“Number three, number three.” Amie looked around the room as though she might spot an idea hiding in a corner or perched on the dresser. “Number three. I want you to do it for me. Or try, anyway.”
Of all the responses Amie might have expected from Dru at her third wish-list item, a frown was not among them. She searched Dru’s face, trying to figure out what had happened. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” Dru writhed over her again, digging in. Did she have any idea how fucking hot it was? To watch her, to feel her. Amie pricked her skin with her nails again, holding back as much as possible.
“What’s that face, then?” She could have flipped them easily, wrestled Dru into submission with one arm tied behind her back. But Dru hadn’t been completely off base with the novelty comment. That in itself had some unexpected appeal.
Dru was still making the face. “Did you say that because of what I asked you the other night? I mean, the whole point was to do things you want, instead of what I want. I don’t want you to do that weird, like . . . service Dom thing you have happening sometimes.”
Service Dom? “Fucking excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Amie gave in slightly to temptation, lifting a hand and slapping Dru’s ass, then grabbing it with her nails again. “Nobody’s a Dom here, remember? This is our vanilla scene.”
“If it’s vanilla, it’s not a scene, Amie.”
“This is our . . . vanilla bonking. Whatever. No. I did not say that because of the other night. Or I did but it’s because . . .” Ugh. “Because you were right, okay? You were the one who wanted to keep it to the club, remember? I wanted to try . . . other stuff. This stuff. And I still want to do that. With you.”
Dru still looked skeptical. “Like a training orgasm? Check it out with me, then you can, um . . .”
“Level up?” Mara’s influence again, damn it. “No. You’re the only level. I mean, I only want to do that . . . with you. Because I trust you.” She wasn’t saying it right, and she knew it. But, fuck, it was hard to say things sometimes. “I think I’m maybe, um, demi? Sexual, I mean. But you’re in the circle of . . . trust. Whatever.” The circle included only one person, but telling Dru that was a step too far at the moment.
And again, an unexpected expression from Dru. Hearing I want to try receiving orgasms from only you because trust shouldn’t make a person look sad, or wistfully resigned. Amie didn’t like it.
Dru stroked Amie’s face, kissed her gently. “Okay, then.”
“The pain is because I think I probably still need it to get off.”
“Shh. I know. I don’t have a problem with that.” Dru hissed as Amie raked her nails upward. Then she kissed Amie again, and let herself be rolled over.
This was more comfortable, more like restoring the natural order of things. Amie on top, Dru spread out for her to sample like a buffet. Lush, soft skin that only smelled mildly of the club under the lingering remnants of a spicy perfume. The nighttime fragrance; Dru had one for night, a lighter one for day. She’d always had next-level grooming habits that Amie found fascinating even if she had no interest in adopting them herself. Amie liked the night perfume better. It smelled of rich desserts from far-off places, with a woody note underneath almost like lignum vitae.
The scent was stronger under her arms, where she was ticklish. And between her breasts, in the hollow that widened when she lay on her back. Amie licked a path there, picking up more salt than perfume, then nibbled and kissed her way around both nipples until Dru was squirming and arching up toward Amie’s mouth. Vanilla, Amie decided, means teasing. Which could be a low-grade form of orgasm denial. She moved on, expanding her horizons. But kept everything subtle—a nip instead of a bite. A squeeze instead of a pinch. A lick of hot air anyplace she might have been tempted to snap with a zapper or violet wand.
And it seemed to work. Dru moaned and stroked as much of Amie’s skin as she could reach, eyes closed, body responding. To Amie’s surprise, hers was too. Mostly from watching Dru get worked up, which she’d already figured out was a big turn-on. But being the agent of that was like the secret ingredient that turned the dish from good to great. Her pussy and clit throbbed, her heart pounded. She grew drunk on sensation, and it made her bold. She worked her way down to Dru’s belly, finding more ticklish spots. Then to her thighs, biting gently at the few lingering bruises from their last session.
“Pretty,” she complimented her. “Needs renewing sometime.”
Dru laughed, a short, sharp puff of air, and flung one arm up over her eyes. “Tease.”
“Yeah, that’s my nefarious master plan. You seem to like how it’s working out so far, though.” She slid her fingers over Dru’s slit, finding almost no resistance. “Barriers?”
“Eh, I’m fine without that if you are.”
“Cool.”
Dru was already wet, and whimpered when Amie pushed a finger inside her. “You said you wanted to come first,” she reminded.
Amie smiled against her thigh. “I’m teasing.” She worked the finger in and out a few times, then went for it, licking all around the entry point and chuckling in deep satisfaction at Dru’s obvious surprise. Amie never went down. She was always afraid she’d fuck it up, turn out to be really bad at it. Afraid she would feel out of control, placed so low, giving pleasure instead of inflicting pain. But she’d rarely felt so powerful, even as she struggled to coordinate the movements of her mouth and hands. A few flicks of her tongue over Dru’s clit had Dru breathing faster, making soft noises of appeal in the back of her throat.
“I won’t last,” she warned.
Amie eased off, pressing a final kiss to the tight bundle of nerves. “Later.”
“Time to switch.”
Not the best way to put it, because Amie really did not switch. But she forced herself past her anxiety and slid back up Dru’s body. For a second she thought about queening her, taking her pleasure while keeping as much control as possible. But this wasn’t about that. For once she wanted it not to be a matter of control. Joking aside, she wanted it to be vanilla. Or as close as she could manage. Something that felt . . . sustainable. Homey. Something two people could do on the couch after watching a movie—two people who knew each other well and didn’t have to talk about limits and safewords first. Something to do in bed before falling asleep all night. Not every night. She would always want to do scenes with Dru. But it would be nice to have this option too.
She knew kinksters who played at home, of course. Who had elaborate suspension rigs in their bedrooms or other “dungeons,” sex swings, crosses, even beds custom-made with attachment points cleverly hidden in the design all over the frame. Or not hidden at all.
She’d never played that way, outfitted her place like that, because to her, that would make it just another dungeon. She didn’t want to turn her home into a kink club; she didn’t like crossing the streams. But that desire to compartmentalize had slowly turned her life into a long, lonely string of scenes with no sex, and sex with no partners. And she knew—because she saw folks in and out of the kink world accomplishing relationships every day, damn it—that it wasn’t this difficult for most people.
Dru didn’t pinch or bite at all this time. She was only gentle, only patient. To an almost maddening degree, when Amie was so used to being touched roughly, frantically, or not at all. Amie snagged Dru’s ponytail and wove her fingers into the base of it, tugging until Dru winced. She relished the sound of pain, the way things clicked together as her body responded to that frequency. She needed more access, more skin to connect with, more places to dig in.
“Up,” she ordered.
Dru’s eyes were lust-glazed when she lifted her face from Amie’s hip. “Huh?”
Amie was already shifting, moving up the bed and arranging pillows so she could sit at a comfortable angle. Leaning back and splaying her legs, she held her hands out and pulled Dru back into place. She seemed more than happy to go, crawling between Amie’s legs and showerin
g her inner thighs with tiny kisses. Whimpering when Amie flexed her nails into Dru’s shoulders.
The teasing was good, ramping Amie so high she was feverish for more by the time it finally reached that point. But right before the payoff, Dru paused with her mouth poised over Amie’s pussy, and Amie froze, recalling the last time she’d tried this. Not having somebody lick her pussy, that happened occasionally. But having somebody do it with affection, out of a scene, hoping to make her come simply for the enjoyment of it. She recalled how badly it had gone, how many hurt feelings had resulted. Her panic and guilt. It was so . . . intimate. Maybe she should have worked up to this, insisted on a toy first. Then fingers only. Then head at some point down the line. Like . . . maybe six months, that seemed reasonable.
“Shhh,” Dru whispered, as if Amie had spoken aloud. She stroked a hand down Amie’s thigh, rubbed her cheek there, applied a kiss before looking up, meeting her eyes. “It’s okay. We can skip it if you want. This won’t make or break things.”
Wouldn’t it, though? “Why are you stopping?”
“You went all tense.” Dru petted her thigh again, squeezing gently. “I could bounce a quarter off this adductor muscle right now.”
Amie smirked. “I could snap your neck with my thighs. Never forget that.”
“Your thighs are great, but probably not the best time to bring up that possibility, you know?” Dru blew a raspberry on the spot she’d just kissed.
“Not the best time? Or the very best time? Don’t you have a job to do, missy? Let’s go!”
“Let’s fight! Let’s win! To—”
“Snap it like a piece of spaghetti.”
Dru grinned. Then she lowered her face and resumed the slow, teasing path to her eventual destination. And Amie pulled a hank of hair free from Dru’s messy ponytail and twisted it around her finger as a safeguard against future infractions. Vanilla, schmanilla.
She got her toes into the act next, digging lightly into Dru’s sides as Dru started licking her slit. Long, slow, exploratory licks. Amie’s body responded, but the racing heartbeat wasn’t all down to arousal. Breathing out, she focused for a moment on other things. A strategic hair pull, suggesting a tempo. Working one foot toward Dru’s armpit to tickle her, earning a gratifying squeal of protest. Another scratch, drawn straight up the back of Dru’s left shoulder. The moan Dru made wrapped around Amie’s clit, charging it with potential. She felt like an unstable explosive, ready to go off at the slightest change.
Toenails could scratch too. She tried that, stretching her legs at a new angle, pressing her thighs against Dru’s ears and half muffling the cry of pain against her vag and clit. Enough, it was enough, and she zipped over the edge all at once, a brilliant sharp shot of pleasure coursing through her. Oh my God, oh my God.
Then Dru—clever, skillful Dru—slipped her fingers inside Amie’s pussy, quirking them a certain way, and switched from suckling to quick flicks of her tongue. Amie nearly struggled away, overcome, then gave into it and came again. Less thrilling than the first time, but more satisfying somehow. Deep, almost like an ache after a good workout.
When Dru seemed ready to shift again and go for a third round, Amie tugged the lock of hair and made her break the contact. “Too much. Too much.”
For a second, she wasn’t sure Dru had heard her. Her dark eyes were wild, gleeful, and her hips were rocking into the mattress. “I can do more.”
She loves this. Amie wasn’t sure whether that should excite or terrify her. That Dru was getting off so much on getting her off that she was half feral with it.
Save it. Use it to your advantage later. But Amie didn’t want to use it for advantage against Dru; she wanted to use it to get more magic orgasms.
“Maybe later,” Amie demurred. “Your turn.”
Panting, eager, Dru levered herself up for a kiss, then pulled Amie down on top of her, reaching for her hand and guiding it between her legs. “God, yes.”
Amie gave her one finger, then two. She worked her fingers deeper and started thrusting, using her hips for more force, riding Dru and watching her face transform as the orgasm took her over. The eyes fluttering closed, the lips parting, the cheeks flushing that unbelievable pink at the height of it. The second she saw that color, Amie took Dru’s bottom lip in her teeth and squeezed. Not hard enough to mark. A vanilla bite. But it seemed to draw the orgasm out anyway, heighten Dru’s pleasure. Not a whole dish, but a light sprinkling of a favorite spice.
Afterward, they both collapsed to their sides, arms loosely around one another, breathing hard. For the first time since she could remember, Amie felt no guilt. No eagerness to leave. Only a sense of peace, a knowledge she was where she belonged. She gave Dru a soft kiss, and Dru opened her eyes like a wakening fairy-tale princess, then gave her that sad, wistful smile again before returning the kiss and getting out of bed.
“Bathroom,” she explained. She spent a few minutes in there, coming back with a warm, wet cloth she passed to Amie.
The damp softness felt good against her fluid-covered fingers, her still-sensitive pussy. She got up and took the cloth back to the bathroom, then returned to find Dru already under the covers. She took the offer to slide in next to her, curling around her. They pressed their foreheads together.
Amie always had trouble leaving a long silence alone. And really, a compliment seemed in order. “You’re really good at that.”
Dru snorted. “I have had some practice since last we met.”
“Yeah. I . . . haven’t had as much practice.”
Dru smoothed a stray hair away from Amie’s face. “You must be a natural, then. Because you’re really good at it too.”
“I think,” Amie suggested, “it might be that we’re good at it.” Then she held her breath. Because that was saying a different thing, and she hadn’t realized how much she meant by it until the words had left her mouth. She was a heartbeat away from saying more, saying what she really wanted—to try to make this work, to admit they loved each other and maybe always had. To give it a shot.
Before Amie could form the words, Dru sighed and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I had a phone call earlier tonight.”
Whatever the subject change was about, it couldn’t possibly be good. Amie’s stomach started flipping again, hearkening back to her fraught moments in the car only a few hours earlier. “And?”
“It was Trip. Offering me my job back, basically. His new manager isn’t working out.”
Mouth dry, throat closing, Amie tried to formulate a response that didn’t sound like she was going into shock. Like she wasn’t having some kind of allergic reaction to the dawning fear of what Dru was hinting at. “What’d you tell him?”
Dru glanced at her. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”
“I’m fine.” Amie cleared her throat. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him . . . I’d think it over and let him know.”
Too many emotions arose at once for Amie to know what to do with them. They tumbled through her brain like tornadoes bent on destruction, burst from her in waves of heat. Steam might literally have been shooting from her ears. And when she spoke, she wasn’t even sure what would come out until she’d said it.
“You piece of shit!”
Dru put her hands over her face, wincing at Amie’s words. She knew she should have mentioned it earlier. Or maybe not said anything at all, because she really still hadn’t decided. If she stayed here, it didn’t even have to be because of Amie. There were jobs in St. Andrews, in Boston. Hell, if she managed her money wisely, lived frugally, she didn’t actually need to work.
The club hadn’t made her any money yet, but she’d only ever expected to make it self-sustaining, not turn a huge profit. At least by shutting down quickly and limiting her overhead, she might mitigate further losses and get out before it drained her too badly. And with the place shut down, the doxxer—Chris—would have no reason to make good on the threat. The goal would have already been accompli
shed.
Yes, keeping quiet about Trip’s offer would have probably been wiser. But she had been in a sharing mood, and she’d thought . . . Oh, who knew what she’d been thinking, in the post-wine, postcoital brain fog? That Amie could help her sort out her problems, maybe. But of course it hadn’t gone down that way.
“Gee, are you laughing or crying?” Amie voice dripped with cynicism.
Incredulous, Dru dropped her hands and shook her head as a flash of rage turned her world red. “Not okay. That will never be okay for you to use against me, not even if you were joking, do you understand? Never.”
Amie paused, then rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry. That was way out of line. But the piece-of-shit thing stands.”
“What the hell?”
Instead of answering, Amie left the bed again and started picking up her clothes, sorting them out from Dru’s, tugging them on in short, jerky movements.
“Amie. Please. Will you talk to me?”
“Look where that’s gotten us.”
Dru crawled from the blankets to the foot of the bed, kneeling there as if in supplication. “I think it’s gotten us to some pretty great places, actually. Like tonight: that was pretty great. I assumed it wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”
“You assumed—” Amie stopped with one leg in her jeans and gaped at Dru. “What was your plan, fly back from Seattle for booty calls? Send me plane tickets? Skype? What?”
“I haven’t decided anything yet. I’m still trying to figure things out. Amie, why are you pissed off at me? I didn’t ask for . . . for sabotage and hacking and doxxing. I didn’t set up shop here hoping somebody would criminally screw me out of my dream business a few months later.”
“Your dream,” Amie asked, yanking her jeans the rest of the way on, “or your wife’s?”
Dru had run out of outrage. She could only shake her head as a bone-deep weariness settled over her. Only a few minutes earlier things had felt so perfect between them. “Please tell me why you’re this angry. I don’t want to fight over it. If you tell me, maybe I can fix it. Or at least apologize.”
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