by Radclyffe
Sophie broke their kiss and pushed Mick’s pants down her hips. Her robe joined Mick’s pants on the floor. “God, I love your ass.”
Sophie led Mick to the tub, lowered herself into the heated, swirling water and motioned for Mick to sit between her legs. Mick did as she bid, settling her back against Sophie’s full breasts. She closed her eyes and moaned as Sophie planted tiny kisses along her neck and sucked at her pulse. A rough pinch of her rock-hard nipples sent a ball of fire straight to her clit. Sophie knew every sensitive part of her body, every trigger that drove her arousal, as only a longtime lover could.
She slid lower in the water and lolled her head against Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie soaped her hands and smoothed them along Mick’s arms, across her chest and down her belly. Mick opened her legs to welcome the questing hands. She captured Sophie’s mouth again as Sophie painted her swelling clit with the arousal pooling between her thighs—sure brushstrokes on a canvas.
Still raw from the emotion of her earlier turmoil, Mick built quickly to a climax, too quickly, and she pulled Sophie’s hand away. She needed more. She needed to sooth the lingering wounds of her doubt. She burned to reassert her claim. Abruptly rising, she grabbed a thick towel.
Sophie looked startled. “Mick, what’s wrong?”
“Stand up.”
Confusion played across Sophie’s delicate features, but she obeyed.
Mick wound the towel around Sophie and lifted her into her arms. Once in the bedroom, she gently laid her on the bed.
Sophie’s knowing smile confirmed no words were needed. Opening the towel and her legs, she said, “Yours. Only yours.”
“Yes.” Mick hurried to take the offering. She lathed her tongue through Sophie’s slick folds until the telltale tremble of her thighs vibrated against Mick’s ears. Thankful for her lithe, limber lover, Mick pushed Sophie’s knees to her chest and moved up to rub her clit against Sophie’s drenched sex. Still swollen from Sophie’s touch, Mick thrust slowly at first. She wanted to make this last. But her need was too great, her climax too close.
“Touch yourself,” she whispered hoarsely, rolling her hips harder, faster as Sophie complied.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” Sophie gasped, her heels pressing into Mick’s ass. “Almost there. Come with me.”
Mick thrust wildly, urgently, sweat trickling down her jaw. She cried out as her orgasm swarmed through her. “Mine, Sophie. Mine.”
“Yes, yes. Yours.” Sophie bucked against her and Mick thrust her fingers inside to stroke her to a second wave of spasms.
When Mick rolled onto her back, her heart pounding, Sophie cuddled against her to trace soothing circles on her belly. Quiet while Mick’s heart slowed to a normal rhythm, Sophie was the first to speak. “Are we okay?”
The tentative question tore at Mick’s heart. She closed her eyes, ashamed that she had accused this beautiful woman of betraying her.
“I’m an idiot.” She stroked Sophie’s smooth back. “It’s just… our age difference hasn’t bothered me until now. For Christ’s sake, my hair is completely white and you don’t have a single strand of gray.”
Sophie rose up on her elbow to hold Mick’s gaze. “I’m a redhead. So was my mother, and she was seventy-two when she found her first gray hair. You, on the other hand, were prematurely white-headed when I met you. It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now. I love your hair.”
“Cheryl left Diane for a younger woman.”
Sophie snorted. “I should have known Diane had something to do with this bout of insecurity. Age wasn’t the problem between those two, and you know it.”
Mick frowned. “I’m getting wrinkles.”
“So am I, honey. Haven’t you noticed?”
Mick studied Sophie’s face. “Laugh lines. I love your laugh lines.”
Tears filling her eyes, Sophie laid her hand over Mick’s heart. “Do you know what scares me about our age difference?”
“What?”
“I am terrified of the day that I may have to come home to an empty house because you’ve left this life and me behind.”
“Sophie, babe—”
“No. It’s just something I have to accept, like you need to accept that I will love you every day until then and even in death.” She wiped at her eyes and smiled. “I can’t stop us from aging, honey, but I can do something about your doubts.”
Sophie stood and pulled Mick to her feet. Still naked, Mick followed her into the studio to stand before a cloth-draped easel.
“When you came home early this afternoon, Garrett was going over some sketches she’s been helping me with. Sketches I made to paint this for you,” she said, motioning toward the easel. “It’s taking longer than I thought to get it right, so instead of giving it to you for your birthday, I was going to shoot for our twenty-fifth anniversary next month.” She pulled the sheet away and dropped it to the floor.
Mick stared at a handsome likeness of herself. She recognized it from a photograph taken when they’d celebrated their tenth anniversary by spending a month in the Bahamas. She was in sore need of a haircut and her windswept locks gave her a rakish look as she stared up at the camera, her eyes a piercing blue against her dark tan.
She unconsciously pulled Sophie back against her, wrapping her in a loose embrace that mirrored the portrait. It was so lifelike, she could almost smell the cocoa butter of the sunscreen they had worn.
“Oh, babe.” Mick’s throat tightened around the words. In the picture, Sophie was looking up at her, rather than at the camera, her gaze so tender, so adoring it made Mick ache. “I was still young then.”
“And I was thinner.”
“You haven’t changed at all.”
Sophie turned in her arms. “I have Mick. Look again.”
Mick tore her eyes from the painting to gaze down at Sophie. “I am looking. I see the same girl in that portrait.”
“And when I look at you, I still see the handsome woman who made love to me on that beach. That’s because we see each other with our hearts, not our eyes, sweetheart. I hope that we always will.”
Mick hugged Sophie tight against her and stared at the painting again. “You’re an incredible artist.”
“I’m good, but I don’t have much experience with portraits. Garrett helped me paint what was in my heart.”
“I know I was being foolish earlier, but do we have to talk about Garrett while we’re naked?”
Sophie chuckled. “No, we don’t. But in the future, if something is bothering you, I want you to talk to me, not bottle it up until you start listening to Diane.” Her hand feathered against Mick’s cheek. “Do you have anything else on your mind I should know about?”
Mick nodded and buried her face against Sophie’s neck, inhaling the sweet honeysuckle scent that lingered from their bath. “A red BMW convertible.”
HEARTFIRST
Kiki DeLovely
I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed anything more sexy than the intent and intensity in her eyes as she shakes her head, slowly, side to side, when what she really means is “Fuck, yes.” As though she’s disbelieving of just how incredibly right it is. As if everything about me is so right that it’s wrong. She takes her sweet time with that simple motion, as if she hasn’t the slightest need to rush, despite the fact that other parts of her may in fact be moving at much greater velocities. This apparent discord—between both the unspoken verbal and the pace of the physical—although seemingly misaligned, has a radical effect on my desire and even brings an asymmetrical balance to my lust. Allowing my passion to course wildly through my mind and, hence, my body—blood pounding like the stomp of wild ponies through my veins and racing to deliver an aching throb of need to my cunt.
Even after centuries of playing at this game, she still has this madness-making ability to cut me to my core with very little effort.
We’re surrounded by people, all of us waiting to be seated, but once she’s locked me in her gaze, all I can see is her. And she knows i
t. She takes a long, slow gander at me—eyeing my feet dangling on the last rung of the bar stool, trailing up my unladylike-positioned legs, fixating briefly on the lacy frill at the hem of my skirt (just long enough to lick her lips), before continuing upward. I wrap one of my patent leather heels around the back of her leg, innocent enough for general public purposes, and pull her in closer to me. She blinks her eyelids shut a little too long and inhales deeply. A lecherous grin creeps across her mouth, into her eyes. I know this look.
Leaning into my face, she pauses for several seconds—my heartbeat quickens in my clit—then makes her way to my ear. “You know that intoxicating scent of yours?” She waits just a beat for her rhetorical question to sink in and then continues, “I can smell you from here.” My blush is hard and immediate, my mind racing, wondering if she can smell my cunt in a crowd of people, who else can? And yet, not caring in the slightest—feeling so gorgeous and cherished in that moment—so very pleased to please her with my scent alone.
Back home I close the door behind us and she doesn’t make me wait—thank heavens she doesn’t make me. No romantic foreplay, no taking her sweet time, no making love to the goddess inside me. No. Thank my luckiest stars. No, she shoves inside me fast and hard. Faster. And harder. In and out. And in. And out. So many times, so fucking fast, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. She’s been traveling for work the past month and knows I’ve been needing this too damn long to have to wait even a split second longer to have her. So she pounds away at my cunt like she wants to break me in two. Like a rapacious beast without the slightest inhibition. And I thank the planets for aligning our worlds, time and time again, calling forth this limitless ravishing.
She slides two of her free fingers into my mouth and I begin to suck. As I take it, she grunts out of euphoria but still wants more. Plunging them deeper down my throat, further until I’m gagging and trying just as hard to suck in air as I am willing more of her into me. I need more of her inside me. Obligingly, she adds another finger and takes me over and over again and won’t stop after I’ve come once, twice, ten times. I lose count as I go out of my mind because she won’t fucking stop, won’t give me a chance to catch my breath, and I no longer care if I ever breathe again. She fucks me like she’s furious at the universe for having kept us apart so long and she has to make up for all those lost nights of passion and sweat, the days of lust and pure bliss. We’ve had decades in this lifetime—centuries together in those past—still, any time apart feels like the fates tormenting us. I scream and writhe and cry out until I have no voice left.
It is only later. Much later. Quite a while after she’s fucked me into oblivion that she doubles back, retraces her steps, straps on her cock and takes her time. Slowly. So excruciatingly slow. She teases me to a point of so much more pain than her more violent actions could ever cause. I can’t stand it and it’s only then that the tears start to rise for me, the first one welling up in the corner of my eye. I feel it catch in my throat as she pushes into me such that I can feel her going on forever. Do they even make cocks long enough that you can enter someone for days before hitting a wall and then withdraw for the following week? That is how long it takes her to complete just one thrust. And the intimacy of it all is terrifying. Something that, despite the ease and comfort of our everyday, I’ve never gotten used to. There were precious few before her, yet none ever delivered like this. This is it for me. It always has been.
Just when I think it’ll never end, she pulls out of me completely. She needs more of her inside me. So she smears thick lube across her entire hand, up over the knuckles, all the way to her wrist. I gasp in anticipation. I haven’t been fucked in a month and don’t think I can take that much. But she proves me wrong. Of course I can, four fingers sliding inside me with ease—sometimes she knows my body better than I do—and it’s only a matter of seconds before she curves in her thumb and my pussy swallows her fist whole. Surprisingly quiet, I’d have expected screams to be tearing through my vocal cords by now. Instead my diaphragm drops and I feel another opening up from deep inside. My rib cage expands and the back of my throat dilates as I wish it would when I deep-throat her cock. With the sharp twist of her wrist, she forces me to hit a pitch so high it’s barely audible and I shudder as the orgasm echoes throughout my entire body. I feel a sound escape my chest, originating from lower still. The purest note that ever graced my lips, it sails right past them and floats up in the air. I imagine an opera singer hitting her highest note.
Every time I go in for her well-guarded pleasure, I’m careful. Something about this dance makes it feel like the first time despite being territory well trod. I read every last cue her body is putting off, initiating as though it’s about me. It isn’t. It’s about her. And us. But I’m good at making it seem like it’s about me, at burrowing down to somewhere sacred. I straddle her leg, grind my wetness against her thick thigh, moan in her ear at how good she’s making me feel. As my tongue searches out her tragus piercing, she groans, and I can feel the reverberations making their way through her body. Knowing how erogenous this spot is—this tiny little flap on the inside of her ear—knowing just what to do with it is quite the powerful blessing indeed. There are so many blessings to having known a body through this many moons. I take the ring between my teeth and tug, gently at first, and gradually work my way up to the point where it’s going to rip out of either my teeth or her ear. One of my favorite ways to get her going. And one of hers.
Getting to fuck her is a precious gift and I honor it, giving this intimate interaction the reverence it deserves. Her desire is all tangled up in mine and it’s impossible to separate the two—it would feel too unnatural, too painful to do so. So I treat it as one. Make it about how she’s getting me off while I’m edging my way in. Down to the place inside her that calls for me and has been heavily secured, sentry-protected for centuries.
I move my hips in a tight figure eight and grind harder against her thigh, my juices gushing down her leg. She begins to grunt, “Oh, god...” but before she’s even made it to the second word, I’m pressing my hip into her sex, and then she’s adding a few extra syllables to a monosyllabic word, elongating the moan buried mid-oh while I draw out her pleasure. I wrap my mouth around her tit. My tongue delighting in how its efforts are immediately rewarded by the feel of her nipple tightening, beginning to rise, pleading for more. I graze my teeth against it, reaching over to pinch and slightly twist the other one, bite down and then release. I bring my free hand to my lips and slip two fingers into my mouth—her eyes widening, she can’t help but salivate. A slow, deliberate extraction, they glisten prettily with my spit in the low light. I lower them between her thighs, as I watch her face for clues. Her eyes brim with a love so deep and true. Easing my fingers into her ass first, I work them against her G-spot until she’s wordlessly begging me to slide into her cunt.
I delve in heartfirst, straight down to a deep, well-hidden place. It scares her to no end, yet she’s always granted me access. I know even before her tears surface that I have dug right down to her inner aquifer. I reached the seemingly unattainable place inside her and saturated it with love and all things beautiful, filling her in ways she hadn’t dared to think possible in her youth, making it known in the deepest part of her that I treasure and adore all of her. Her entire, complex, multilayered gorgeous self; her magnificently powerful presence; her exquisitely soft underbelly. No matter what the world has ever told her in the past, I deliver the message that she is strong and sweet and capable and good. And right. So very, very right. In all of who she is, in everything she does and says, in exactly how she makes her way through the world. She is praiseworthy and perfect. Which is not to say she is unflawed. There have been plenty of fights about the toothpaste and how she wasn’t there for me during some rough times. But right now, in this very moment, I am loving her so completely, flaws and all. Every last drop of her, prized and celebrated.
I am her safe haven. Something about her since day one sparked my ove
rwhelming need to protect her. She’s learned that she can just stay here, nestled deep inside me. I squeeze my thighs together hard, holding her there tightly, letting her fill me. I protect her from the harshness of the outside world, wrapping myself around her and not letting go. This is the place where she can cry and feel safe and cherished and overcome by it all and she can just be.
When the deluge gives way to drizzle and then dries into traces of salt on her cheeks, she reaches down and runs her fingers between my lips. “So. Fucking. Wet.” Just the feel of what she’s done to me on a physical, primal level imbues a shared levitation. We float somewhere above this tangible world; together we vibrate internally on a higher plane. Grinding against each other with a deep-seated fury, it amplifies our envy of that other world where our souls are completely intertwined, entangled, melded together without seams. Our bodies are so limited in that regard—no matter how thoroughly she opens herself to me and I to her, there’s only so much beyond fingers, fists, tongues that we can corporally accommodate.
We writhe against one another with increasing violence, knowing we are stretched to our physical limits by each other’s fists. We tear into each other with hopes of the impossible, wanting to emulate the amaranthine nature of the other plane, where all of her is consumed by my sex, my soul. And her fervor devours me. A boundless existence, anything is possible, no laws of space or time. Our combined ardor set ablaze, we are a mess of twisted limbs, cum- and sweat-drenched flesh, grasping to get a better hold, pushing into each other with desperation. Floating above our selves in a heightened awareness—all our somatic senses piqued and concurrently connected to both places. Deeply rooted in our bodies while pushing them to extreme edges of earthly passions. Experiencing the ethereal desires where everything within and beyond our imaginations is granted. A chaotic whirlwind of ohhhs and yeses and begging and panting swirls around us as the flood gates give way to our frenzied lust and I’m clamping down on her fiercely, she’s shuddering against me, we’re crying out into the heavens, drowning in each other.
