Forget taking my time. I planted a soft kiss between her breasts and then settled between her legs. A kiss on her inner thigh made her breath hitch. Another one, slightly higher, drew a moan from her lips. I grinned to myself—oh yes, this was going to be fun.
As gently as I could, I swirled my tongue around her clit. She made a sound like she’d tried not to yelp and almost succeeded. Another gentle swirl, and she cursed softly, her back arching as she gripped the sheets just like I had.
The heady sweetness of her pussy seemed to sober me up and intoxicate me at the same time—kicking the tequila right out of the picture and giving me an entirely new reason to be dizzy and halfway out of my mind.
And after the orgasm she’d given me, I wanted to send her out of her mind.
I circled her thighs with my arms to hold her steady and let her pussy have it. Lips and tongue, fast, slow, softer, harder . . . anything that made her moan, I did and did again.
Natalya twisted and trembled. Her fingernails dug into my scalp, and she held my hair tight enough to hurt. I could hear her voice, but I had no idea what she was saying or if she was murmuring in English or Russian. The hand in my hair told me the one thing she wasn’t saying was stop.
I shifted around so I was resting on one arm and the other hand was free. With my fingertips, I teased her pussy lips apart, all the while still gently working at her clit with my mouth. She cursed as I slipped one finger, then two, inside her.
“God, yeah,” she whispered. “That feels so . . .” She trailed off into a long, helpless moan. I crooked my fingers inside her, beckoning gently, and she was once again slurring something in one language or another.
“Oh . . . shit . . .” She released the most delicious cry, and I gave her everything I had, circling her clit until my tongue ached and fucking her with my fingers until, finally, she clenched around them and arched off my bed. Beyond a sharp gasp, though, she didn’t make a sound. She trembled violently, still gripping my hair painfully tight, and then, all at once, she relaxed, dropping onto the bed with a long sigh.
I’d barely lifted myself up before she grabbed me and dragged me into a deep, breathless kiss. And I barely had my head around that before she pushed a hand between us and slipped two fingers inside me again.
Oh, this wasn’t going to be a one-orgasm night, was it? None of the you came, I came, now go to sleep bullshit I was used to?
Bring it on, Natalya.
Bring. It. On.
Oh God. Oh God.
Who let all this light in?
Where did all these muscles come from, and why the hell do they hurt?
Eyes covered with one hand, I gingerly made a second attempt at rolling over. With every motion, big or small, my butt and quads angrily reminded me yesterday had been leg day. And especially as I sat up, I was well aware that my hips were sore in a different way.
A memory flashed through my hungover brain, and I saw Natalya pushing my legs apart so she could once again let that talented mouth loose on my sex-starved pussy. How late had we stayed up, turning each other inside out until fatigue, satisfaction, and Cuervo conspired to knock us out? Late, that was for sure.
I shivered, and despite the aching in my bones and the throbbing in my skull, I grinned. Slowly, carefully, I faced her.
Natalya was still beside me, burrowed under the comforter with her long hair splayed messily across the pillow. Across my pillow, I realized after a moment. Usually it annoyed me when someone wound up on my side—I hated sleeping on the wrong side of the bed—but I didn’t care all that much today. Not when the gorgeous woman occupying my half of the mattress was one I’d never imagined having a shot with. Yeah, I could give up my spot for one night.
She stirred beside me, grumbling into the pillow. Then she turned, dragging her face across the pillow before lifting her head and meeting my gaze through a curtain of unruly hair.
“Morning,” I said.
Another grumble, this one bordering on a growl, and she buried her face again.
I laughed quietly. “You want some coffee?”
She muttered something that sounded Russian.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I leaned down and kissed the back of her shoulder, right beside the sports bra tan line. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
More mumbling.
Someone wasn’t a morning person. Not that I was either. And she’d drunk more than I had—even if she hadn’t been all that intoxicated, her liver was as mortal as mine, so she might’ve been paying hard for that extra shot.
Making as little noise as possible, I got up. I put on enough clothes to be halfway decent and to restrain my breasts so they didn’t hurt along with everything else. I gathered Natalya’s shirt and bra from the stairs and left them, along with the rest of her clothes, on top of the dresser. I also left a folded towel underneath the stack, which hopefully conveyed the message that she was welcome to the shower if she wanted it.
Then I shuffled downstairs, vowing to stay on the ground level for the rest of the month because holy shit my legs hurt. Sex and leg day really did not mix.
Worth it, though.
In the kitchen, I fired up the Keurig. Thank God for fast, simple coffee—I still wasn’t sure how I’d survived without this thing. Instant coffee for coffee snobs. What wasn’t to love?
Well, besides the fact that the damned machine was in my kitchen, and one of the selling points of this house had been its “bright, sunny kitchen.” Clearly this place had been built with the intent of punishing hungover sinners like me.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I approached the machine, wincing at all the vicious bright light bouncing off shiny appliances and that fucking stainless steel stovetop. Thank God I’d memorized the buttons on the machine, and in seconds, it was brewing me a cup of life-giving elixir.
While it did, I dug a pair of sunglasses out of my purse and shut the curtains over the window that had been letting in the most offensive sunlight. My skull still throbbed, but with less ferocity.
And finally, my kitchen was bearably dim, and I had a steaming cup of black coffee between my hands. I sipped it carefully, basking in the placebo effect of simply knowing the drug was on its way into my system.
As caffeine slowly inched its way into my needy veins, I wandered around the house. The Cuervo was still uncapped on the coffee table. The lime rinds were lying where they’d fallen on the plate. Over the back of the couch, my bra. On the floor, my shirt.
I grinned into my coffee cup. The tequila hangover sucked, but thank God for Cuervo if it was what gave us both the nerve to start fooling around on my couch like that.
I sighed, closing my eyes and savoring every throb and ache. Okay, so some of it was from yesterday’s workout, but Natalya had definitely left her mark. In fact, she’d probably left some actual marks. At the memory of her teeth and nails digging into my skin, I squeezed my thighs together and shivered.
That wasn’t what I’d expected last night—or ever—but I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d have changed. I’d been so deep in drama for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like to just give in and let loose. Sex with no pretense and no pressure—she’d kissed me, I’d kissed her, and we’d had sex, and that was that. Perfect.
Despite the hangover, I felt pretty damned good now. I was the kind of sore that said “good workout” and “good sex,” and I could totally live with that. After all, it had been a while since I’d been in a solid routine at the gym and even longer since I’d had anything enjoyable in bed—I wasn’t complaining.
I did, however, need some more coffee, so I wandered back into the kitchen for a refill.
It occurred to me I knew almost nothing about Natalya. What kind of coffee did she like? How did she take it? Did she drink it black like I did? Or did she sometimes spike it with Baileys or whatever was handy . . . like I did?
Just in case she liked it polluted, I checked to make sure I had milk and sugar. The gods were smiling on me this morning—I
had both, and neither had outlived their shelf lives.
Grinning through my hangover, I returned to the counter to refill my coffee. The headache would pass, and much like the soreness in my hips and butt, it was worth it for the end result.
Movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned toward the driveway, and nearly dropped the coffee cup I hadn’t yet filled.
Leigh.
Shit.
So much for needing caffeine. Or being in a good mood.
As I rinsed my cup, I watched her. She parked beside my car, and as she got out, she shot Natalya’s car a glare before starting up the front steps.
She pulled out her house key, and for the first time, I questioned the wisdom of letting her keep it. She wasn’t vindictive in the sense that she’d steal anything or set the place on fire, but that key somehow . . . kept her here. Made her a part of this landscape, even as she took pieces of her presence away with her every time she left.
My throat constricted around my breath. I wasn’t particularly sad about her leaving—the breakup was long overdue and we both knew it—but it was still a change. A big one. One that seemed to be stripping away all the subtle stability I’d taken for granted in my chaotic life. Like the long-dead tree in the yard that needed to come down before a storm knocked it into the house or onto a car, but had been there so long, I couldn’t quite bring myself to break out the chainsaw.
I shook my thoughts away and stepped out of the kitchen as she unlocked the door, my stomach fluttering in a very different way than it had while I’d gotten drunk on the couch with Natalya.
The door opened. For a second, Leigh was backlit by the vicious morning sun, and I turned away, shielding my eyes until the door clicked behind her.
Then we faced each other across the foyer. My eyes adjusted, and the throbbing in my head eased, but my brain couldn’t quite adjust to this. To standing here with the woman I’d lived with for the past few years.
“Hey.” She met my eyes and quickly dropped her gaze.
I swallowed. “Hey.”
She brushed a long strand of black hair behind her ear. After an uncomfortably long moment, she met my eyes again. Her expression was blank—somewhere in that hard-to-read area between bored and apathetic. “How, um, how are you?”
Small talk was excruciating. Small talk with someone I’d once shared my life with? Jesus.
“I’m okay.” I struggled to do something with my hands. Folding my arms would’ve been more comfortable, but she hated it when I looked defensive. Pockets. I had pockets. Hands all the way in? Thumbs hooked in—
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked. “You seem a little spacy.”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I shook myself, which hurt my head. Wincing, I rubbed my temples.
Leigh gave a quiet and not terribly genuine laugh. “Had a few last night?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Just, um, unwinding after a long week.”
She pursed her lips. Leigh knew damn well I never drank myself stupid when I was stressed. A shot of Baileys in my coffee or a stronger-than-necessary nightcap, maybe. But getting drunk wasn’t my style unless I was partying.
Or, as the case may be—
A door closed upstairs.
Leigh’s narrowed eyes slid toward the stairs, and a second later, Natalya appeared at the top, her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She was still tugging her blouse into place on the way down, her eyelids heavy with sleepiness and probably a mild hangover.
Natalya was halfway down the stairs when she and my ex made eye contact. She didn’t miss a step and really didn’t seem all that surprised by Leigh’s presence. If anything, her ever-so-slightly narrowed eyes dared Leigh to say something.
Clearing my throat, I squared my shoulders as Natalya joined us on the ground level. “Leigh, this is Natalya. Natalya, Leigh.”
Natalya smiled and offered her hand. Leigh eyed it, then me.
After a moment, Natalya withdrew the offer.
I tried not to squirm between them. Or notice the way they were eyeballing each other like a couple of alley cats.
I fully expected the claws to come out, but then Natalya broke eye contact and turned to me.
“I should go,” she said. “I need to be on the set in a couple of hours.”
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll . . . I’ll be in tomorrow.”
Natalya kissed my cheek and grinned. “See you later.” She winked, and I shivered at the unspoken suggestion of a rematch.
Yes, please.
“It was lovely to meet you . . . Leigh, was it?”
“Yes.” My ex folded her arms. “Leigh.”
“Right. Well. Like I said, lovely to meet you.” Was that sarcasm? Hard to tell, though the thin smile made me think it was.
“You too,” Leigh said flatly.
Natalya kissed me once more, this time on the mouth, and then went out to her car.
As she drove away, my spine prickled.
Cringing inwardly, I faced Leigh. “So, um—”
“Glad to see you’ve moved on,” she spat.
Any other time, I’d have shot back, What did you expect me to do?
But my head was throbbing, and I was exhausted—physically because of Natalya, emotionally because of Leigh. So I just shrugged. “Let’s not do this, okay?”
“Whatever.” She brushed past me. “I assume all my shit’s still out in the garage?”
“Aside from the boxes I haven’t moved out of the kitchen, yes. Where else would it be?”
“Fine.” She threw open the door to the garage and disappeared down the steps.
I caught the door before it slammed shut and leaned in. “Do you need help?”
“No.” The single, sharp syllable dripped with venom. That wasn’t just No, I don’t need help. That was Stay the hell away from me.
Well, all right, then.
She went to work moving her things out. The whole time she was there, I was restless. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t get comfortable. The coffee that had brought me back to life was making me jittery now, and the shirt and bra in the living room were making me feel guilty, so I busied myself moving the incriminating clothes to the laundry room.
Maybe I should’ve taken Jeremy up on his offer after all. Though he was probably enjoying the day with Scott, and wouldn’t have been thrilled about babysitting me while I tried to ignore my ex-girlfriend stomping out of the house with boxes in her arms.
I was, however, going to take Levi and Carter up on their open offer to kill an afternoon watching movies. Texting them gave me something to do while I waited for Leigh to finish up, and something to look forward to besides sitting around my quiet, empty house.
And then, without so much as a good-bye, Leigh was gone.
One minute, she was carrying another box outside. The next, her engine turned over, her tires sprayed gravel—lucky for her the Ferrari was safely inside—and she was gone.
Eh, it was probably just as well. A good-bye would have been, in the very best-case scenario, awkward. After that brief encounter between her and Natalya, I decided her abrupt, silent departure really was the best I could’ve hoped for.
Either way, she was gone now. Alone in the house I’d once shared with Leigh, my head still throbbing and my body still aching from the night I’d shared with Natalya, I leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.
Last night was a mistake, wasn’t it? Too soon. Much too soon. And with a coworker, no less. A coworker who’d just split from her boyfriend.
A boyfriend. I cringed, rubbing my throbbing forehead. How many times had I told myself I wasn’t getting involved with another bisexual woman? It never ended well. Not for me, not for the other lesbians I knew who’d gone down that road. And a bi woman on the rebound? Exactly the same mistake I’d made the first time—thinking she was in it for me and not because some tits and pussy were a good distraction from her ex-man. Or more to the point, that they’d be a good distrac
tion right up until she found the man she really wanted.
What was I thinking?
It was the booze. Nothing more. We’d both been licking our wounds after breakups, and caught up in the heat of the moment, we’d had a little fun to distract ourselves. A one-time thing to escape from the bullshit in our lives.
The only problem was work. Things didn’t have to get weird just because we’d slept together, but that never seemed to stop things from getting weird. If we kept sleeping together, it would get even weirder. If we didn’t keep sleeping together, it would get exponentially weirder.
I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders back. We’d just have to do some damage control. Nip this thing in the bud and be done with it.
So, tomorrow, we’d sit down and talk. Maybe work wasn’t the place for it, but it was either that or the gym. If we came back here, well . . . there probably wouldn’t be much talking going on.
I shivered. A rematch would be hot but a bad idea. Time for damage control. When I saw Natalya again, we’d talk.
But that wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Natalya was probably one of those women who could bounce back from a night of sex and drinking and take herself to the gym with a spring in her step. Me? Not so much. And I wasn’t going near the gym until this headache was gone. Which meant I wouldn’t see Natalya again until either I called her and asked to see her, or we ran into each other at work.
That thought made me cringe. But sooner or later, we would run into each other at work, and when we did . . .
Well. I’d cross that bridge when I got there.
“Earth to Anna?”
Levi’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts. He was sitting beside me in his home theater, arm slung around Carter’s shoulders on their plush leather reclining love seat. They both stared at me like I’d just said something stupid. Even Link and Zelda—the former on Carter’s lap, the latter stretched out across the cushion behind their heads—were watching me.
On the giant screen in front of us, credits were rolling.
The credits to . . .
What movie was it again?
Stuck Landing Page 4
