Discovery

by Radclyffe

  Ansley did something then I totally did not expect. She blushed.

  Smiling, she cocked her head and looked at me as if considering something. Then she glanced around to make sure we were alone before she leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Maggie. My name is Stephanie O’Ansley and I live in a small village in Maine, where I work part-time in a bookstore and then come home alone to my cat. Writing about something convincingly doesn’t mean you’ve necessarily experienced it—it just means you’re good at research and have a knack for words.”

  She kissed me on the neck again, then pulled back to look me in the eyes. “Now, I have been with women, yes. But only a few, mostly in college. Nothing to really write home about, and no one in a while.” She grinned. “There are lots of things I’ve written about that I’ve never experienced, but would like to. I mean, you did mention re-creating some scenes, as I recall?”

  It was amazing how a little insight into your favorite author can suddenly quell all your fears. “I’m in 33,” I said, getting up.

  She took my hand and pulled me toward my room, and all the arousal from her words, both written and spoken, came rushing back at me. I stopped at the door and turned to her, and she shot me a questioning look. I could see she was as turned on as I was.

  “Remember your hot hotel room scene in Passion’s Pursuit?” I asked.

  That endearing smile turned truly rakish as she nodded with heavy-lidded eyes.

  I opened the door. “We can start there.”

  6,239 - Julie Cannon

  JULIE CANNON is a native sun goddess, born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. Her day job is in Corporate America and her nights are spent bringing to life the stories that bounce around in her head throughout the day. Julie and her partner Laura have been together for sixteen years and spend their weekends camping, riding ATVs, or lounging around the pool with their two kids.

  Julie has selections in Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions and Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games. She is the author of Come and Get Me, Heart 2 Heart, Heartland, the upcoming Uncharted Passage (October 2008) and Just Business (2009), all published by Bold Strokes Books.

  6,239

  Julie Cannon

  Did you ever wake up one morning and have no idea who was lying next to you? That in and of itself didn’t bother me. I’d woken up with acquaintances, casual dates, and more than my share of complete strangers, some of whom I couldn’t even remember going to bed with. The woman on the other pillow was average looking, with eyes set a little too wide apart, lips full and just a bit pouty this early in the morning. Her eyebrows were so pale they were hardly visible even from seven inches away, and her short blond hair didn’t even hint it was anything other than the real thing. My memory verified that just below her appendix scar and just above long, muscular legs, she was in fact a natural blonde.

  A small tattoo of a woman running peeked out from the rumpled sheet that had fallen down low on her back. Her arms were tanned and the large muscles of her biceps were clearly defined beneath what I knew was very soft skin. Her hands were thin with long fingers that knew just where to go on my body and what to do when they got there. And last night the journey was just as exciting as the destination.

  It was as clear in my mind as it had been a few hours ago. We had a quiet dinner talking about this that and whatever. I felt slightly intimidated that she knew more about the presidential candidates than I did. Hell, I didn’t even know who some of the people were that she was talking about. And when she started talking about the guest on last Sunday’s Meet the Press, I’m sure my eyes started to glaze over. Her choice of wine was delicious and she asked the waiter for two spoons with the Tower of Terror Chocolate Sundae.

  We didn’t say much on the ride back to the house, and we didn’t say anything as we walked down the hall and into the bedroom. We weren’t holding hands, kissing, or ripping each other’s clothes off. It was as if by unspoken agreement, mental telepathy, or some other kinetic connection, words were not necessary. I was aroused but calm, aware of exactly what was going to happen once we hit the cool sheets.

  My friends have always laughed at me when I tell them that every time is fundamentally the same regardless of who you are with. There are lips and hands, breasts and vaginas, and every woman has a clitoris even if she hasn’t found it yet. You do the same basic things and if you do them correctly, you are rewarded with a climax. Pretty straightforward, wouldn’t you agree? I can’t help the way I think. I’m a scientist, and I think in analytical terms. I’m not good with the squishy, feely stuff. I had to look up the word metaphor in the well-worn dictionary that owns the corner of the coffee table in the front room.

  I pulled my wayward thoughts back to the woman sharing the morning beside me. Last night, her hands trembled when she unbuttoned my shirt. Obviously she’d had lots of practice since it didn’t take her more than a few seconds to open all ten buttons. Her eyes roamed over my upper torso as she slowly slid the shirt off my shoulders and let it drop. For the first time in a long time I didn’t care that there were clothes on the floor.

  She licked her lips when her gaze stopped at my breasts. Her breathing quickened and she lifted her hands as if to touch my erect nipples. She must have had second thoughts because she stopped and detoured to my belt buckle instead. The sound of the metal tip sliding through the metal loop echoed in my ears. They’d started to ring in anticipation a few seconds before.

  I balanced myself with my hands on her shoulders as she helped me out of my jeans and boots. Her face was even with my crotch and I was glad that I had thought enough ahead to wear my good undies and not the ones with the slight rip in the waistband. Being the practical woman I am, I couldn’t throw them away just because they had a little tear in a place that really didn’t matter anyway.

  I stood there nekked, as my favorite aunt used to say. Naked was a technical term whereas nekked was nasty. And we were about to do the big nasty. She stopped me as I reached for her, and made me stand there perfectly still while she slowly stripped. She was beautiful. I will never forget how she looked bathed in the light that snaked into the bedroom from the bathroom.

  I don’t remember how we got on the bed, but the next thing I remember is her leaning over me with the most peculiar expression on her face. It was a cross between longing and lust, with just enough hesitation to give me a passing fear that she might not do it at all. But she did, God help me, she did everything with a familiarity of my body that took my breath away more than once.

  Her kisses were soft and warm as she covered my lips with hers. Minute after minute she made love to my mouth as if she had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for the rest of the night. She alternately nipped and massaged first my upper lip, then my lower with soft strokes of her tongue. This woman could kiss, and I desperately wanted her tongue inside my mouth. I wanted her to arouse the inside of my mouth as much as she had done my lips. I wanted to suck on her tongue and have her tongue fuck me until I came.

  She never gave me the chance to say as much, but I must have done something right because she was soon echoing my thoughts, thrusting in and out and driving me crazy. She was still leaning over me, our bodies not touching. Every time I reached for her, she raised her lips from mine. Like a new puppy eager to please her master, I quickly learned what she wanted me to do, or in this case, not to do. From her position, she dominated me, and I’m not accustomed to being the bottom. But she made me not care. Finally she allowed me to capture her tongue, and I sucked it while my orgasm shot through my body. I should rephrase that: while my first orgasm racked my body.

  She licked my neck like it was a Popsicle melting in the hot sun. Up and down her magical tongue traveled, from the tip of my collarbone to the edge of my jaw. Long, slow strokes as soft as a rose petal were punctuated with nibbles and extra attention to those sensitive spots that made me shiver. At one point I thought she was giving me a hickey. A hickey, for crying out loud! I haven�
��t had a hickey in thirty years. But again, surprisingly, I didn’t care. It was cool enough to get away with wearing a turtleneck if I had to.

  She moved farther south, and it felt like she spent an hour exploring my breasts before she captured my nipple in her mouth. She nuzzled and licked and sucked, giving extra attention to the fading scar just below my left nipple. Her teeth were the body part of choice to create the exquisite sensation shooting through my body right to my clit. My nipples have always been ultrasensitive almost to the point of painful, but under her practiced caresses, I was in heaven. When I grasped her hair and pulled her closer she froze, and I quickly remembered my earlier lesson and let my arms drop back to the bed. She sucked greedily on one nipple while she toyed with the other, and the last thing that crossed my mind before my second orgasm was that I wasn’t sure who was enjoying it more.

  She found the spot on my stomach that is ticklish, and we laughed together as she teased me by returning to that spot often as she explored the flatland between my ribs and pelvis. Okay, so it’s more like soft rolling hills, but it used to be flat many years ago. If she didn’t mind the extra landscape, neither did I.

  Her breasts were tantalizingly close to my crotch, and when she got close enough I could feel her hard nipple sliding in and out between my wet lips. My hips instinctively thrust forward, wanting more contact than I was getting, and I felt her smile against my stomach at my feeble attempt. I wanted her to touch me. I need her to touch me. She knew it and I groaned, realizing that relief was nowhere in sight. But I surprised her when I came a third time just as her nipple grazed my clit.

  She traversed across the hard expanse of my hipbones and pubis. Her tongue left a trail of moisture and I shivered when she backtracked, lightly blowing across the wetness. And speaking of wetness, I was so stoked it was starting to slide out of me and onto the freshly washed sheets.

  Her hair fell across my stomach and thighs as she moved her mouth lower. Finally, my brain screamed. It’s about goddamned time she got down to business. But I was wrong. Way wrong. She had the nerve to skip the best part. Who did she think she was, anyway? We were here for one reason, and that reason was pounding hard on the door to be released. How dare she glance over it without even a second fleeting look?

  I forgave her when her fingers began to trace an intricate pattern on the inside of my thigh. I concentrated trying to picture the artwork she was searing into my body. The longer she did it, and the closer her strokes came to the juncture between agony and ecstasy, the less I tried to think and just concentrated on feeling. Thankfully that wasn’t difficult because my legs are long and if this sensation was going to continue to my toes, it would be a lengthy ride. But she was driving tonight and I was simply in the passenger seat. And that was more than okay with me.

  I didn’t think I could feel anything better than my three orgasms so far, but when her hands began long, firm strokes on my feet, I knew I had died and gone to heaven. I never really understood the difference between sensuality and sexuality until my feet were in her hands. She caressed them as gently as she had my breasts. She rubbed and massaged them as she would my tired, sore muscles after a long day at the office. I felt worshiped and relaxed, but considering that my feet were cradled between her full breasts there was no risk I’d fall asleep.

  I came again when she slid her tongue between my toes over and over, mimicking what I prayed she would do to other parts of my body. Back and forth she went, slowly at first, then increasing her tempo to match the thrusting of my hips. Or was it the other way around? Who knows? Who cares? Despite my analytical brain, I’m not really one to quibble on the details, especially when it comes to things that make me cry out in the night.

  Finished with my legs, her eyes locked with mine and she moved upward. This was it! She was finally going to the one place on my body she had not yet ventured tonight. I was disappointed when her mouth didn’t even hesitate in that area, but continued up until her lips were a hairsbreadth from mine. Her breath was warm as it caressed my lips. Time stood still as she searched my eyes, as if she were looking for a sign, or the bottom of my soul. I can’t say if she found what she was looking for, because she raised off me and turned me onto my stomach.

  I hate being on my stomach when I’m nekked. The sun never shines on my butt, which has gotten bigger as the years have passed, and I have more dimples in that region than I ever had on my face. Thankfully I had shaved all the way up, front and back, so I didn’t have that embarrassment to deal with.

  She must have turned the map of my body over with me, because she followed my backside with as much tenacity as she had my front. She licked and kissed and caressed the soles of my feet (which tickled), my calves, the backs of my knees (which makes me crazy), up past the back of my thighs and onto the acres of my ass. She was obviously one of those women who thought the more the merrier, because she didn’t bypass an inch in her exploration of the dark side of my moon.

  She planted a kiss on each vertebra in my spine and lightly traced my ribs with her fingertip, then her tongue. Her hands and mouth drifted close to my breasts more than once and I turned on my side just enough to give her what she needed. Correction, what I needed, before returning to my shoulders and neck.

  She took the pillow from the other side of the bed and slid it under my stomach. My lily-white, too-big butt was pushed up into the air. A shudder ran through me that was a combination of desire, anticipation, and cold. Seconds later her body covered mine and the cold was immediately forgotten. Her breasts were firm on my back, her hard nipples pushing against my shoulder blades. Her curly hair tickled my butt which, seeming to have a mind of its own, rubbed against her shamelessly. Strong hands caressed my arms, starting at my shoulders and not stopping until they reached the tips of my fingers. All the while her hot breath and wet tongue teased my left ear. Shivers ran down my spine as her body completely covered mine. She was not heavy, but more like a comfortable familiarity settling onto me.

  She moved against me in a slow, sensuous dance, teasing me with the full contact of her body and then lifting, leaving me practically bare, my body aching for contact. Each time she returned she would stay just a little bit longer, grinding her pubis into me, obviously enjoying herself as much as I. With her body draped over me, she slid her hand under me and finally, finally touched me. It didn’t take her long to realize that was all I needed this time. I felt her smile against the back of my neck.

  I was still coming down from my orgasm when she rubbed her clitoris against me for her first orgasm of the night. Notice I said her first orgasm. More on that later. Her arms straightened, her body arched, and the most wonderful sound of ecstasy came from her. She fell against me, her body enveloping mine.

  It took her a long time to recover, but it was well worth the wait. She turned me over again, and this time when she traveled down my body she stopped and settled in exactly where I wanted her. I always wondered if other women could have seven or eight or twelve orgasms in the span of one hour like me. I didn’t know, but I thanked my lucky stars I could.

  That’s pretty much how we spent the rest of the night. Kind of reminded me of the instructions on a bottle of shampoo. Wash, rinse, repeat. Just when I thought I couldn’t go again, she didn’t seem to agree and off we’d go again. Finally, sometime during the wee hours of the morning, we fell asleep exhausted.

  I hate mornings after. What do you say to someone to whom you have done the most intimate things and who has done them to you besides, How do you like your coffee? Sometimes I am so embarrassed I want to disappear, and oftentimes I have. I know it’s ridiculous, but that’s the way I think and I’m not going to try to figure it out.

  So here I am again, the morning after. But what is so different this morning, so stunning that it hit’s me like a brick, is that I’ve woken up with this woman for the past six thousand two hundred thirty-nine mornings give or take a few for business trips, visits to ailing parents, and an occasional serious fight or two. She
is my wife, my partner, girlfriend, lover, or whatever other label you want to apply to the woman I have shared my life with for the past seventeen years. She is my housekeeper, my landscaper, my cook, maid, pet sitter, accountant, doctor, and shrink. She is a teacher, a motivational speaker, a miracle worker, Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy. She is the mother of my children, a thoughtful daughter, a caring sister, and a fabulous daughter-in-law. She is the half that makes me whole, and I have no idea who she will be today.

  I leaned over her and kissed her gently on the lips, ready to begin another day. Last night was not our anniversary, Valentine’s Day, or my birthday. It was just the end of another day in a long cavalcade of days we have shared together. Every day with her is a new discovery of what life will bring us. What new adventure we will encounter and work together to overcome. We will agree, disagree, and take different paths, but in the end we will always come together at the same place, side by side.

  Baby Steps - Rachel Spangler

  RACHEL SPANGLER’s first novel, Learning Curve, was released in January 2008, and her second, Trails Merge, is forthcoming from Bold Strokes Books in December 2008. She and her partner, Susan, are raising their young son in western New York. During the winter they make the most of the lake-effect snow on local ski slopes. In the summer, they love to travel and watch their beloved St. Louis Cardinals. Regardless of the season, she always makes time for a good romance, whether she’s reading it, writing it, or living it.

  Baby Steps

  Rachel Spangler