French Kissing: Season One

by Harper Bliss

  “Where were you,” Juliette hissed, “when this was happening?”

  Claire muttered a few I’m-sorrys under her breath and coaxed Margot towards the door.

  “What’s going on?”

  Juliette had only just met Inez, but she had no trouble recognising her voice. She rose and turned to face her. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

  “Merely a coincidence,” Inez said, keeping her cool.

  “Oh sure, just like you working at Saint-Vincent is a coincidence, I bet.” Juliette was so fed up with everything. With people not taking care of their relationships. With everyone hurting each other. Mostly, she was fed up with herself because, of all the fuck-ups her friends had landed themselves in, she considered her own failure the worst.

  The woman she loved more than anything in the world sat blind drunk on a chair in the corner and it was all because of her.

  “Think whatever you want,” Inez said. “My conscience is clear.” Without saying another word, she walked away.

  Juliette turned back around to assess the damage the whiskey had done to Nadia. She sat down next to her and gently put a hand on her thigh.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take you home. To our flat.”

  Nadia nodded. It was difficult for Juliette to gauge her presence of mind. She scooped her arm underneath Nadia’s armpit and helped her up. “Come on, babe. We’re going home.”

  It almost sounded like the truth.

  CLAIRE

  By the time the taxi had reached Claire’s street, Margot had been fast asleep. Claire had practically had to drag her into the building and the elevator, yanking Margot’s clothes off as she half-snoozed through everything. Despite Claire’s incessant urging that she’d drink a few glasses of water, Margot had ignored everything she’d said and fallen into bed, out of it within seconds.

  Claire had hardly been sober herself, but she’d stuck to champagne while, having been sucked into a conversation with Inez, to her great embarrassment after the fact, about Berlin and its various neighbourhoods and how it had changed so drastically over the years.

  Just like Claire, Inez had briefly lived in the city in the nineties and, although Inez had ended up there a few years after Claire had already left, during their conversation they had happened upon mutual acquaintances and hang-outs. Before Claire had had a chance to blink, having lost herself so completely in a conversation with someone who was supposed to be more of an enemy, Steph was saying her goodbyes and she’d found Margot next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

  Inez was charming, Claire had to give her that. So disarmingly friendly and an excellent conversationalist, speaking to Claire as if she’d known her forever. But Claire was not oblivious to the effect her lengthy talk must have had on Margot. Hence the bottle of whiskey.

  After taking some aspirin, she’d put in a load of laundry, emptied the dishwasher and watched the one o’clock news on TV, and Margot still hadn’t woken up.

  She pattered to the bedroom and opened the door. Margot lay on her back, her mouth slightly open, her chest exposed. She looked so vulnerable, so in need of a hug, so completely different than how she presented herself in everyday life.

  Claire sat down on the edge of the bed and gently stroked her arm. “Wake up, sleepy,” she said. Her fingers wandered to Margot’s belly, where they trailed over her abs before heading upwards, to the swell of her breasts and her dark nipples.

  “Taking advantage of me?” Margot’s voice sounded as if, instead of just having slept for almost twelve hours, she hadn’t had a slumber in days.

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Claire pinched Margot’s nipple between her thumb and index finger. “Just trying to cure your hangover.”

  Margot tried to grab Claire’s hand with hers, but it never reached her chest. Instead, she clasped it to her head. “Ouch,” she groaned. “What happened?”

  “You’re Asian. You can’t drink like that. You said so yourself.” Claire pulled up the duvet to cover Margot’s torso, tucking it snugly around her body. “Here’s some water.” She handed Margot the glass she had refused to drink the night before.

  “Oh god, this is not good.” Margot tried to sit up, but collapsed back onto the bed. “Where’s my phone?”

  Always the phone. Claire grabbed it for her from the nightstand. “I doubt you can deal with emergencies today.”

  “I need to call my parents to cancel dinner. There’s no way I can eat roast chicken today.” She squinted at the light the screen of her phone threw on her face.

  “What will you tell them?” Claire was a little bit relieved at not having to meet the parents just yet.

  Margot looked at her quizzically. “The truth. What else?”

  “That you can’t come to dinner because you have a hangover?” Admitting something like that to her own parents would never occur to Claire. Not in a million years.

  “Yes.” Margot placed the call. A short, matter-of-fact conversation during which, as far as Claire could tell, no impertinent or nosy questions were asked. How odd.

  Margot sat up and wisely gulped down the glass of water, handing it back to Claire empty.

  “More?” Claire figured they had some things to talk about, but she wasn’t sure this was the best time.

  Margot nodded and fell back against the pillows. “Bring me some paracetamol as well, please.”

  Claire tried not to think about the opportunities she had missed because of her chat with Inez. Instead of reminiscing about a past they didn’t even share and, truth be told, also taking the chance to get to know Inez better, she could have learned a thing or two about Margot. Claire suspected Margot didn’t let her hair down like that very often. Or maybe she wouldn’t have if Claire had paid her a bit more attention.

  “I’m trying to reconstruct the night,” Margot said when Claire returned with a tall glass of water and a strip of pills. “I should probably also apologise because I’m not usually like this.”

  “I haven’t known you that long, but I think I know that.” Claire perched next to Margot on the side of the bed and watched her drink. When she’d swallowed two pills and emptied the glass, Claire continued. “Besides, I’m the one who should apologise.”

  “What did you do?” Margot put the glass on the bedside table and reached for her head again, massaging her temples. “It’s all a bit of a blur.”

  “Let me do that.” Claire shuffled closer to Margot. “Sit with your back to me.” Margot obliged without protest.

  While her fingers caressed Margot’s scalp, Claire took a deep breath and said, “I may have gotten along with your ex a bit too well for your comfort.”

  MARGOT

  Margot leaned her back against Claire’s chest and, as her fingers travelled through her hair, applying divine pressure to her temples, it started coming back to her. Inez. Manu. The genuine interest Claire seemed to have taken in Inez. She probably believed that was why Margot had hit the bottle, and perhaps that was partially true, but Margot only ever drank like that when the pain was too big to bear.

  Inez at the hospital was different from Inez in social situations. Not light and day, but subtle nuances, possibly only gestures, facial expressions and glances that Margot noticed. All the reasons why she had fallen so hard for Inez had come back, crashing over her, and she’d realised that, in a way, she’d been lucky that Inez had left Paris.

  “You did seem rather chummy,” Margot said. “But really, it was just one of those nights. Too much tension. Too much unhappiness. Too many ghosts from the past.” What was she supposed to say? Perhaps I’m not as over her as I thought I was? “That feels good.” With her hands, she found Claire’s thighs behind her, and dug her nails in deep.

  “So you’re not mad at me?” Claire leaned forward and kissed Margot above the ear.

  “Of course not.” Margot closed her eyes and wondered why she was digging this hole for herself. She believed in honesty and openness, but she couldn’t possibly tell Claire how runn
ing into Inez like that had really made her feel. It simply wasn’t an option.

  She needed Claire now more than ever and the last thing she wanted was to lose her as well. She’d get a grip on her feelings for Inez. She’d take some extra kickboxing classes, and spend even more time with Claire. She’d even transfer to another hospital if she had to. It was not because Inez Larue ignited this old flame in her soul, that she would ever act on it. Besides, Inez had shown much more interest in Claire than in her. Maybe that stung a little as well.

  “You were brave, facing her like that.” Claire’s hands had dipped down to Margot’s shoulders, kneading away the knots in her muscles. “Did she have anything interesting to say?” Margot had to ask.

  “We got talking about Berlin. We both lived in Prenzlauerberg before it became fashionable. That’s mostly all we talked about.”

  “Oh.” Margot moved away from Claire and turned around to face her. She wanted to forget about Inez. She’d have to see her again the next day at work, keeping up the charade of being good colleagues. “I know another excellent cure for a hangover.” The instant grin on Claire’s face was more than enough to numb the worst of her headache.

  “And you don’t need to be a doctor to administer it.” Claire pulled her top over her head. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ll be doing the nursing today.”

  “That works for me.” Margot’s throat went dry at the sight of Claire’s exposed chest. “It’s my day off, anyway.”

  Claire was not a fling, not someone she’d allowed into her bed and heart to forget about Inez, even though, in that moment, it helped. Seeing Claire come for her, feeling her arms wrap around her, and how she pushed Margot down onto the bed, made her forget. As if Claire’s touch was the best antidote for the memory of Inez. Relieved, Margot relaxed against the covers as Claire’s tongue licked along the skin of her neck. By the time Claire’s lips reached Margot’s erect nipple, Inez might as well have fallen off the face of the earth.

  Margot twirled her fingers through Claire’s hair. While her mind was dazed by the effects of her hangover, her body seemed extra-sensitive and every little peck Claire pressed onto her skin, shot through her flesh.

  Margot had no recollection of how she had ended up naked in bed, but she was glad they didn’t have to go through the routine of removing underwear. She was glad Claire could go straight for the prize.

  Under normal circumstances, when Margot was in control, she would have spent a lot of time on Claire already, revelling in the building throb between her legs, but that wasn’t necessary today. She wanted Claire’s tongue on her clit as soon as possible.

  “Please,” Margot begged—not really her style either. “I need it now.” She coaxed Claire’s head down further, but, except when tied with her arms to a bedpost, Claire wasn’t that easily controlled.

  Claire responded by slowing the pace with which she planted kisses on Margot’s skin. She’d reached Margot’s belly button and spent much more time there than she probably would have if Margot hadn’t said anything. It made Margot’s pussy lips pulse harder.

  When Claire’s lips, at last, skated along the edge of her pubic hair, an image of Inez, out of nowhere, appeared on the back of Margot’s eyelids. Despite her bubbly personality in the light of day, in the bedroom, Inez was all darkness. More than anything, she needed to be controlled. It was that darkness that had drawn Margot to her, the contrast between night and day. It all came crashing back now. Images of Inez tied up, hands and feet, a blindfold over her eyes, totally at Margot’s mercy. She’d never told Margot that was what she wanted, but Margot knew because such loud bravado needs a place to rest at night.

  Claire’s lips travelled along her inner thighs, teasing, and when Margot begged again, it wasn’t only out of impatience, it was her way of punishing herself. And she needed Claire to not give in yet, to leave her hanging, possibly not make her come at all—definitely not bestow all this unconditional love on her. Margot knew she didn’t deserve it.

  She tried to push any notion of Inez out of her mind, peering at Claire’s short, blonde hair through her eyelids as her head moved between Margot’s legs. But Margot needed the tension coiled in her gut to be released. Need. Need. Need. She could hardly believe she’d become that kind of person, again.

  Claire’s tongue flicked lightly over her clit.

  “Please, please,” Margot pleaded. “Don’t—” Then the words died in her throat because Claire acquiesced. She let her tongue dart over Margot’s clit again and again, and Margot needed it so much that she came in seconds. An ocean of guilt rolling over her, along with the sensation that she was drowning in her own pleasure.

  There was no way she could push back the tears that stung behind her eyes, no way to quench the pain in her soul. Because this thing she had going with Claire, it was a good, promising, by-the-book romance. But Margot knew, even though she had firmly believed the opposite, that she wasn’t ready.

  STEPH

  When Steph returned home early the next morning after a disappointing night of trying to imagine it was Dominique responding so vocally to what her fingers were doing, she found a bottle of Bollinger in front of the door to her flat. A card was attached to the neck of the bottle. It simply said ‘Happy birthday’. There was no doubt in Steph’s mind it was a present from Dominique. Had she dropped it off herself? Had she been here? Was this a breach of the rule of no personal contact between them for a week? Or just a small gesture because it was, after all, Steph’s birthday?

  Steph opened the door and held Pierrot in her arms while staring at the bottle. Although she had barely recovered from too much alcohol the night before, she wanted to open it and drink its entire contents. Breakfast of heart-broken champions.

  She fed Pierrot and while he ate, she sagged down in the sofa, pulling her phone from her pocket. No messages from Dominique. Should she?

  “Why the hell not?” she asked Pierrot, who was too busy wolfing down his food to even spike up his ears.

  Last night had been miserable and, for Steph, the only person who could have made it better was Dominique. Wasn’t that what a partner was for? To make her feel better when she felt this unbelievable, possibly unprecedented, gloominess bloom in her chest. So she gave in because, in the end, what did it matter?

  Thanks for the champagne, she texted, not wanting to go overboard. Pierrot had finished eating and pattered over to the sofa, asking for more with a vexed meow. Steph shook her head at him, as if he would understand.

  “Come here,” she said, patting her lap. Instantly, he jumped on top of her. She buried her face in his soft fur. “Happy bloody birthday to mummy.”

  The beep of her phone startled her.

  Shall I come over for an apéritif?

  As fast as she could type, Steph texted back a confirmation.

  “That posh lady is coming over again, Pierrot,” she said to her cat. “We like her, don’t we?” Steph didn’t care about the complications of them being together, she just wanted to see Dominique. The desire to see her walk through the door, that confident smirk on her face, trumped any notion of how desperate their situation really was.

  She placed Pierrot on his favourite pillow and showered again, despite already having done so at Cassandra’s, hid her dirty clothes at the bottom of the laundry basket and slipped into a pair of tight jeans and a tank top, no bra. Then she waited.

  * * *

  Dominique dropped her purse and a plastic shopping bag to the floor and curled her arms around Steph’s neck. “Happy birthday,” she whispered in Steph’s ear. “I’ve been going nuts without you.”

  “I’m sorry about last time,” Steph said.

  Dominique kissed her hard on the lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

  And it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter who had broken the foolish rule they’d instated. Nothing mattered, just this moment of reunion, and the pure joy, for the first time since she’d turned thirty-four, rushing through Steph’s body.

 
“Here.” Dominique ducked out of Steph’s embrace and fished a gift-wrapped box out of the bag she had brought. “For you.”

  “You got me a present?” Steph eyed her in disbelief.

  “Of course.” The features of Dominique’s face had all gone soft.

  Steph tore at the wrapping paper. A black Armani box appeared from underneath. “This better not be a dress,” she joked.

  “Oops,” Dominique replied, and brought her hand to her mouth.

  When Steph opened the box she found a black fitted blouse, exactly the kind she would buy herself, although she’d never get Armani when H&M would do.

  “It’s beautiful.” She checked the label inside. “How did you know my size?”

  “I’ve had my hands on you,” Dominique moved closer again, “and I checked your closet.”

  “You went through my stuff?” Steph feigned indignation. “How dare you?”

  “I was a little disappointed, you know, hoping to find some more interesting contraptions than just clothes.”

  “I keep my toys in a box under the bed.” Steph took a step closer as well.

  “Good to know, but we won’t be needing them today.” Dominique took the blouse from Steph’s hands and draped it over a nearby chair. “Which doesn’t mean you won’t get another, even more spectacular birthday present very soon.” She kissed Steph again, softly this time, their lips parting already. “Before things progress beyond control,” Dominique said after breaking their lip-lock. “The kids are coming back from their holiday with Philippe today, so I need to be home by six.”