by Harper Bliss
I love you. I don’t say it out loud—The Goodmans will never be a family of I-love-yous—but thinking it is more than enough.
* * *
“A sock, huh?” Kay asks while we’re getting ready for bed.
“Don’t you start.”
“I feel your pain, honey. Socks are so inadequate.” She sits on the edge of the bed and motions for me to perch next to her. “Come here.”
Kay never has to tell me twice, so I hurry to her side. Once I’m seated, she leans toward the bedside table and takes out a box.
“Going away gift,” she says, as she hands it to me.
“Oh.” I pull my lips into a pout. “But I didn’t get you anything.”
“You’re coming back, Ella. That’s the only present I’ll ever need.” She nods at the box. “Go on. Open it.”
I tear at the wrapping paper and unearth a plastic box with a see-through front. My eyes widen when my brain registers what’s inside: a quite sizable pink dildo, flanked by a black strap-on harness.
Amazed, I look at Kay. “What the hell am I going to do with that in Boston?”
“Read the card.” Her eyes have gone wildly dark again, like they do before we fuck. I find a white envelope taped to the back of the box. I open it and the front of the card shows a sad-faced cartoon figure with tears in its eyes, saying, “So sad you’re going away.”
My heart breaks a little at the sight of it, and I start dreading the moment Kay will drop me at the airport tomorrow—the moment we’ll have to say goodbye, at least for a few months.
I open the card and read what she wrote: ‘I think I’ll go with you.’ A folded sheet of A4 paper is nestled inside the card and when I unfold it I see it’s a plane ticket to Boston with Kay’s name on it.
“For real?” Misty-eyed, I look at her.
“Of course.” She scoots closer. “I want to be with you when you walk back into your house. I don’t want you to do that alone.”
I’m so flabbergasted, it takes a few seconds for the meaning of her words to sink in.
“I love you,” I say. Out loud, this time.
* * *
THE END
* * *
Dear Reader,
* * *
A year after publishing At the Water’s Edge I wrote a novella as a short sequel to Ella and Kay’s story.
Here it is, for your enjoyment.
Love,
* * *
Harper
It Takes Two
Ella
“Come on, Kay, I’m going to be late. You know what Principal Davenport is like.” I don’t really want Kay to leave me alone, and, thanks to Kay’s early bird proclivities, I have plenty of time before I have to be at school.
“First of all.” Kay presses a bit closer against me. “Why are you still calling her Principal Davenport? You’ve taught at Northville High for two years now, and I’ve known Patty for ages.” Kay is obviously not interested in my reply, because I can feel her lips on the back of my neck already.
I turn over so I can fully face her. Sometimes, I still can’t believe I found someone like Kay—and I still catch myself thinking that I don’t deserve her. The ways in which she loves me, you’d think I was a flawless creature, and we both know I’m quite the opposite. “What’s the other thing?”
“What other thing?” Kay’s mind seems to have gone blank with early morning lust.
“You said ‘first of all’, so I’m assuming there’s something else you wanted to say.”
“Oh, there is.” Kay narrows her eyes. “But that’s going to have to wait.” She gives that deep-bellied chuckle of hers. The one that has only increased its power over me in the years that we’ve been together.
“It’s your laugh,” I said to her not long after we met. “It sounds as though it can only be truly genuine.”
“That’s because it is,” she’d said in typical Kay fashion, her face straight and not a trace of irony in her eyes.
“Wait for what?” I ask now, but only because I want to coax a reaction out of her as I already know the answer.
“For this.” She doesn’t take the bait. She usually doesn’t. Instead, she half-climbs on top of me and plants her lips on mine. I know from experience that the time for talking has passed now. I can tell from the intensity in her gaze when we break from our kiss, and that glint in her eyes—the one I can never get enough of—that I’m in for a treat. I’m always in for a treat with Kay.
She kisses me again, but when she does this time, she positions her entire body on top of mine, her breasts touching mine, her naked legs pushing mine apart.
I haven’t been with anyone as long as I have been with Kay, and never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined it would be this way. This satisfying. This passionate. This life-changing. I knew from the very beginning that Kay isn’t one to half-heartedly commit to anything, and she has shown that to me over and over again.
Her lips travel from my mouth to my jawline to my neck, to that spot just below my ear where she can spend endless time, until I can’t take it anymore. But we don’t have all day today. I have a job to go to.
Kay doesn’t dilly-dally, which is good on all accounts, because her ministrations haven’t missed their effect, and already, on this very ordinary Wednesday morning in early October, my clit is pulsing madly. It’s not even six a.m. Outside, it’s still dark. It still feels as though it’s just us in the world, here, in our cozy corner at the West Waters resort, which I haven’t been able to leave since I came back after that dreadful year.
Then, surprisingly, she lets herself slip off me, and, as always, I miss her body on top of me instantly. Like a subconscious part of my brain is still a little scared that she’ll leave me. That one day she’ll wake up and realize who I really am, and just slip off me forever.
But Kay has no intention of leaving me, not ever, and certainly not at this very moment. She’s only scooting to the edge of the bed, planting her feet on the ground. Then she turns back to me. “Come here,” she says, and her voice has gone all throaty, and I could luxuriate in the gravelly tone of it forever, but she has other plans, of course.
She takes my hand and drags me toward her, until my side is covering her strong thighs.
“Sit on top of me,” she says, her eyes on me. “I want you like this.”
I have to move around awkwardly to comply with her wishes, but, in the end—as ever—I’m exactly where she wants me to be. Already spread wide, my knees supporting my weight, my breasts almost in her face.
“Wrap your legs round me, babe,” she instructs, and I have to suppress a giggle, because, obviously, I wasn’t in the exact position she had envisioned me in, and, as much as Kay is a go-with-the-flow kind of person in everyday life, she’s the opposite in here, her bedroom, which has become ours. In the lodge of West Waters, where she made me whole again.
There aren’t a lot of things I wouldn’t do for Kay, for a lot of reasons, but especially because of what she has done for me, and what she represents in my life, so I do as I’m told. I shift my balance, hold on to her shoulders, and wrap my legs around her.
“Good girl,” she whispers in my ear as she pulls me in for a kiss, and, before Kay, I never even knew the effect words like that, spoken under these circumstances, could have on me. I didn’t know a lot of things before Kay.
“I love you,” she says when we break our lip-lock, and if I hadn’t been extremely aroused already, this particular sentence would surely have done the trick, so now my clit seems to throb in double-time, and I’m ready, so ready, for whatever she has in store for me.
“I love you too.” I always say it back. And I always mean it with every fibre of my being.
Kay’s hands travel down the length of my back, her fingers spreading and resting on my waist. It makes me feel as though she has a firm grip on me, here and everywhere else. As though as long as I’m with her, I’ll always be safe. Her hands don’t remain there for very long. She brings one hand to h
er side and plants it on the bed for support, while the other makes its way to the front of my body. First, it goes up to cup my breast. Kay wraps her fingers around it so my nipple protrudes, and then brings it to her mouth. The time for just a gentle caress with her lips has long passed, and after she flicks over my aching nipple with her tongue, she takes it between her teeth and bites down.
“Oh christ,” I mutter under my breath. You’re driving me wild again, I want to say, but I don’t have these words at the ready in my throat right now. Moreover, she’s already moved on to my other breast, playing with it a while longer, as though bestowing on it the small mercy of time—of two seconds of just being worshipped—before she claims it with her teeth.
Then, her hand goes lower, and within seconds, I feel her fingers skate along my wet opening. Her teeth have found another body part of mine to occupy themselves with, as they are now biting into the soft flesh between my shoulder and my chest.
I wrap my arms around her shoulders with a firmer grasp, and do the same with my legs, and consider how utterly intertwined we are in this moment—and in every other aspect of our lives. I used to be a loner, or rather, I used to feel so alone. This thought makes me want to buck my pelvis toward her, makes me want to urge her to delve those fingers she’s teasing me with inside of me, high and deep, and fuck me.
And then she does. I feel her fingers slide inside and my breath catches in my throat. Kay is leaning back on her other arm and I can feel her eyes on me even though my own have fallen shut.
Her fingers go up and down, and I clench myself around her, around those delicious fingers of hers. Sometimes, when we’re sitting outside in the evening, or having dinner, or just watching TV, my gaze lands on her hands, and I can’t look away because the mere sight of those strong fingers of hers makes me break out in a sweat. Because I know what these fingers do. And I know who they belong to. To Kay Brody. My everything.
I never used to be this sentimental, I think, as Kay increases the speed of her thrusts, and brings her thumb out to play. It flicks along my clit in quick but regular intervals, and she has me panting in no time.
I’m all over her, still I feel, as the beginning of a climax is starting to rumble through me, as though I want more, so I open my eyes to look into hers as this moment tethers us together. She’s inside of me, and her gaze is kind but determined—the sexiest combination ever—and I’m at her mercy, and then she hits the spot that pushes me right over the edge. I feel myself falling, even though I remain on Kay’s lap, and her fingers are still stroking me inside, and her gaze still has that expectant quality to it, as if she’s still not sure I’ll come for her, while I’m already halfway there.
“Oh christ,” I say again, but my voice sounds as though I’m in utter agony, and I know what that means. The orgasm seizes me, grabs me from all sides, and I ride Kay’s fingers until my muscles go stiff, and my back is cramping up, and even after that, I still hold on to her, wrap her up inside my limbs, and say, “Fuck. I love you.”
Kay tries to curl both her arms around me, but fucking me must have taken most of her pre-breakfast energy, and she topples backwards onto the bed, taking me with her in the process. I chuckle as I find myself in a mess of limbs and sweat and my own juices clinging to Kay’s fingers.
We roll around until I’m lying half on top of her and I stare down at her beautiful face, my heart melting all over again.
“Now you can ask me again,” she says.
“What?” I no longer have any idea what she’s referring to.
“The second thing I wanted to say earlier.”
“Right.” I smile at her. “It seems of lesser importance now.”
“Trust me, it’s not,” she says, sparking my curiosity.
I prop myself up on my elbow. “What’s going on?”
“I have a question for you.”
“I’m listening.” And I am, although in the back of my brain the clock is ticking. I need to hit the shower soon and head to school.
“Ella Goodman,” Kay says, and a sob seems to lurk in her voice. What’s happening? Surely, this can’t be bad news after what we’ve just done. She clears her throat. “Will you marry me?” Kay’s face breaks into a huge smile.
I can feel my eyebrows shoot up, and my mouth fall open, and… my shoulders slump. “What?” I don’t need her to repeat the question. I heard it loud and clear.
“Is there any chance you’d want to become my wife?” The smile on Kay’s face has faded a little. Why is she asking me this? We’ve never discussed marriage between us as such—although we’ve devoted plenty of time talking about other people’s marriages.
“Look, Kay, I—” But I can’t bear the sudden sadness on her face, so I don’t continue, because these words, also, are too difficult to say right now. I want her to smile again. I want her to roll over on the bed with me again. I want to rewind the last minute and bask in my post-orgasmic glory a little longer without having this question hanging over me. Because my love and commitment for Kay are not the issue here. Nor is the prospect of me wanting to spend the rest of my life with her. But marriage? I’ve never even entertained the notion. Not only because it was illegal for same-sex couples to get married until recently, but also—and mainly—because of the marriage I’m a product of. I’ve seen what a bad marriage does to people, I’ve lived it, witnessed it, cried myself to sleep many a night because of it, and I vowed to myself, a very long time ago, that I would never get married myself. Why would I? What difference could it possibly make?
“Don’t be too enthusiastic,” Kay says. She tries a grin but I can tell she’s hurt by my lack of response.
I can’t say yes, I simply can’t, but I can’t say no either, because that would break her heart, and the last thing I want to do is break Kay’s heart.
“I—I thought,” I begin again. “I thought you knew how I felt about marriage.”
Kay scrunches her lips together and looks at me for a few long, silent seconds before speaking. “If you mean that I know how you feel about your parents’ marriage. Yes, I do. But we’re not them, Ella. We’re us.”
“Look.” I push myself up entirely, almost afraid to prolong skin contact with her. “We’re going to have to talk about this later. I have to get to work.” What was she thinking springing this on me now? She knows I teach first period on Wednesdays. Was she trying to rush me into a decision? Clouding my brain with post-orgasmic dopamine and popping the question when I don’t have time to even think about it properly. Or, perhaps, I consider, the whole point is that people usually don’t have to think about it.
“Ella.” Kay has pushed herself up as well. “I know you have to go to work, but you have a little bit of time.” She grabs me gently by the arm. “I want you to know this is not a spur-of-the-moment decision for me. I’ve been thinking about asking you for a while, trying to come up with the right time. I even have a ring in my desk drawer, sitting at the ready, waiting for the right moment. But when I woke up this morning, and it hit me which day it is, I knew with certainty, and an almost unbearable clarity, that I wanted to ask you now. I’ve waited long enough.”
What day is it? I rack my brain frantically but come up empty. It doesn’t even matter. Because it seems Kay is dead-set on marrying me—and I’m by no means the marrying kind. “Did you really think I’d say yes?” I ask her, and in the process, I assume, break both of our hearts a little. Mine is cracking, that’s for sure. Because why does it have to change? Why isn’t just being together enough? Why do we need a stupid piece of paper?
“Honestly.” Kay drops my arm from her hand. “I did think you’d say yes. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked.”
“But—” I have so many arguments, so many logical reasons gathered in my mind to oppose what she has just said, but they’re all clogged together into a big mass of thoughts with only one thing in common: the word ‘no’ looming above them in big, bright, blinking letters.
“You’re right, Ella. We shouldn’t have t
his conversation now.” Kay sits up a bit straighter. “We’ll talk about it later.” She turns away from me, and her physical retreat feels like a slap in the face. Obviously, she had expected more of me. Had expected me to rise above my rigid principles and what marriage means to me because I love her so much.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say. “I need to think about it.” I’m not saying no, I want to say, but I can’t say it out loud, because it would be a lie.
“You do that.” Kay stands with her back to me. She seems to hesitate for a split second, then she walks away.
* * *
“Every day, I’m so immensely grateful for the luck you bestow upon Northville High with your professorial presence,” Principal Davenport says to me, “but today, I’m not so sure. What’s eating you, Ella?”
I throw my half-eaten sandwich onto the table. “Nothing.” Nothing I feel comfortable talking about in the break room, anyway.
“Was Wendell acting up again?” she inquires, probably knowing full well that a student misbehaving does not have me behaving like this. This is my second year teaching at this high school, and Patty knows me well enough by now. “If he was, don’t hesitate to send him to Cindy. She has a way with him. Knows how to sort him out.”
Whereas high school dramas are largely the same as university dramas, the scale is very different, and when I was teaching at Boston University my students were old enough to not give me a hard time in class. There’s a big difference between a person voluntarily choosing to study biology in college and a student being forced to take it in high school. But, of course, Wendell, though a royal pain in my ass at times, is not the issue today.
