Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 3

by Sacchi Green

  “Oh Jesus, oh—Jesus Christ don’t stop!”

  “You love it,” Miriam whispered, barely audible over the roar in June’s ears. “You love this.”

  She didn’t give June a chance to recover, getting up from the couch and stepping out of her pants. Her underwear was pale pink silk as it fell to her ankles, her mound was blonde and trim, and her thighs were glistening. She climbed astride June and pulled June’s hand between her legs, riding the slide of her fingers like she was wild. She rocked her hips over June’s hand, never putting the fingers inside, only letting them stroke roughly over her again and again.

  “You beauty,” Miriam gasped. “You—gorgeous thing. Look at you.”

  June could imagine it, could see herself spread wide and flushed pink, sweat glistening across her collarbones. Miriam shone above her, blonde hair glowing like a halo as she rode June’s hand.

  “Make me come,” Miriam ordered breathlessly, “Make me come, make me—”

  Her voice cut off on a hard exhale and she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking against June’s wrist. June watched her like there was nothing else in the world to see. She felt her body go white-hot at the flood of wetness against her hand, wanted to suck her fingers clean and then fuck herself on them.

  Miriam fell forward, rested her head against June’s chest. She breathed.

  “How long before you can come again?”

  “Predator,” June laughed, and Miriam’s hands were on her.

  June walked home through the woods, messenger bag slung across her shoulder.

  She felt like a sun that was rising.

  HUSHER

  Sommer Marsden

  “I see you staring at her all the time,” Maggie said. She nudged me with her elbow.

  I glanced at her again. The girl with dark, dark hair wearing the black leggings and black Docs. I had come to think of it as her uniform. No matter the top she wore—tunic, sweater, hoodie, sweatshirt—she always had on the black leggings and Docs. I was curious to see if this fashion trend continued into the warmer months.

  I shrugged, making an infused iced tea for the irritated soccer mom trying to get her toddler to stand up. Every time she let go of his hand, he dropped to the floor again. I tried not to smile. He seemed to be on a mission to make his mother nuts. My mother often claimed I had the same mission.

  “Go talk to her already,” Maggie hissed, putting a lid on the soccer mom’s iced tea before bellowing her name: “Susan!”

  Susan took the drink gratefully and hustled her apparently boneless child out of the coffee house.

  “You do remember who you’re talking to, right?” I snorted.

  I wiped down the counter because we had an unexpected lull.

  The black-uniformed girl ate her scone, sipped her plain black coffee, and read a book. I’d come to realize this was her lunch break.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I realize. The world’s shyest girl. But come on, Darby. Even you can muster up a little ‘hi,’ can’t you?”

  I shrugged.

  “Ugh. Listen, I know someone who you know . . . ” She leaned in close so I felt her breath on my ear. Maggie was cute, but not my type. “Had a little fling with her.” Her eyes wandered pointedly to the dark-haired girl.

  That perked me up. I cocked an eyebrow and stopped wiping the counter for a moment. “And?”

  “And, you ask? Not who?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I don’t care who it was. But I’d like to know how it was.”

  She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed with my lack of curiosity on the identity of the person who fucked the dark-haired girl. “You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

  I nodded and waved my hand as if to say, go on . . .

  Maggie grinned and spilled her guts. She apparently thought she had dirt. “She said it was good. Hot. Really hot, actually, but the girl was always telling her to hush. She was a husher, if you can believe it.”

  I giggled. “A husher?”

  “Yeah, my friend said every time she’d try to talk while they were fucking, Angela would hush her.”

  “Angela,” I said, letting the name roll off my tongue.

  “Yes. Angela. By god, don’t call her Angie, from what I hear.”

  I smiled. I wanted so badly to talk to this woman. The thought flitted through my head and as if she could hear me, she looked up and caught me staring. I looked away quickly, feeling fire fill my cheeks. Busted.

  I went back to frantically wiping while my heart pounded like a war drum. A moment later someone at the counter cleared her throat and I turned quickly, apologizing. “Sorry. I didn’t see—”

  It was her. She gave me a sarcastic little finger wave and a half smile. “Hey, there, stalker. What’s your name?”

  I thought my face was hot before; now it felt as if it’d burst into flames at any moment. My heart kicked in my chest. “I’m sorry I stared,” I stammered. “I just . . . um . . . ”

  “Name?” she asked pointedly.

  “Darby. My name is Darby.”

  “Are you always this talkative and smooth?” she asked.

  A bark of laughter burst out of me and I clapped my hand over my mouth to silence myself. Then I took a deep breath and nodded my answer.

  “Good. I think people talk way too much as it is. I know because I have bored women in my salon chair all day long. Then again, on the flip side,” she pointed a finger at me. “When you find someone you’d like to listen to, it’s pretty killer.”

  I nodded in agreement. My ex had always talked. She’d always wanted me to talk. She especially wanted me to talk dirty during sex, and my god, that was almost impossible. I went into myself during sex. I was focused on pleasure, getting it and giving it. I didn’t want to chat.

  She slid a card to me and said, “My number’s on the back. Text me if you want to go out tomorrow. I can meet you here at six after my last cut.”

  She left without me having to say a word.

  I watched her walk back to the salon and then disappear behind its mirrored doors.

  Maggie came up behind me as I fingered the business card. “Dude . . . ” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  * * *

  I texted the number after I got home. I simply said: I’d like to meet you after work tomorrow.

  What else could I say? But I was ridiculously grateful she’d said text and not call. My introverted self might have exploded in a fireball of panic had she said that.

  The response came a moment later: Cool. You like Chinese?

  I answered her and then went to take a long hot bath. I shut my eyes and inhaled the scent of lavender and bergamot. I would not, not, not stress over tomorrow, or play the scenario out in my head a thousand different horrible ways. Like me falling down, spilling my drink on her, calling her by my ex’s name, or any other terrifying thing I could think up.

  Instead, I’d focus on the fact that the universe had seen fit to drop her in my lap after so many months of watching her. Not too stealthily, I had been informed.

  My fingers drifted down my thighs and I rubbed the aching muscles from being on my feet all day. It helped a little, along with the calming scent. Of course, her bright, gorgeous face popped up in my mind’s eye. Her no-nonsense attitude. Her soft smoky voice. The thought of her hushing me while we were fucking. Literally, my dream come true . . .

  My fingers drifted to my pussy and I figured what the hell. Go with it. Getting off was better than getting nervous.

  I traced small soft circles on my clit and pleasure bloomed hot and pink in the very center of me. My hips bobbed up and I increased my tempo. Focusing on the image of her sweet Kewpie-bow mouth. On my mouth. On my throat, my shoulder . . . my nipple. I pushed a finger inside my cunt, imagining it was hers. I curled it softly against my G-spot. Then not so softly. I went back to my lovely wet circles and pictured her mouth between my thighs, sucking me, licking me . . .

  Coming was sudden and sweet and I realized how hot it was in
the tiny bathroom.

  But at least I wasn’t nervous.

  She texted me before bed. Simply: Goodnight, Darby.

  Goodnight, Angela.

  I slept like the dead and then staggered through my workday. I got off at four, so I came home and took a shower before going back up to the store to meet her.

  She was in her uniform of black leggings, combat boots, and a pop-culture tee with a big olive-green hoodie.

  “Hungry?”

  I cocked my head and stared at her mouth. My heart was pounding, but in a good way. “Yeah. I could eat.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me and gave me a half grin, but I didn’t miss the bit of color that suddenly blossomed in her cheeks. I’d surprised her. That caused a bolt of pride and a swell of pleasure inside me. I was wet and bare beneath my jeans. The question of the night was, would she find that out? Because I knew one hundred percent that if she wanted to know, I’d show her.

  At dinner, she talked about work a little and then stared me down. Those eyes of hers flashed dark-dark brown with hints of amber, like aged whiskey. “So, you’re super talkative. Do you like being a barista?”

  I nodded, swallowing the tiny bit of food I’d put in my mouth. The restaurant was small, dark, nearly empty, and the food was amazing.

  “I do. For now. I wanted something that I could do while I work on my own stuff.” I took another bite.

  She stared at me for a moment and then burst out laughing. “And . . . your own stuff. That would be . . . ?”

  “I make jewelry. I’ve been doing it for ages. Since the beginning of high school. I sell it online. It’s growing.”

  She waited and I waited. “So, is every conversation going to be like pulling teeth?”

  I smiled. “At first. I warm up.”

  “So, you’re what? A super introvert? Horribly shy? Crippled by anxiety?” She touched the sterling silver ring on my pinky and a shot of excitement overtook me. My hand started to shake.

  “I’m an introvert. I’m quiet. And I think before I speak. I do become chattier, but I’ll never be a motor mouth.”

  She grinned. “Hey, Motor Mouth, did you make this?”

  I nodded.

  She stroked my finger. “Ever thought about fucking me?”

  Somehow it didn’t surprise me when she said it. But it did make my heart pound. I nodded again and swallowed my food before I choked.

  “Want to leave this place and go to my place?”

  Another nod.

  She raised her finger to the waiter. “Can we get takeout containers, please?”

  She dropped a twenty on the table and we left, hurrying out into the chilly evening wind like time was short. It wasn’t short, but we were eager. On the way to her car, her fingers caught mine and she squeezed.

  “You’re quiet. I like that. When you speak, it means you have something to say.”

  I nodded, exhaled, felt a heady mixture of relief and gratitude rush through me. “Yes,” I sighed.

  Her apartment was nearly as tiny and dark as the Chinese restaurant. I had a fleeting moment to notice the interior and then she pushed me back against the wall, pressed her lean body against mine, and kissed me.

  “Too fast?” she asked, when we came up for air.

  I shook my head no and grabbed her collar and pulled her in.

  How many times had I imagined this? Her warm against my body, her breasts pressed against mine, her lips on my lips.

  Her hands settled on my waist and squeezed. I made a little sound but said nothing. Then I was lost in the sweetness of her tongue dancing over mine.

  She moved her hands up beneath my sweater and I felt my skin pebble with goose bumps. Her fingers deftly unhooked the front clasp of my bra and then her warm hands were cupping my breasts, squeezing just enough for a shudder to roll through me. She felt it and then her fingertips were on my nipples, softly swirling the halos of flesh and then suddenly a pinch.

  I yelped and she laughed. “Okay?”

  I nodded again.

  “Say yes,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. She smiled and grabbed a handful of my hair, tugging gently, pulling me in for another staggeringly good kiss.

  I didn’t say anything but I took her hand and pulled her toward the hallway. I was no detective but the lone hallway had to lead to a bedroom at some point.

  Angela took the hint and took the lead. She pulled me to the second door on the left and I regarded her small room, whose contents included black futon, shocking purple tie-dyed wall hanging, and a stuffed bear the size of a small child. And not much else.

  “He’s mine from childhood. Not a word,” she said, grinning.

  I made the motion of locking my lips and tossed the imaginary key over my shoulder.

  Then she was moving me to the bed, pushing me down, unbuttoning my jeans, and finding me bare beneath. “It’s always the quiet ones,” she said, laughing.

  I smiled up at her and then tugged chunks of her dark-dark hair to get her closer. I kissed her, arching up, effectively pressing her palm to my shaved mound.

  She made a pleased sound and got me out of my sneakers and jeans. I whipped off my top as she watched. She ran her hands over my tits, pinched my nipples. Her smile was secretive.

  “And here I’d have thought you’d be all buttoned up. With maybe a matching white bra and panty set.”

  I shook my head and leaned up to tug at her leggings. She kicked off her boots and stripped as I watched. Black leggings, black socks, black panties, black sports bra.

  Her uniform . . .

  I snagged her wrist when she got close and pulled her down suddenly. I pushed her flat and climbed over her. Her dark eyes were wide as I leaned in to kiss her. “I thought I’d be—”

  “On top?”

  She nodded. I raked my teeth down her throat and over her collarbone. “We can take turns.”

  I was so grateful I didn’t have to chatter, to talk and come up with dirty things to say, that I simply went with every impulse. My first being to drag my teeth over the twin protrusions of her hip bones.

  She moaned, and I nipped the skin just above her mound. I pushed a finger inside her, feeling her warm wet cunt give me a welcoming clench. I slid my finger in and out, looking up to watch her pretty face as I touched her.

  Her eyes drifted shut and her hips lifted. I added another finger and laid a proper kiss on her pussy. Not touching her clit, but coming so damn close.

  “Jesus Christ!” Angela snarled.

  A dark little chuckle slipped out of me as I curled my fingers deep inside her plush dampness.

  “That was an evil little laugh for such an angelic-looking woman,” she growled.

  “Now you know my secret,” I said. Then I nudged her clit with my tongue.

  She grabbed a handful of my hair and tugged me closer. I lapped at her, and then flicked her clit fast and chaotic. She slammed up to meet my mouth. I went for it, slowly sliding a third finger inside her. I fucked her with my fingers and sucked her little clit hard over and over again.

  When she came, she bellowed. She wasn’t quiet and she wasn’t shy. I wondered briefly about her neighbors and then realized I didn’t care.

  She sat up and pushed me hard. I went down on my back, my hair flying in my face. I found myself laughing, loud and uncontrollable. She seemed almost angry that I’d surprised her with my loudness in the bedroom as opposed to my quiet in public.

  “Oh, you are gonna get it, little girl. Quiet but deadly in the sack, is that it? Shy but bold as balls?” She was grinning at me as she flipped me to my belly before I realized what she was doing. She was compact but she was strong. The muscles in her arms were lean and well defined. Her legs looked like she ran.

  Her hand came down on my ass and the crack of the impact hurt my ears it was so loud. I bucked, cried out, and wanted to rub the sting. Then the endorphins kicked in as a warm thumping pleasure joined the already present arousal.

  She shoved a finger in me and
I gasped.

  Her hand came down again. The moment I cried out, she wiggled that finger. She did it too many times for me to count and when my ass pounded like a heartbeat, she turned me over. I winced, wriggled.

  “Does your bum hurt, love?”

  Before I could nod, her lush mouth latched on to me and her tongue flicked my clit. I forgot how to talk and hissed instead. She dragged the tip of her tongue over me slowly. So slowly I could hardly stand it. Her fingers moved inside of me. Her mouth was hot and eager on my pussy.

  Another slow, slow drag, and I thought I might die.

  “Please—” I managed, moving restlessly. She flexed the finger in my cunt and I moaned. “Fuck. Please . . . ”

  She caved, moving her tongue in wonderful patterns. Sucking me hard and then soft and then simply swirling her tongue. The pressure built and built until I thought I’d die . . . or scream. Then she added a second finger and drove deep inside me.

  I came. I came with a loud sob, my body dancing under her touch. I bucked and cried and she laughed before finally hushing me.

  “Shh . . . ” she said, curling up against me.

  I hushed. I hushed gratefully. No chatter-chatter-chatter postsex.

  She kissed my neck and said, “You surprised me, stalker.”

  I snorted by way of response.

  “But in a good way,” she said. “Hungry?”

  “Starved!”

  “Oh, now she talks!”

  “I talk. I just . . . ”

  She nudged me with her elbow. “I get it. No need to explain. We can talk, we can not talk, as long as we can do that again . . . It’s all good, stalker.”

  I looked up at her and traced her nipple with my fingertip. I watched it pebble beneath my touch. How many times had I imagined her in bed? So many it hurt my brain. Finally, I said, “Oh, we can do that as much as you want. I might even say a few words here and there.”

  “Be still my heart,” she said.

  FEARLESS