Cruising the Strip

by Radclyffe

  “I will be,” Jude murmured. “I’m here with you. I’m home.”

  Payout

  by Karin Kallmaker

  “So how does it feel in the light of morning?” Alison spooned behind Carolyn, massaging her shoulders gently as the sun slowly illuminated their room.

  “I’m still not sure.” Carolyn rolled onto her stomach. “Your hands are wonderful, as always.”

  Alison shifted her position, continuing the soft touches with one lazy hand. “I know you’re young for this sort of thing, but then you started out young as a published writer, too.”

  “True. I just…” Carolyn stretched out an arm to touch the Lucite statue of an old-fashioned oil lamp that rested on the bedside table. “It’s an award, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen one.”

  There was the tiniest edge of bitterness in Carolyn’s voice, and it pained Alison. “You wouldn’t do it any other way, would you?”

  “Of course not.” She snuggled around in Alison’s arms. “I’m glad I came out. I’m glad I’ve been living free. I just feel a little bit young to get the Lamplight Award.”

  “You did light the way, and it was very cool that Amelia Wainwright was the one who presented it to you, and I swear, Barrett Lancey had tears in her butch little eyes. They wouldn’t get to be who they are if Carly Vincent, hot new best seller, sweetheart of the twenty-four to thirty-two demographic, hadn’t taken one for the Sappho team all those years ago. There are other people who could have come out, no doubt, but you’re the one that did it.”

  “I was waiting on the world to change and it did, I guess. I didn’t lose all my readers.”

  “Just the narrow-minded ones, and you weren’t writing for them anyway. I’m glad you don’t regret it.”

  “I don’t.” The eyes that gazed up at Alison were the clear blue she’d lost her heart to at least two decades ago. “I might whine a little sometimes, but I don’t regret it.”

  “God, you feel good this morning.” Alison breathed in the cologne, the shampoo, the wonderful blend of scents that equaled Carolyn to her. “I loved dancing with you last night.”

  “Me too you.” Carolyn burrowed into Alison’s shoulder. “It was a fun evening, even if Farrah Fotheringay was hitting on you.”

  “Was not. She’s straight. She probably just wants a new agent.”

  “No, she was after the hottest woman in the room.” Carolyn twisted a lock of Alison’s hair around her finger. “I love the way your hair is changing color, silver and platinum threads all woven in.”

  Alison smoothed her love’s short curls and turned the adorable face up so she could see it. All these years and it was still like waking up to sunshine. Sleepy eyes blinked at her.

  “I love you.”

  “You’re just saying that.” Carolyn stretched.

  “Why would I just make it up after all this time?”

  “Because you want to have your way with me.”

  Alison cupped one alluring breast under the covers. It firmed at her touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It was late last night, and I recall being promised something if I wore those thigh-high stockings that get you all hot and bothered. But alas, all I remember were some vague mumbles about wine and the hour.” Carolyn’s light tone was at odds with the small arch of her back in response to the tip of Alison’s finger lightly stroking under her nipple.

  “Then I need to make it up to you, don’t I?”

  “I would think so.”

  “Okay.” Alison threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. “How about a nice breakfast?”

  “Get back in this bed this instant.” Carolyn gave her a wry look.

  “Oh, so you want breakfast in bed.”

  Carolyn dissolved into laughter. “Honey, I want to be breakfast in bed.”

  “My thought exactly.”

  She began with slow kisses along Carolyn’s calves, eliciting a soft, encouraging sigh. She would never get enough of the taste of Carolyn’s skin, and lazily worked her way up the welcoming, curvaceous body. It made sense to get out of her nightshirt then, and use her breasts to massage Carolyn’s thighs.

  A long, rising moan rewarded her efforts and Alison stretched out so their bodies could meet in the full delight of skin-on-skin.

  “Ally,” Carolyn breathed. “You’ve got some kind of magic hands.”

  “Tell that to my teammates. I drop any more fly balls and—”

  Carolyn pressed her fingertips to Alison’s mouth. “Why on earth are you talking about softball at this moment?”

  “Cause mostly…I’m an idiot.”

  The little laugh they shared was intimate and ended with the kind of kiss that reminded Alison of the backseat of Carolyn’s old Mustang convertible. Now was not the time to admit she was having a fast food craving. Other cravings took precedence.

  “Close your eyes,” Alison whispered. “Think about Melissa and the concert tonight and the backstage passes your fabulous agent got you.”

  Carolyn laughed again. “I thought they were a birthday gift from my girlfriend.”

  Alison kissed away the laughter—she loved doing that. Making her Carrie laugh and then moan ever so slightly. Every time they shared this dance it had all the fever and fireworks of their first time, combined with layers of familiarity. There was still plenty of mystery, but no terror of doing something wrong or too hard or too soft. Make her laugh, and kiss the smiles. She could do this all morning.

  She did do it all morning, as it turned out. No doubt Carolyn would have the right metaphor for the way her body was melting over the bed, spreading like warm honey, only not so sticky and leaving a less romantic soul to wonder who was going to clean all that up.

  “More, Ally, please…”

  Those were Alison’s favorite words.

  Her second favorite set of words were said shortly thereafter.

  “Your turn.” Carolyn gave her a searing look, no longer melted honey or melted anything, she was firm and soft all at once, just a little commanding and more than a little eager.

  Alison moaned when Carolyn’s tongue swept through her, then she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Carolyn immediately stopped what she was doing. “Am I distracting you?”

  “Sorry, honey. I was just—I realized how good it was to moan really loudly and not have one of the puppies come to investigate what we’re doing.”

  Carolyn grinned and kissed Alison’s inner thigh. “Okay, yes, that is nice. But no more laughing.” Her tongue pressed into the soft place where thigh met really sensitive areas.

  “Hell, no, oh…”

  She scrabbled among the rumpled sheets for Carolyn’s hand, clasping their fingers as her legs fell open and she lost herself in the exquisite attentions of that wonderful, thorough mouth. She felt the love all through her bones, and she did want to smile at her happiness. Another laugh threatened—maybe it was watching her beloved Carrie, who had suffered in classy silence all these years after the onslaught of hate mail and plummeting sales, publicly recognized by her peers as the brave woman she was. It had been a risk, and there had been a price, but now—

  Carolyn’s sensitive fingers moved inside her and the laughter transformed to passion. Her memories of last night, dancing, her daily ecstasy of waking up with Carolyn, they went away and the only focus she had was for the pressure building behind her eyes, along her shoulders, down her arms to where her hand clasped Carolyn’s. She rose, Carolyn held on, their bodies frozen until a white, hazy afterglow gently surrounded her.

  *

  “Did I go to sleep?”

  Carolyn leaned against the bathroom door, drying her hair. “Yes. And you missed the chance to shower with me.”

  “Damn.” Alison stretched, not wanting to get out of the bed.

  “Honey, there are two floors of casinos, five swimming pools, three hundred fountains, and an art gallery waiting for us, now that the convention is over.”

  “Um-hmm.” C
arolyn’s mouth had felt wonderful, she mused.

  The bed jolted from Carolyn’s swift kick. “So get up!”

  Alison reluctantly swung her legs over the side of the bed. “If only your fans knew what Carly Vincent is really like.” Her gaze fell on the award and she touched it with one fingertip.

  Crossing the warm carpet to the bathroom, she turned Carolyn from the mirror to take her into her arms. “You know, right? That I’m proud of you, that you’re the world to me? That I love you?”

  “I know,” Carolyn said. “I was feeling sorry for myself last night, for a while. But this morning, today—I know why I made those choices, and I’ve gotten everything that ever had value to me. I got you.”

  “Let’s go back to bed.”

  “You just want to sleep more.”

  “We can play breakfast in bed again, first.” She blinked innocently.

  Carolyn laughed and Alison kissed the smile.

  Solitaire

  by Karin Kallmaker

  “Well, that was a total cock-up.” DJ unknotted the short scarf from the collar of her white shirt. How was she supposed to sell emergency room supplies if the company sent the wrong samples for the exhibit hall booth? The convention had been a total bust for her, a complete waste of time.

  A hot shower, fresh clothes, and then she was going to lose herself at the poker tables—any table where Texas Hold ’Em wasn’t the game. What was wrong with a good round of seven-card stud?

  What she really wanted was for Lyn to walk through the door right now. That would be heaven. She’d been on the road too long, and their phone calls were too unsatisfying. It wasn’t like her to leave her clothes all over the floor, but right now, she couldn’t care less. Tomorrow morning she packed up the booth and then caught a plane home.

  The aroma of Lyn’s shampoo was soothing. She traveled with a little bottle of it to remind her of the things she really loved in this world, and one of them was the way Lyn smelled. She scrubbed her short hair free of gel and washed the sweat of the day from her body, then stood just a little longer under the hot spray, inhaling steam to soothe her dry sinuses.

  Maybe she was too tired for the tables tonight. That would be awful, though, to be in Las Vegas and too bleedin’ tired to do the one thing she could do with her girl so far away. Lord knows every other temptation was available, and she’d said no to a few in the hospitality suite earlier.

  Maybe a trip to the fitness room? Even as she thought it, she dismissed the idea. It would be overrun with men, and American men were second only to Aussies in their unwavering belief in their universal sex appeal. She was too tired to deal with them.

  The Palace towels were thick and thirsty, and normally she’d have delighted in the little luxuries of the heated towel rack, the warming lamp—someone else was paying for it, too. She had a major case of the post-convention blahs, though. Her hand reached for an old, comfortable T-shirt. She hesitated, knowing if she put it on she wouldn’t go out. If she put on the tight black tank then she would hit the tables. She looked back and forth between both garments, then opted for the hotel robe before she got chilled. Decision deferred.

  She flipped open her cell phone and tried not to be disappointed that Lyn wasn’t home. Of course she wasn’t. DJ had known that all day. Lyn’s eldest was finally performing live and DJ was sorry to miss it. She was sorry she couldn’t hear more than Lyn’s voice telling her to leave a message.

  Drifting to the window in hope of some form of distraction, she watched the lights change in the famous fountains she could just glimpse through an opening between buildings. Her room faced inward over the hotel grounds and her view was of two of the swimming pools, ringed in lights. One had a floating bar in the middle. Maybe that was the way to go. Lounge in warm water, kick back with a good drink, and daydream. That might be okay if the temperature had dropped enough. There was nothing more dismal than sweating while sitting in a swimming pool.

  She unlatched her sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. It had cooled off quite a bit from midday. The pool with the bar was appealing more and more. She turned to go back inside when she heard a voice from the adjacent balcony—a woman’s voice possibly—say plainly, “Are you sure it’s okay, baby?”

  “Yes.” Laughter, definitely a woman this time, then, “What happens in Vegas, right?”

  “Let me get it out of the package and clean it, then. You stay right there.”

  The lights that bathed the hotel exterior didn’t quite reach this floor, but DJ still tried to discreetly peek through the separating barrier. It was dark, though, that is until the first person came back and a glow from inside their hotel room dimly illuminated the small confines of the balcony.

  Definitely both women. Lounging in the chaise was a lovely creature whose slender charms were quite noticeable, given that she was naked. There was something comfortable about her beauty, quiet even. Maybe it was just the contrast with the glitter, spandex, and artifice of Las Vegas in general. Her hands briefly brushed over her natural, yielding breasts as she relaxed in the chair.

  DJ told herself to stop looking. But when the other woman, a no-apologies butch, shucked her tank top and briefs and joined her lover on the chaise, it was more than DJ could do to look away.

  “You’re sure?” The butch kissed her girlfriend with a melting tenderness. “Do you want to hold it? Just to get used to it?”

  DJ lost the reply, but there was no mistaking the object in the woman’s hand. If she remembered correctly, that was the Mighty Aphrodite. One like it was at home.

  The butch had stretched out alongside the other woman, stroking her breasts and shoulders. “It’s up to you, Marcie.”

  “I want to. How many times do I have to say it?”

  “I’m sorry, baby, it’s just that I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want you to regret it tomorrow.”

  “Did you bring the lube?”

  The butch’s voice got more gravelly. “Yes. Please, let me.”

  For a moment, DJ’s view was obstructed, then the butch stopped moving around and settled on her knees between Marcie’s legs.

  DJ swallowed hard. She missed Lyn fiercely at that moment, because she knew how trickling lube over her fingers felt, and she knew why the butch moaned when she pushed those slippery fingers into her eager, receptive lover. Her own hand twitched, and her cunt did as well. If she were closer she would be able to smell them both, smell sex and the unmistakable blend of lube and silicone and woman.

  The butch bent to lavish attention on Marcie’s clit. Marcie let out a long coo, a single note of pleasure that finally broke as she hooked one leg over the butch’s shoulder and lifted her hips to offer more. Their words were lost for several seconds, then Marcie said, her voice taut with desire, “Please, Keri, fuck me with it.”

  Now DJ could hear everything. The slippery, wet noises and the mutual quiet grunts they shared were enough to send her own fires leaping.

  “Fuck me…”

  “I am…”

  “More…”

  DJ put her hands over her ears and stumbled back into her hotel room, collapsing on the bed.

  The women in the hospitality suite had all loved the accent, and while so many men never figured her for a lesbian, the same number of women did. She could have been with someone tonight instead of peering like a pathetic Peeping Tom at her neighbors. What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, or so they said. Trouble was, none of the women offering had short hair, piercing eyes, and a sense of humor sharper even than her own. None of them were Lyn.

  “Oh, yes! Yes, baby, don’t stop…”

  DJ quietly closed the balcony door, but she fancied she could still hear those pleas.

  She’d be home tomorrow night and Lyn would meet her plane, and they might even take care of some of their itches on the way home from the airport. Maybe she’d surprise Lyn with a night in a motel. Just the two of them and lots of sex.

  The wall behind her bed began to thump. Bloody h
ell, they’d moved inside. Now she wasn’t eavesdropping or peeping, she couldn’t help but hear it.

  If there had been any trepidation about whether Marcie would like the toy, it sounded like they were over it. Marcie not only liked the toy, she liked getting fucked hard with it, hard and deep and for a very, very long time.

  DJ called Lyn again and listened to, “I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you.” She listened to it three times before snapping her phone shut.

  Marcie was getting well and truly fucked, and from the sound of it, she was going to scream in five, four, three, two—

  “Oooh, fuck, baby! Fuck me!”

  DJ knew how sheepish she had felt the first night with Lyn, when her vocabulary had abruptly become that limited, too. That had been such a good night. All the nights together had been that good.

  Tonight was not a good night. Now her body ached and she was turned on and wet, with no recourse but to get on her own bed and touch…touch…

  Fingers always knew what to do, they knew every circle to make, when to glide over the nerves, when to pinch and lift. It was her mind that wandered, sifting through memories and fantasies for the one that would catch like kindling.

  Tomorrow she would get into the passenger seat of their car and she would let Lyn drive, but when they got as far as the scattered office buildings, she would tell Lyn to pull into a deserted parking lot. She’d pull her across the seat, put Lyn’s hand down her slacks and beg, beg for Lyn’s touch, beg to come, right there in the car. She’d strip off her pants, spread her legs, and pull Lyn’s fingers inside her, and Lyn would know, like she always knew, how much, how hard, how fast, like that.

  “God, yes, baby, do me again, I can’t believe how good it feels when you do that…”

  How good she feels, DJ thought, how good Lyn always feels. She moaned, feeling the dance of electricity start in her clit, then spread upward, outward until the sizzle escaped from the top of her head. She would lie back in the seat, sated, drifting, while Lyn drove them home.