by Radclyffe
They came together, Jessica’s voice deep and joyful as she rocked with her orgasm, and Chelsea’s a sweet gasp. She couldn’t get enough air to cry out. She shuddered, her whole body convulsing with pleasure, magnified when she felt Jessica quivering beneath her. They remained that way, tangled together, for a long time, running their hands over one another and pressing kisses wherever they could reach.
When they finally rolled apart, Chelsea reached for her phone. “What are you doing?” Jessica asked.
“Resetting my alarm,” Chelsea answered, setting the phone back on the table and curling up into Jessica’s arms. “I don’t need to get up so early anymore.”
YOU DON’T BRING ME FLOWERS
Radclyffe
Dr. Pearce Rifkin leaned into the doorway of the OR office and waited while the nurse on the desk finished giving an update to the receptionist in the family waiting area. As soon as she hung up, Pearce said, “What’s going on in room seven? They were supposed to be ready for me an hour ago.”
“Hold on.” The nurse switched screens on the small monitor tucked into the corner above her workstation, and Pearce angled her head to survey the activity in the operating room. Equipment and at least half a dozen people crowded around the operating table, obscuring the patient. He was only a shapeless mound beneath sterile green drapes. She frowned. “Is that Rappaport? What’s he doing in there?”
“They called for him half an hour ago. Apparently they found something with the kidney they wanted him to check.”
Pearce glanced at the big round clock on the wall. Three forty-five. She had to be done by six. “Look, call me as soon as they’re ready. I’ll be in the office.”
“Will do,” the nurse said, her attention already elsewhere.
Pearce cut through the pre-op holding area, skirted the row of gurneys waiting for patients to leave recovery and slapped the palm-sized red button on the wall to open the double doors leading to the hall. Friday afternoon—always the same. Unexpected admissions, traumas, add-on cases. Delay after delay. She knew planning anything for Friday night was risky, but what choice did she have? Wynter was on call Saturday. Sunday was out—Wynter would be tired—and getting a sitter would be harder. Besides, anniversaries were supposed to be celebrated on the day, not some random who-knew-when-they’d-ever-have-time point in the future. And this was a big anniversary—six months since the baby was born. Six amazing, incredible months. Being a parent was completely unlike anything she’d expected—at turns exhilarating and terrifying. He was so little—perfect in every way, but so helpless. The responsibility and wonder were enormous, and from the moment she’d held him and looked into Wynter’s exhausted but exultant eyes, everything had changed. She’d thought she’d loved Wynter as much as she possibly could, but in that instant, she loved her in a way she hadn’t known possible. With reverence, with a soul-deep need that kept her awake at night, wondering how she could possibly do without either one of them.
She punched the button on the elevator and glanced at her watch. Four P.M. “Damn it.”
“Hey, Pearce,” a familiar voice said. “You look like I feel. What’s going on?”
“Hey, Ali,” Pearce said to the other surgeon and her wife’s best friend. “I’m just waiting around to do triple tubes on the MVA from this afternoon. Waiting being the operative word.”
“Typical Friday, huh?”
Pearce watched the numbers slowly tick down as the elevator approached. “Yeah. Figures I’d get hung up when I’ve got plans.”
“Anything to do with the special delivery to the trauma unit this morning?”
Pearce grinned. “Maybe.”
“Come on, spill.”
The elevator doors opened, Pearce said “Sorry” to the occupants and let it pass. “You won’t tell her, will you?”
“Not a word. The flowers were gorgeous. Wynter was speechless.”
Pearce leaned against the wall and sighed. “I should have sent them a lot sooner.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Nate is six months old today.”
Ali’s dark eyes sparkled. “Oh, my god. So fast. I have to get my godson a present. So—Wynter gets flowers on Nate’s half-birthday because…?”
“She’s been juggling a lot since he was born—taking care of him, work, studying for her boards. She needs a break.” Pearce ran a hand through her hair. “We need a break.”
“Everything okay?” Ali asked gently.
“Oh yeah. It’s just—crazy, you know? And I don’t think…” Pearce sighed. “I don’t think I tell her enough how great she is.”
Ali smiled. “She’s really happy, you know. You must be doing something right.”
“Well, I’ve got a big evening planned—I sent the invitation with the flowers.”
“Uh-huh. Still waiting for details.”
“I just told her to dress for dinner so I could keep the rest a surprise. I reserved a private dining suite at the Four Seasons. The sitter is coming at seven, and we’ve got five hours all to ourselves.”
“Wow. Nice date.” Ali grinned.
“It’s the first time we’ve had a chance to get away since he was born.” Pearce glanced at her watch. “If I get this case done.”
“I hope you make it.” Ali sketched a wave as the elevator doors opened again and Pearce stepped inside.
“Me too.” Pearce squeezed past a stretcher bearing an elderly patient, who snored softly, and settled in the corner as the elevator descended. She’d wanted everything to be perfect. Wynter had taken a month off after Nate was born, and since she’d been back to work, they’d both been so busy with him and their hospital schedules she sometimes felt like she never saw her. When she did, they were both so tired all they could do was make sure the baby was taken care of before they fell into bed, only to get up a few hours later for a feeding, grab a couple more hours’ sleep and then head back to the hospital. She just missed her, and tonight was supposed to be just them, a chance to reconnect.
An hour later she was still waiting. She called the OR. “Gloria, it’s Rifkin. Can you get me an ETA for room seven?”
She listened to silence for a minute and then the night-shift nurse came on. “They said at least another hour—maybe. Rappaport is taking out that kidney.”
“Thanks.” Pearce disconnected, rubbed both hands over her face and picked up the phone to call home. “Hi, babe,” she said when Wynter answered. “I’m still here waiting on that trauma patient. It’s looking like a couple of hours.”
“You’re not going to make it, are you?” Wynter sighed.
“I’m so sorry. If I’m not too late, we could still—”
“Hey, I understand.” Wynter paused. “The sitter will be here in a few minutes. I’ll just tell her we don’t need her and pay her for travel time. We’ll try again some other time.”
“Wynter—”
“It’s okay, really. I’ve got to be in early tomorrow anyhow.”
“Okay, babe. I’ll see you later then.”
“Take it easy, honey.”
Pearce disconnected, hung up the phone and switched off the desk light. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes. At least she’d sent Wynter flowers. A dozen multicolored daisies—her favorites. She always meant to send her flowers just for no reason, but life always seemed to get in the way.
She listened to her secretary Angela moving around in the cubicle outside her office and then the light shining underneath her door went out. Everyone would have left the offices by now. She probably should work, but dictating charts wasn’t her favorite thing to do under the best of circumstances. She wasn’t in the mood now. She thought about stretching out on the couch and grabbing a nap, and was about to get up when the door opened and Wynter stepped inside.
Pearce sat up straight, her hands flat on the desk, her heart suddenly pounding. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Wynter said. “I saw Angela in the hall. She said you were in here. Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Just thinking.” The only light in the room came through the window behind her, the reflection of the halogen lights from the ER parking area slanting across the space between them, illuminating Wynter’s elegant profile with such delicacy she appeared like a dream apparition suddenly come to life. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to tell you I liked the flowers.”
“I’m sorry about tonight.”
Wynter reached behind her and turned the lock on the door. Pearce’s mouth went dry as Wynter shrugged out of her long wool coat, draped it on a chair and walked toward her. She was wearing a dress she hadn’t worn since before she’d gotten pregnant—a red silk scoop-necked sheath that clung to her curves and stopped mid-thigh.
“Is that what you were planning on wearing tonight?”
“For the first part of the evening.” Wynter gripped the arms of Pearce’s chair and pushed it far enough away from the desk that she could settle into Pearce’s lap. She wrapped her arms around Pearce’s neck and kissed her. “Then I planned on you taking it off.”
Pearce’s head started to pound. She skimmed her hand up Wynter’s thigh and under the hem of the dress. “I love you in this dress.”
“You’d better love me in anything.” Wynter nipped at Pearce’s lower lip.
“I love you out of it too.” Pearce kissed Wynter’s throat and buried her face in the curve of her neck, tightening inside as she inhaled Wynter’s distinctive sunshine-and-spice scent. She groaned softly. “You feel so good.”
Wynter tugged Pearce’s scrub shirt out of her pants and pressed her palm against Pearce’s stomach. “This is just a preview because I know you don’t have much time.”
“Wynter,” Pearce murmured, rubbing her cheek over the inner curve of Wynter’s breast above the red crescent of silk. “I love you.”
“I know.” Wynter snagged the tie on Pearce’s scrub pants and pulled. “I loved the flowers. And the date night.”
“I wanted to do something special.”
Wynter slid her hand into Pearce’s scrubs and laughed softly. “Commando, Doctor Rifkin?”
Pearce caressed the outer curve of Wynter’s thigh, the silk teasing over her bare forearm as she stroked higher. She found only soft, warm skin. “You too.”
“Just being practical.” Wynter sighed and shifted, parting her thighs. “I’ve been thinking about your hands on me since I got your invitation.”
Pearce traced the seam between Wynter’s thigh and belly to the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. She slowly brushed the base of her clitoris and Wynter gasped, thrusting her hips. Pearce kissed the pulse hammering in Wynter’s throat. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t—”
“No. It’s okay,” Pearce said. “I just...need you.”
Wynter covered Pearce’s hand, the red silk a whisper between their skin, and pressed Pearce’s fingers deeper between her thighs. She was wet and warm and open. “I need you too. Always.”
Pearce slipped deeper, cupping her inside and out. Wynter gave a tiny cry and closed her fingers around Pearce’s clitoris. Pearce’s stomach jumped. She didn’t have long. Tightening her arm around Wynter’s waist, she stroked between her legs. Wynter followed her lead, her caresses growing harder, more erratic as her hips rose and fell, riding Pearce’s fingers.
“I’m going to come, baby,” Wynter warned breathlessly. “Baby, I’m going to come.”
“Don’t hold back,” Pearce gasped, pressing deeper, her clitoris tingling, the explosion starting. “With you.”
Wynter arched in her lap, her thighs tightening around Pearce’s hand, holding her inside. The pounding pulse of Wynter’s flesh echoed the thunder in Pearce’s head. She pressed her mouth to Wynter’s breast, shuddering as the storm consumed her.
Laughing, Wynter collapsed against Pearce’s shoulder. “God, I love making you come.”
“Ditto.”
“You’ll have to change your scrubs.”
“Luckily I have a stash in the closet.”
“You okay?”
“Never better.” Pearce dropped her head back and smiled. “Never been happier in my life.”
“Me neither.” Wynter kissed her again and stood, straightening her dress. “See you at home?”
“Replay?”
“That’s a promise.” Wynter tapped a fingertip to Pearce’s mouth. “And, baby, you don’t even have to send me flowers. They’re beautiful, but all I need is you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
CHEYENNE BLUE (www.cheyenneblue.com) has lived in the United States, Ireland, the UK and Switzerland, but she still calls Australia home. Her erotica has appeared in many anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica, Mammoth Best New Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica and Best Lesbian Romance.
Called a “legendary erotica heavy-hitter” (by the über-legendary Violet Blue), ANDREA DALE (www.cyvarwydd.com) dedicates “Sepia Showers” to mothers and daughters everywhere. Her work has appeared in about 100 anthologies from Harlequin Spice, Avon Red and Cleis Press, and is available online at Soul’s Road Press.
KIKI DELOVELY is a queer femme performer/writer whose work has appeared in Best Lesbian Erotica 2011 and 2012, Salacious magazine, Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex, Take Me There: Transgender and Genderqueer Erotica and Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica.
ROWAN ELIZABETH (www.rowanelizabeth.com) has been published over three dozen times in works by Cleis Press, Susie Bright and Rachel Kramer Bussel.
DENA HANKINS writes from her sailboat, wherever she may be moored, has coached thousands of couples on keeping the home fires burning while working at a feminist sex toy shop and is fifteen years into her own dream relationship.
STELLA HARRIS (www.stellaharris.net) has been getting off to erotic fiction since she found her mother’s stash when she was twelve years old. When she’s not reading or writing smut she loves to travel, bake, garden and talk to strangers on the Internet.
JAY LAWRENCE is an expatriate Scot who currently hangs out near Vancouver, Canada. She is the author of over a dozen erotic novels and many short stories that have appeared in publications on both sides of the Atlantic.
D. JACKSON LEIGH (www.djacksonleigh.com) grew up barefoot and happy, swimming in farm ponds and riding rude ponies. Her most recent novel, Touch Me Gently, is a romantic tale of betrayal and family secrets set among the shaded tobacco fields of south Georgia.
SOMMER MARSDEN (sommermarsden.blogspot.com) is the author of Hard Lessons, Base Nature, Lucky 13 and I’m on Fire. Her shorts have appeared in dozens of anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica 2009, 2010 and 2011, Eat Me, The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes, Where the Girls Are and Best Lesbian Romance 2011.
ANNA MEADOWS is a part-time executive assistant, part-time Sapphic housewife. Her work appears in eleven Cleis Press anthologies and on the Lambda Literary Foundation website.
After years of living in England and Israel, CATHERINE PAULSSEN now enjoys the magic and excitement of her new hometown Berlin, where she works as a freelancer and dedicates every spare minute to writing erotica.
CHRIS PAYNTER is an editor and an author. Her recent works include the Playing for First baseball series.
RACHEL RANDALL’s (rachelrandall.wordpress.com) erotic romance draws inspiration from the kinky, classy cool of London. She loves to create characters who know what they want and how to ask for it (usually with a slow slide down to their knees).
LARKIN ROSE (larkinrose.weebly.com) lives in a “blink and you’ve missed it” town in the beautiful state of South Carolina with her partner, Rose (hence the pen name), a portion of their seven brats, a chunky grandson and too many animals to name.
DEREK SHANNON is an expat American now living in the north of England, an unabashed Trekkie from Kirk’s days. His previous published works include Slave Hunt, Bound Over and In Hot Pursuit.
KATHLEEN TUDOR (polyspace.wordpress.com) is a writer, editor, a lesbian, a wife, a mothe
r and a knitter. Her work has appeared in Like That Spark, Best Bondage 2012, Hot Under the Collar and other anthologies.
REBEKAH WEATHERSPOON was raised in southern New Hampshire and now lives in southern California with an individual who is much more tech savvy than she will ever be. Her novels include Better Off Red, The Fling and Blacker than Blue.
ABOUT THE EDITOR
RADCLYFFE (www.radfic.com) has written more than forty romance novels, edited over a dozen anthologies, and presented numerous writing workshops in the United States and abroad. She is an eight-time finalist and three-time winner of the Lambda Literary Award, and a recipient of RWA FF&P Prism, RWA FTHRW Lories Best Published Mainstream novel, and IPPY awards. A member of the Saints and Sinners Literary Hall of Fame, she is also the president and publisher of Bold Strokes Books. Her 2012 novels include Night Hunt, written as L.L. Raand, the third in the Midnight Hunters paranormal romance series, the First Responders novel Oath of Honor, and Crossroads, a medical romance.
Copyright © 2013 by Radclyffe.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
