by Fiona Zedde
“This is something I could get used to seeing.”
Mayson drew a deliberate breath at the sound of Kendra’s voice, then released it. She hadn’t seen the other woman since the night she appeared on her doorstep uninvited.
“You know that the studio is closed?” she murmured, not straightening from her asana.
“Is that all you have to say to me?” Kendra dropped to the floor in front of her mat, face only inches from Mayson’s. Her skin looked freshly scrubbed and bare of makeup. When she didn’t get an answer, she continued. “I know the studio is closed. I waited until almost everybody was gone, then I asked the last instructor—I think her name is Tara—to let me in and lock me in with you. I told her we were very good friends.”
Mayson would have to talk to Tara about believing everything that pretty girls told her.
On her back, Kendra reached over to smooth a hand over Mayson’s flexing jaw. The palm was hot, almost feverish. “Is it wrong to try and get you to myself sometimes?” Her voice dropped to a whisper although there was obviously no one nearby to hear. “Is it?” She spread herself out on the floor, thighs spread and lazily butterflying back and forth in the air.
Today she wore a long peach-colored dress, thin and gauzy. But with her back against the floor and her thighs spread, the dress fell back to pool at the top of Kendra’s thighs. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Mayson’s body responded to the heat of Kendra’s skin. The way the nipples stood out against the thin dress. Mayson wanted to reach inside the cotton top and scoop out the delicious handfuls of flesh and bring them to her lips. Threads of the haunting two-day-old conversation pulled tight, and snapped.
She stretched deeper into the pose, palms and feet flat against the mat, her spine lengthened and stretched, pushing back and down toward her thighs. Another kind of ache settled into her center. The smell of her own arousal, fresh and immediate, drifted to her nose.
Mayson gave up. She released her pose and dropped down to sit next to Kendra, flipping her ponytail back over her shoulders.
“I think I liked you better with your ass in the air and your mouth close enough for me to kiss.” Kendra smiled.
“Hope you enjoyed it while you had the chance.”
“Believe me, I did.” She took Mayson’s hand and pressed it between her legs. She was startlingly wet.
Mayson groaned low in her throat. Unable to prevent her fingers from curling, sliding between the damp pussy lips and into the hot, inviting cavern. Kendra gasped.
She’d never fucked anyone at the studio before, not even close. But suddenly, with the smell of Kendra’s cunt in her nose, that was the only thing she wanted to do.
“Did you lock the door after you came in here?” Mayson asked, her voice a low growl.
“Yes.”
Mayson doubted she was telling the truth, but her pussy throbbed so fiercely, so immediately, that she didn’t even care. She yanked down the top of Kendra’s dress. The breasts, full and abundant, spilled onto her face. The nipples slid into her mouth, one after the other. Mayson shoved up the dress even higher, nearly drunk on the smell of Kendra’s wet pussy that was thick and hot in the studio’s small space.
She covered Kendra with her body, fingers moving between the spread thighs, a slow, slippery ride, while her mouth sucked the stiff nipples. Her arousal rose higher with each moan Kendra released.
“Just like that. Yesssssssssss!” Kendra clutched the back of her head, pushing Mayson’s face deeper into her breasts. Her other hand sank into Mayson’s ass, her hips arching up to swallow more of the fingers gliding into her. Thighs spread wide, pussy so hungry Mayson thought it would swallow her.
Kendra looked triumphant. Teeth bared like a woman who’d gotten a chance to ride the tiger and was enjoying every dangerous moment of it. Mayson felt her everywhere, squeezing wet and fast around her fingers. Nails digging into her back and shoulders. Her breath smelled like strawberry candy.
“Baby, you’re the best!” Kendra panted in Mayson’s ear. “The best.”
The words became a chant, rolling over and over into Mayson’s ear. “The best. The best!”
Kendra twisted her mouth toward her for a kiss. But Mayson buried her face in the damp neck instead, focusing on the powerful and immediate motion of her body. The muscles of her arm burned with the fucking effort. Sweat skimmed down her face, down her back. She grunted. Kendra’s melting pussy sucked at her hand, harder and wetter with each thrust, with each pass of her thumb over Kendra’s clit.
She heaved her hips against Kendra’s thigh. The sweat, the electricity, the exhilarated burn all rolled inside her, belly-deep. Her toes curled. Her arm burned and ached. Kendra’s pussy was melting good-God-how-sweet around her fingers. Her body tumbled toward its destination, but she held out a little while longer. Her entire being shook with the effort to hold herself away from the precipice.
Kendra jerked against her and cried out sharply, “Mayson!”
She let go. Orgasm rocked powerfully through her. Mayson flung her head back in the delicious agony of it, plucking all her nerves into one howling song. Her body dissolved on top of Kendra. Boneless. In the lap of ecstasy.
But the feelings didn’t last long. Already, the frenzied heat of her body was fading to allow reason and a slow sense of mortification to surface.
Well, that wasn’t the best idea you ever had. She shoved strands of loosened hair out of her face and focused on her breath. Slowing it, smoothing its ragged edges. Fucking to forget was never a good idea. Even now, the threads of her conversation with Renee reattached themselves, wound through her consciousness, unable to be ignored.
She drew in a deep, purposeful breath and released it. Kendra sat up beside her, the dress still pooled at her waist and pulled up to her naked thighs. A ripple of faint arousal moved through Mayson. She still itched. The sex had been like a thin film of lotion over an exposure of poison ivy. To avoid, to ignore, to not think. That was the true temptation that left her body weak and liquid under the other woman’s touch. Kendra trailed a hand over her chest. Even through the thin tank top, her skin reacted. Her nipples hardened.
Mayson grabbed Kendra’s hand, keeping the breath running evenly through her lungs. She released the woman’s hand and stood up.
“I think that was enough,” she said.
“Really? I can see that you still want me.”
Sitting at her feet, Kendra was temptation incarnate, the peach dress only a slash at her middle, complementing her luscious cinnamon skin. Heavy breasts and small nipples that puckered like summer-ripened raisins under her tongue. Mayson licked her lips. Kendra only had to lean a few inches for her mouth to brush the damp spot in the V of Mayson’s pants.
It would be so easy, so easy to push down her pants and invite Kendra’s mouth closer, to cover her pussy, already wet and tingling with new arousal. Kendra wound her hands up Mayson’s thigh, like the model on the cover of a paperback romance. Mayson would have laughed if Kendra hadn’t looked so fuckable doing it. Silently, the woman’s mouth said, “Fill me.” Her body panted, “Touch, I’m yours.” Mayson clenched her hands into fists and deliberately stepped away, forcing Kendra to drop her hands.
She yanked at the elastic tie holding her ponytail together. The hair crackled with each jerk of her fingers through it. With quick and efficient movements, she tucked the long strands into a braid and tied it off with the elastic band, all the while walking away from Kendra.
“I have to lock up. Do you—” She forced the words past her lips. “Do you want to grab some coffee?” After all, they’d just fucked. It was the decent thing to do.
Kendra seemed surprised by the invitation. “Only if I promise to keep my hands to myself?” Smiling, she raised an eyebrow to make it a question.
“Can you?”
“Have you looked in the mirror at yourself lately?”
Mayson reluctantly laughed and shook her head. “So does that mean you—” She stopped when her c
ell phone rang, playing Renee’s theme song. “Excuse me.” She turned away from Kendra and crouched to pick up her towel and water bottle.
Mayson opened the phone. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Are you done at the studio yet?”
“Just about.” She watched Kendra slowly pull up the straps of her dress, arranging the cloth just so on her shoulders. “I’m wrapping up a few last-minute things.”
“Good. I made us a late dinner. Come over.”
She turned away from Kendra. Despite everything—the questions, that damn late-night conversation in her bed—seeing Renee was the only thing she wanted to do. It had been a long day. The perfect antidote for it was to sit across from her friend in her bright kitchen and share the events of their day, share their laughter, over a meal.
“That sounds pretty good, actually,” Mayson said.
“Can you be here in an hour?”
“Absolutely, and I won’t even have to speed.”
Renee laughed. “Great. See you soon.”
Mayson pursed her lips and turned to Kendra, taking care to tuck an apology into her gaze. “Can you take a rain check on that coffee?”
The smile cracked and fell off the other woman’s face. “You made another date that fast?”
“Not exactly.” Mayson didn’t say anything else.
“Oh well, I guess I didn’t act fast enough.” She tried to smile again but it was a pale attempt. Bare feet slid into sandals. “When will I see you again?”
“Soon,” Mayson said, not sure if she meant it.
“Okay, soon.” Kendra unlocked the door and pulled it open. She stared at Mayson, the longing naked in her gaze. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said.
Chapter 29
Mayson stretched her full length out on the sofa and sighed against the plumped cushions. The day had been beautiful. Perfect. Three morning classes, home for a long bath, then a cleansing meditation under the skylights while the sun poured down on her naked body. Absolutely perfect. Now, at almost three in the afternoon, she was bone-lessly relaxed. Content.
She reached for the book she had been pecking through for the past few days, a recently published how-to on Tantric lesbian sex, and flipped it open to her bookmark. So far, it had offered up no great insights but she was willing to see where the writer was going. Before she could move aside the bookmark, the cell phone rang.
“If you called to ask me out to lunch, it’s too late. I already ate.”
Renee snorted in her ear. “You do know that it’s three o’clock, right?”
“It’s lunchtime somewhere.” A loud announcement blared through the phone, garbling whatever Renee said.
“Where the hell are you?”
“The airport.” The words were like a confession.
“Ah. Rough day?” Mayson turned the book upside down on her lap and adjusted the phone more comfortably against her ear.
“I’m thinking about quitting the firm.”
“Why just thinking?”
Renee laughed but the sound wasn’t very convincing. “It’s not that easy, May. I’m not as strong as you.”
Mayson frowned. “Strength? Come on now.”
“Yes, strength. And I just don’t have it.” Renee’s voice was low, heavy with the weight of unnamed feelings. Something was wrong. The book slid from Mayson’s lap as she stood up. Jacket. Keys. Wallet. At the door, she slipped on her shoes, ratty black Converse sneakers she’d had since college, and headed out.
“It’s not about strength, love, it’s about faith,” she said into the phone.
“Oh, is that all?” The humorless chuckle came again. “Maybe I just don’t have any faith in myself at the moment.”
“Then have faith that your world won’t let you fail. If you want this other career as badly as you say, then jump for it. You were meant to succeed, Renee. I can’t believe you don’t see that.”
Her car coasted through the quiet side street, then out onto Sixth Street. The cyclists were out this afternoon. They wove fearlessly through the light traffic, bodies sailing into the wind on their two-wheeled machines. A small crowd gathered along the edge of Balboa Park. Women in shorts and bathing-suit tops. Bare-chested men. They tossed Frisbees through the air, laughing, running across the green grass.
Mayson cruised past, the breeze batting at her braid.
“I know I’ve been twenty times blessed,” Renee said through the phone. “After all I have you in my life. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like a big steaming pile of poop right now.”
“Baby…”
A low sound of distress hummed back at her through the phone. What the fuck had Alonzo done to Renee now? Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as the car tilted down Laurel, hood pointed toward the harbor and the airport. Behind her sunglasses, she narrowed her eyes against the sun’s glare and the sidewalks that sparkled fresh from the morning’s rain.
“Should I come with my pooper scooper?”
Renee laughed. A real one this time. “If you did, I’d adore you more than I already do.”
“I thank whatever gods out there that you’re so easy to please.”
“I love you too, May.”
“Only because I loved you first.”
Renee laughed again, although it was an old joke. Old but never stale.
At the airport, she took the ticket to pay the parking machine, parked the car, and joined the steady stream of people striding across the pedestrian crossing and into the airport.
The double doors slid open, releasing a cool rush of air over Mayson’s skin, the sound of a thousand conversations, a woman’s voice on the PA system. Mayson never quite understood why her friend loved airports so much. They were noisy places filled with frantic activity, panic, and misplaced luggage. Whatever the reason, Renee found calm and security in them. Whenever her mind was turned inside out, whenever she was frustrated, she came to the airport to sit and absorb the chaos and twisting energy. In that chaos, Renee found her own calm.
“So did you just walk out and tell Alonzo you weren’t coming back?”
“No.” Another sigh. “I turned up my yellow belly and said I had a client meeting and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
Mayson chuckled. “Did he ask you which client?”
“Even he knows better than to try that micromanaging crap with me.”
Mayson heard a wooden creak in the background and another, fuller exhalation.
“Keep that up and you’re going to start hyperventilating.”
“Shut up,” Renee muttered, but Mayson heard the smile in her voice. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not taking me seriously?”
“I do, honey. I do.”
Standing in the middle of the light-filled terminal with people rolling their luggage briskly past, with children nearby crying and tugging at their mothers’ skirts, Mayson looked up. A pair of bare feet resting next to black stilettos immediately caught her eye. Then she saw long legs, thighs covered in a pale green skirt, and an elegant but lonely looking hand.
Renee sat in one of the wooden rocking chairs near the railing that led away from the departure gates. She wasn’t supposed to be up there without a boarding pass. Her pretty smile must have worked on the right person. But as Mayson approached the stairs, the uniformed woman who was supposed to be allowing only downward traffic stared listlessly off into space. Mayson jogged quietly up the stairs before the woman could turn around and notice her.
“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” Renee was saying into the phone as Mayson approached. The words echoed back at Mayson through the earpiece.
Since she’d last seen her two nights before, Renee had gotten rid of the fake hair, leaving her small head covered in buds of short, natural curls.
“And whose fault is that?” Mayson asked the question from just behind Renee’s chair. Her friend turned with a surprised gasp, a pleased smile.
“You sneak!” She shot to her feet and smothered Mayson in her scent, the familiar soft
ness of her body. “What are you doing here?”
“The obvious,” Mayson said, grinning at her friend’s surprise. She trailed fingers down the back of Renee’s neck before releasing her from their hug. “I like your hair short.” Her phone closed with a snap and she dropped it into her jacket pocket.
“Me too, actually.” Renee touched her neck.
“You know me, I prefer short hair on women, but that has to do with my own predilections rather than aesthetics.”
Renee gave her a sharp look. “Are you saying I don’t look pretty with my hair short?” She cocked her head, showing off the flirtatious line of her throat.
“I’m not catering to your vanity today, darling. Try me again tomorrow.” Mayson pulled a nearby rocking chair closer and sat down.
Below them, the airport bustled on in organized madness. The muted shout of hundreds of voices. From far away the squeak of an ancient luggage carousel. A brilliant day shining outside the glass doors, California bright with palm trees rippling in the breeze. A line of yellow taxis trickled past.
“This is the nicest surprise.” Renee slipped her bare feet onto the edge of Mayson’s chair.
Her red-painted toes wriggled. Even in her work clothes—the tucked-in white blouse, pale green skirt, the jacket lying on the back of her chair—she seemed childlike. Wicked.
“You haven’t come to the airport with me in a long time.” She smiled, and Mayson was relieved to see the sadness receding behind her eyes.
“It’s been a long time since you came,” Mayson said.
