as sexy as a woman who knows she can handle anything. We finally elbowed our way into the bar and snagged the last stool.

  “Go ahead,” I said to Kris. “You take it. I had a long flight and I’m tired of sitting.”

  We finally got our drinks and were swapping work stories when a guy in a rumpled business suit wedged himself partway between me and the stool where Kris was sitting. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression slack, and his breath a hundred proof.

  Looking at me,
he slurred, “Hi, gorgeous. I could use some company and you fit the bill.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not interested,” I said while trying to get enough room in the cramped space to divert any physical move he might make in my direction.

  “We could have fun,” he said, swaying toward me.

  “She said she’s not interested,” Kris said with a bite to her voice I’d never heard before.

  “It’s okay,” I said quietly. The guy was drunk but he wasn’t dangerous. He’d get bored in a second and wander off.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  I’d never heard Kris sound so serious or seen her look quite so fierce. She was so wired she was vibrating, and I wanted to run my hand down her arm just to soothe her. Of course I didn’t. I tried never to touch her casually, because even the slightest contact was never casual for me.

  “Listen, honey,” the guy started to say, but he never had a chance to finish.

  Kris grabbed a fistful of my polo shirt, right between my breasts, and yanked me toward her. “She’s with me.”

  And the next thing I knew, she was kissing me. On the mouth. And she wasn’t holding back. I was so stunned, I didn’t resist when her tongue skated over my lower lip. I opened my mouth and breathed her in like I’d been underwater for hours and finally surfaced. She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat that only I could hear. A little moan of pleasure. My stomach turned a somersault, and I was instantly wet.

  When she finally let me go, I was panting as if I’d just finished running an obstacle course. Sometime during the kiss she’d opened her legs and I’d stepped between them, and now she held me between her thighs, my pelvis snugged up against hers. I was afraid she’d feel my clitoris pounding right through my jeans.

  “Nice move, Kris.” I was trying to act like we kissed every day, but my voice sounded rusty and unused and I was shaking all over. I think the guy left then. I’m not sure. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the look in her eyes. A little hazy and a little hot.

  “I think we should go upstairs,” Kris said.

  “It is kind of noisy and crowded down here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kris stood up and her whole body slid against mine.

  I whimpered at the all-over tingle and she laughed. Then she took my hand and said, “Come on.”

  She pulled me through the crowd and I followed witlessly. What the hell had just happened? She didn’t really mean that kiss, did she? Oh God, what if she didn’t? What if she did?

  By some miracle the elevator was nearly empty, and we staked out the back corner for the ride up to the twentieth floor. I leaned against the wall because my legs were shaking so bad I was afraid I would slide down to the floor. We stopped on five and a group of women with matching alphabet agency polos got on and Kris backed up. Right into me. Her ass settled firmly into my crotch and when we started up, she tightened her butt and I felt as if she was squeezing me right through my jeans.

  I groaned and closed my eyes. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing to me. I lightly clasped her hips and she didn’t move away. Maybe she did know.

  “We’re here,” Kris whispered and I realized the elevator had stopped and a redhead with a big smile was holding the door open for us. “Let’s go, BBFA.”

  Somehow I managed to get down the hall on rubbery legs and Kris keyed us into our suite. We’d left the desk lamp on and the beds loomed large in the dimly lit room. I halted just inside the door and Kris turned back, reached around me, and flipped the security bar on the lock. Her breasts brushed mine.

  “Kris?” I asked.

  She merely smiled, took both my hands, and pulled me toward the bed. When we reached it, she said, “You first.”

  I was trying to read her face, find the message in her eyes. What were we doing? What did she want? I knew what I wanted. What I’d always wanted. Her.

  When I didn’t move quickly enough, she pressed her fingertips against my shoulders and pushed me backward. I went with the motion and ended up on my back, half sitting up against the pillows. She followed and straddled me, leaning over with her arms braced beside my shoulders, her body almost but not quite touching mine.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  “Very sure,” she said.

  That mouth of hers, the one I was so used to seeing smirking at me over some private joke, smiling during the rough times when only laughter could still the tears, that mouth with the full perfectly curved lips, wide and generous, came down over mine with gentle certainty. God, she could kiss. She ran the tip of her tongue over the surface of my lower lip, as if tasting a brand-new flavor, slowly, thoroughly, savoring. Propped up against the back of the bed, my hands open helplessly at my sides, I sat perfectly still and let her discover whatever it was she was seeking. She kept her eyes open when she kissed, which didn’t surprise me at all. She was that kind of girl. Direct, bold, adventurous. And honest. She didn’t hide what she was feeling, it was there in her eyes as her rich chocolaty irises grew hazy and her wide dark pupils expanded. When her tongue dipped into my mouth, soft and warm, her lids lowered lazily then opened again, as if she’d just found some secret pleasure. I sucked lightly, pulling her tongue deeper, and she whimpered once, a high-pitched, sweet cry of surprise. Her breasts brushed mine and her nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton shirt that matched mine.

  When she pulled away I followed, my lips still hungrily parted, but she stopped me with her palm pressed firmly in the center of my chest.

  “Take your pants off.”

  “If I do,” I said, my voice tight and raspy, “I won’t be responsible for—”

  “You’re right. I’m responsible.”

  She swept her hand slowly back and forth over my chest, letting her fingers stray over my nipples. They were hard and tight and aching. I groaned.

  “Everything. Off. Now.”

  I watched her face while I unbuttoned my pants, slipped the zipper down. The corners of her mouth curved upward, her eyes danced. She was enjoying my helplessness. Her fingers closed on my nipple, squeezed, and my back arched.

  “Your hands are shaking,” she said casually.

  “I can’t help it. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  Her face changed, became at once fierce and soft. She released my breast and shifted beside me. While I fumbled with my pants, she leaned on one elbow and worked her hand beneath my polo shirt, rubbing my stomach in small circles with her fingertips. I watched her hand move under my shirt, my clitoris so tight I hurt to move. Lifting my hips, I stripped everything down and kicked my shoes and clothes off the bottom of the bed.

  “Your stomach is so hard,” she whispered, running her nails up and down the center of my belly. “Are you excited, sweetie?”

  “Guns are hot.” I laughed, sounding desperate to my own ears. My naked legs were board-stiff, flexed so tight they barely touched the bed. I stared at her wandering fingers moving lower, barely grazing the trimmed patch at the apex of my thighs. I couldn’t seem to take a full breath, anticipating her touch, fearing she would stop. Control, control, control, I told myself, terrified I would pop the second she touched me.

  She pressed three fingertips against the base of my clitoris and stopped. Just stopped. I throbbed beneath her, so fast and so hard I felt like I was buzzing.

  “Wow.” She looked at me with an expression of innocent wonder. “Is that for me?”

  “Can’t you tell?” Just the sight of her touching me, the reality so much more exquisite than the fantasy, was enough to make me come. I felt a warning pulse deep inside and my head jerked back against the headboard. “Oh God, don’t move for a second.”

  “Why, what’s happening? Are you close already?” She sounded breathless. Her face was right next to mine, her eyes swirling with dark shadows.

  “Right on the edge.”

  “I don’t want you to come right away.” She kissed me, one fast hard thrust of her tongue, and the heat of her mouth shot straight between my legs. She grin
ned when I gasped. “Don’t come yet, okay?”

  “Just stay still, then. Let me get a grip.”

  She laughed and kissed me and didn’t stop this time. She tasted so good. Her tongue stroked mine and my clit pumped hard against her fingers. I grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand away. She strained to break my hold on her arm, and we wrestled while she plunged her tongue deeper into my mouth. I bit her tongue just short of hard and she made a little growl and rolled on top of me. Her thigh settled between mine, and she thrust and rocked her pelvis while we thrashed around the bed, kissing and grappling for dominance.

  She finally pinned me and said in her command voice, “Give it up. I want to see you. All of you.”

  I relented. I’d give her anything she wanted. I pulled my polo shirt and tank top off over my head and threw them somewhere into the room. Then I fell back against the pillows and opened my legs. “Go ahead.”

  She glanced down, then met my eyes, hers sparkling. “Yeah? Can I touch now too?”

  I really tried to hold on to my cool, but my eyes did a slow roll back into my head. She laughed, sounding really proud of herself, and kissed my stomach as she slid a little ways down on the bed.

  “Is that a yes?” she asked.

  “Yes. Please.” I sounded like I was begging. I was begging.

  “This is so much fun,” she whispered and shoved all the way down between my legs. Then she paused and looked up at me, her playful smile growing tender. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Perfect. I want to watch you make me come.”

  “Oh yeah.” She parted me ever so gently with her fingertips, and my clit sprang up, thick and dark and wet. Her eyes widened. “God. Did I really do that to you?”

  “The second you kissed me.”

  She made a little humming sound of pleasure and kissed it, just a quick light brush of her lips. I jerked, and the humming sound she made turned into a growl. Ever so slowly she puckered her moist lips and sealed them around me, slowly drawing her mouth up and off.