The Pact

by Justine Elyot

  She shivered at the gentle contact, loving the gentle roughness of his lips against her tender flesh. Noticing, he pulled her towards him as he sat back, and cradled her in his lap. ‘I had to sneak all this up here while you were on your run, so I didn’t dare bring anything that needed to stay cold,’ he told her, ‘but I have some strawberries in that bag.’ He pointed, but she grabbed his arm and brought it against her body instead.

  ‘Forget the strawberries. I want you.’ She turned in his arms, crawling over him to press him to the blanket, and he laughed as he eased back to let her.

  ‘If I really want more answers, I should just try withholding sex,’ he teased.

  ‘As if you could resist me!’ She grinned and then kissed him to end the argument, and he made no effort to break away and contest her point. Soon they were necking like teenagers, hands all over each other’s bodies, pulses pounding and desire rising up around them in a cloud so thick it was almost visible.

  Jacqueline broke away to tear her shirt off, and before she’d gotten her bra unclasped Thomas’s torso was bare as well, pale and vulnerable-looking up to the biceps. She descended on his flesh, kissing her way across his body and taking his nipples in her mouth one after the other, delighting in the urgency of his moans and the firmness of his hands on her shoulder and in her hair.

  When he finally couldn’t take it any more, Thomas rolled, pinning her to the blanket and kissing her until she felt the world start to spin. Then he kissed his way down her neck, nibbled at her collarbone and began, lovingly, to worship her breasts. His kisses were by turns tender and fierce and she cried out, wanting him to move on almost as much as she wanted him to stay there, just like that, for ever.

  But move on he finally did, dotting her abdomen with little kisses, circling her bellybutton, and then lower, right to the edge of her jeans. He nipped the flesh of her belly there, making her yelp in surprised delight, and then he sat up and worked the button and zipper with casual efficiency. She lifted her hips for him, and he dragged her pants and underwear down her legs, pausing only long enough to tug off her boots before he tossed the clothes aside and resumed his act of devotion.

  His mouth left searing points of pleasure up the inside of each leg, and Jacqueline fisted the blanket, begging him with her body and with throaty, desperate sounds to hurry. Thomas was never one to be hurried, though. He chuckled and kissed the inside of her knee, making her twitch and writhe, her legs spread wide open in an obvious plea. Here. Touch me. Taste me.

  Kisses fluttered across the tops of her legs. Her inner thighs. The nest of neatly trimmed fur atop her pubic bone. And still he ignored every sign she sent until at last she forced herself to speak through the fog of desire: ‘Thomas, lick me! Please … ’

  With a chuckle he was there, the gentle kiss he placed on her labia almost worse than no touch at all. Then his tongue slid between her folds and pleasure seared her. He thrust deep inside her and then licked all the way up to her clit, teasing that hard point of pleasure with a flick of his stiffened tongue before he started all over again. It didn’t take many passes before she was squirming, hips thrusting involuntarily, helpless to do anything more than wrap herself in that molten sensation of pleasure and burn.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t stand another minute of that slowly building torture, Thomas slid one rough finger deep inside her, making her cry out and rock against his hand. He chuckled and pumped it in and out of her a couple of times, his tongue circling and teasing across her clit. ‘You’re so wet,’ he observed, his mouth still close enough to send a hot puff of breath across her enflamed pussy. ‘Do you want more?’

  ‘Yes!’ She had been certain, until the word tore from her, that she was incapable of speech by now. He was … inspiring.

  A second finger joined the first, sliding deep inside her and curling gently to add a new dimension to her pleasure. Then he worked a third finger inside, stretching and opening her, making her groan, deep and guttural. It was so good – almost too good.

  Finally, he started her on the rhythm that he knew would send her screaming over the edge. His fingers fucked her steadily while his mouth worked, lips closed around her clit, tongue working, sucking hard and then easing back to lap at her folds when she drew close to the edge.

  She closed her eyes, too dizzied with sensation to make sense of the world that seemed to spin and tip giddily around her. Her whole universe condensed to the feel of him between her legs, his body solid, his fingers rough and magical, his mouth insistent – torturous.

  When he let her come at last, she stuffed a corner of the blanket into her mouth and screamed, full-throated and ecstatic. There was nothing but the lightning strike of pleasure, killing her in the best possible way, destroying and remaking every cell in her body.

  She didn’t notice his fingers withdraw or hear the sound of a zipper being drawn. Just felt him over her, his body the only real thing in a world that still pulsed with unreal colours and sparks. He was there inside her, filling her, and she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him on instinct as he fucked her.

  Impossibly, her body reawakened, and the orgasm that had only just begun to recede doubled down, slamming her under as he slammed into her, drowning her in bliss. She bit his shoulder as he groaned, his entire body shuddering as he fucked her all the way up to the stars. Then he was still, trembling as he held himself above her. His breath was hot on her neck, and her own breaths came in pants and gasps.

  He rolled aside a minute later and gathered her into his arms as they both returned to earth together. ‘I’m dead,’ she murmured. ‘You killed me and this is heaven.’

  ‘Sorry, Persephone, you only get one month in the Underworld,’ he said, kissing her temple. ‘It’s a bit of a bum deal, but I hope I’m making every second count.’

  She shivered as an aftershock of pleasure went through her. ‘Oh, you are.’ Then another shiver as a breeze blew over her sweaty skin, chilling her. ‘I think I need my shirt back, though.’

  ‘Not your pants?’

  ‘I like to keep my options open.’ She grinned at him and he laughed, sat up, pulled his pants back on and helped her find her scattered clothes. ‘You said something about strawberries?’

  It was bittersweet, sitting beside him, letting him press plump berries against her lips, his come still slick on her inner thighs and the smell of sex strong in the air. It was a moment she wished she could stretch for ever, but she’d made vows already – promises and obligations she couldn’t abandon just because her heart pulled at her.

  The glitter of her new bracelet drew her attention, though, and she smiled. She’d made a new promise now. Or solidified an old one. She was his, as much as she could let herself be. In a few short weeks she’d walk out of his life for another year, but for now she could be his May Queen. Until she was free, they would make it work. They would make it be enough.

  With the taste of berries and his kisses on her lips, Jacqueline smiled and let herself say the words she’d held inside for six long years: ‘I love you, Thomas.’ For now, it was enough.

  The Exception

  Giselle Renarde

  We always said monogamy was too cruel a rule. That was basically the foundation of our relationship.

  Sounds a little strange, right? I mean, who goes on a first date and just starts talking about how much they don’t want to commit themselves to another human being? ‘Not just you. Anyone. I mean, I’d commit, but I wouldn’t commit to exclusivity.’

  I thought for sure Warren would stand up and walk right out of that restaurant. But he didn’t. He just kept tracing his thumb and index finger down either side of his chin, like he was trying to get his beard as pointy as possible. I’d never dated a man with a beard, so I found this fascinating. Maybe that’s what kept me there.

  But what kept him?

  Warren has said to me, many times since that night, ‘I’ve never been with a girl like you.’

  The difference is, I have. I’ve bee
n with dozens of girls like me. And guys. People who just want to fuck. Not that they don’t experience emotions, only that they’re more open to the idea of going to bed together without committing to any kind of long-lasting relationship.

  But even that description’s not quite right, because sometimes we’re talking about friends. Sometimes it’ll be people you’ve known for a very long time. And you decide to surrender to lust one night, but you know the next morning you’ll still be friends. You’ll just be friends.

  Warren wasn’t exactly familiar with a life like this. But I could see that he was listening, right from the start. He was interested in me, in a long-lasting relationship with me.

  The more he let me talk without interrupting me or correcting me or generally being a jerk about anything I said, the more I thought a relationship might work.

  And it has. For nearly seven years it’s worked better than I ever could have imagined.

  In the beginning, our shared life tingled with newness. The sex we had together was just spectacular – fireworks every time. And the sex with other people? Bring it!

  One caveat: it was only me having sex with other people. Warren said he wasn’t interested in anybody but me. In any body but mine. That’s actually how he phrased it. So that was kind of sweet.

  OK, that wasn’t the only thing. There was another caveat, and it was actually the biggie, but I went along with it because Warren was so new to all this. He said from the start that he would prefer to be present for any extracurricular sex I was involved in.

  The first time it happened was at a party. He was older than everyone else, so already he stuck out. I felt protective of him. Doesn’t that sound weird? I’m the younger partner and I felt protective of him. But my friends can be critical of people who are new to polyamory and Warren certainly was, and I stuck close by him because I didn’t want him to get picked on. I cared about him so much, even back when our relationship was just getting started.

  An old girlfriend was there with her new boyfriend and we introduced everybody and then, bam, it was right into, ‘Hey, Clara, you want to take this party upstairs?’

  Thing is, my old girlfriend and I were always superhot in bed, and her new boyfriend was superhot in general, so I looked pleadingly at Warren. He seemed scared, but willing. I told the other couple, ‘Warren’s into it, but just watching. Not participating.’

  ‘Oh,’ my old girlfriend said. ‘He likes to watch, huh?’

  But she said it in this really salacious way, like watching was Warren’s big fetish. That wasn’t it, but I felt like I would sound way too defensive if I tried to explain that he just wanted to be present in the room.

  Anyway, all four of us went upstairs to one of the bedrooms, which was kitted out with condoms and candles because at a party like this you know someone’s going to end up doing it on your bed. Warren sat, fully dressed, in the computer chair while my former girlfriend kissed me and partially undressed me. Then her current boyfriend kissed me and undressed me completely.

  When we were all naked, the couple laid me out at the foot of the bed. She sat on my face while he fucked me. I kept trying to get a look at Warren, to make sure he was OK with all this, but there was a thigh in my face, and anyway, I really had to concentrate to eat pussy effectively. Plus, some stranger was spreading my legs and giving it to me hard.

  Eventually, I slid into the glossy, ephemeral space that sex occupies in my psyche. I’m not sure if I could feel Warren’s warm gaze on my skin, or if I just imagined it while this dude grabbed my hips and rammed me with the prowess of an athlete. I remember grabbing my old girlfriend too – her hips, her thighs, her ass – and just devouring her pussy. Eating it so hard her juices ran down my cheeks, down my chin. Sucking her mound into my mouth, making her scream, making her come.

  Making him come.

  Coming myself.

  Then turning to Warren when this former love rolled off my face, and knowing he was seeing my smile glisten with another woman’s juices.

  When he gazed at me with love in his eyes and a slow smirk on his lips, I knew this arrangement would work out.

  And it has, for almost seven years.

  Though, I must admit, over the course of those seven years the pace of the chase has slowed considerably. We used to get out a lot, or have people in. These days it’s mostly just the two of us, which is fine. I’d never have imagined myself saying so, but I look forward to coming home to Warren after work. We prepare meals together, talk about the office, eat, watch TV. It’s strangely satisfying.

  Nothing much upsets our smooth sailing.

  Except the matter of Mavis.

  There are some women you look at and just think: Lesbian. And when you ask yourself why you think that, you can’t quite come up with an answer. In Mavis’s case, she wore business attire just like everybody else in the office: pinstriped pants, a smart jacket, sensible shoes. So what screamed ‘lesbian’ about her? Was it that powerful, assertive black-woman voice? Was it the hair? Cut close to the scalp, though only on one side, and what was left longer had been bleached bright copper-orange.

  Yes. It had to be the hair. That was a lesbian haircut if ever there was one.

  Although I’ve met women with similar hairstyles who weren’t lesbians, so maybe there was just a certain je ne sais quoi about her. However it was conveyed, I knew it to be true because she was out at the office – much more so than I was. In fact, I wasn’t out as anything at work. Everybody knew I lived with a man. They assumed I was straight.

  Even Mavis assumed I was straight, which I found tragic, especially because I developed an immediate crush on her the second we met. Every time I so much as walked by her office, I broke out giggling. It was great, and also scary, because I hadn’t felt like that about anyone but Warren in quite a long time.

  I stayed away from Mavis a lot, because I liked her too much. Does that make sense? Don’t most people spend more time around people they like? Or is this a universal thing? You’re in a relationship that makes you very happy, then you meet this person who makes you so itchy you can’t stop thinking about them, so you take a step back. You’re even slightly short with them so they won’t know you’re secretly sweet on them.

  Everything I knew about her, I’d learned second-hand from other office workers. She was new to the city, moved here after breaking up with a former girlfriend. Must have been a bad breakup. I couldn’t imagine starting over in such a grand way. New city, new job. Manager job, actually, but we worked in different departments so she wasn’t directly over me. Thank goodness! Can you imagine trying to avoid someone who’s practically your boss? That would take quite a lot of hiding in washroom stalls.

  Although Mavis would probably find me. Our bathroom breaks always seemed to overlap, which was so embarrassing because who wants the woman they’re crushing on to hear them pee?

  I usually tried to rush out of the washroom without acknowledging her, but one time she stepped out of the stall when I was still washing my hands, and I couldn’t grab a paper towel fast enough.

  She said, ‘Clair, isn’t it?’

  ‘Clara,’ I said, taking too many towels.

  Mavis stared at me with those dark, piercing eyes, and asked, ‘Do you have a problem with me, Clara?’

  I stopped pulling out paper towels and just stared back because how was I supposed to answer that question? I felt like a child who’d been summoned to the principal’s office after a false accusation. Mavis was ridiculously intimidating, and it didn’t help that she was about four feet taller than me. Well, not really, but it certainly felt that way.

  ‘Tell me, is it because I’m a lesbian or because I’m black?’

  ‘No, I—’

  She ran her hands under the taps and the water was so loud I didn’t even try to speak over it. After she’d washed, she grabbed one of the many paper towels I was still grasping like a bouquet of flowers.

  ‘I don’t have any problem with you,’ I told her.

  �
�For someone who doesn’t have a problem with me, you seem to go out of your way to avoid the slightest contact. I’m a direct person, Clara. Confront the matter head-on. Don’t let things fester.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘That’s great. I admire that quality.’

  Mavis tossed her towel in the trash, then crossed her arms in front of her impeccably svelte chest. ‘Out with it, then. Why’ve you been so curt with me?’

  I glanced at the stalls to make sure we were utterly alone. The bathroom was an echo-y place to talk, but it’s where we were when she asked the question. So my voice bounced off every marble surface when I said, ‘I like you. A lot. Too much.’

  I suddenly felt like an idiot, still holding that bouquet of towels, so I threw them out and stood before her in my sweater-dress and paw print novelty tights. She must have thought I looked like a child in that outfit, and I did, and I felt like one too. I felt utterly juvenile telling this strong, self-assured woman I liked her.

  Luckily, the door squealed open at that moment, and I decided I was excused further interrogation. I slipped past Ling from Accounts Receivable and into the carpeted hallway, and speed-walked all the way back to my cubicle.

  After that, I didn’t stumble across Mavis for two full days. Two of the longest days of my life. I kept hoping she’d wander into my realm, then hoping she wouldn’t. I wanted both extremes. I wanted everything in the middle.

  And, even though I’d been telling Warren about the minutiae of everyday events for almost seven years, I didn’t tell him about Mavis. Not one word.

  Love was ridiculously confusing.

  Then, on the third day after I’d professed my ‘like’ to Mavis, my boss came to me and said, ‘The new manager in International Accounts needs some help sorting and filing. Her assistant’s off sick.’

  I didn’t move a muscle, just sat there staring at him until he said, ‘We’re not too busy this week. I told her we’d give her a hand.’