Walking from the car to my front door, she puts an arm around me, and it puts me at ease because I know then that she’s here to stay. That she’s been waiting and wanting this too, missing me just as much as I’ve missed her.
“I see you like my roses,” she says as she walks in and looks around.
“I do. I love them.” I’ve been adding rose food and so they easily last for up to ten days. The five-hundred stems spread throughout the rooms are an impressive, impactful sight and I can tell by the look on her face she didn’t expect to see this. She traces a finger along the row of vases in the hallway and follows me into the open kitchen and living room, where more roses are on display. I’ve used an old aquarium, big jars, a watering jug and even my grandmother’s old teapot to keep them in after running out of vases. On the blackboard above the kitchen table, the cards that came with the flowers are secured with magnets in neat rows. They’re all the same; white with gold text printed on them. I like how the light reflects on the gold foil at night, lighting up my name almost a hundred times. The roses and the cards make me feel special, and it makes my apartment look pretty too; like an old Parisian studio, rather than a soulless new build in the suburbs of Phoenix.
Opening the fridge, I scan the side rack for beverages. There’s an unopened bottle of Chablis and half a bottle of gin. Now that she’s here, I’m jittery and in need of something to do.
“Drink?” I ask, feeling silly because I know a drink is the last thing on our minds right now.
“No, I don’t want a drink,” she says matter-of-factly, then tilts her head and studies me as I close the fridge and turn around to face her. I can tell she likes what I’m wearing. Black pencil skirts, high heels and white satin blouses have been my uniform at work lately. It’s decent enough for a meeting but I also know it looks very sexy on me, with the long split over my right leg and my thigh-high stockings underneath. They’re only slightly visible when I sit down and cross my legs, but I made sure she saw I was wearing them in the car.
“Good,” I agree. “Because I don’t want a drink either. I want you.”
She comes closer and I step back until my backside meets the kitchen counter. A grin spreads across her face as she leans in and runs her thumb over my lips. I part them, take her hand and suck it into my mouth, drawing a quick breath from her. The pull between us is insanely powerful and magnetic, and the heat of our chemistry sets us both on fire when her hands slide over my hips and cups my ass in a possessive hold. I moan and she responds by taking the hem of my skirt, pulling it up a little until the edge of my thigh-high stocking becomes visible. I’m so wet and the constant pulse between my legs has only grown during the drive here. I know that if she as much as touches me there, I will come. Her gaze is oozing desire, as she yanks my skirt further up to my waist and presses me against the counter with her thigh between my legs. The long kiss that follows makes me groan and buck my hips against her. I reach out to unbutton her shirt because I want to feel her skin against mine, but she takes my wrists and with one hand, holds them on the counter behind me.
“Later,” she whispers in a low voice, her lips barely brushing mine as she speaks. I gasp at the overwhelming craving for her mouth and lean in to kiss her. She pulls back and lets her eyes roam over me as she trails a hand down to the edge of my stockings, then continues up my inner thigh.
It’s hard to keep my balance in the black stiletto heels, the way my legs are trembling, but she holds me up with her body that she presses against me. She spreads my legs with her thigh, and the pressure of her hip against my pussy almost makes me come.
“Oh God, I love it when you do that” I mutter as my breath quickens. My words encourage her to rip open my blouse, too impatient to bother with the buttons. I cry out when she pulls down my red, lace bra to envelop my nipple with her warm mouth. I’ve missed the delightful shooting pains that bring me to the edge of ecstasy when she bites me, and by now, my matching red panties are coated with my juices. Moving her mouth to my neck, she sucks at my skin until a thrilling sting makes me gasp. I’m desperate to run my hands over her body in return, but she continues to hold me in her grip. Even now, after longing for each other for months, she still can’t resist teasing me and I wonder where she gets the willpower from because right now, I don’t want to take it slow.
“I need you to make me come,” I say, breathing fast. Her pupils are diluted and the desire in her eyes is making me twitch. My brain is overloaded by pleasure, almost too much to handle. Deciding I’ve been teased long enough, she slides her hand down my body and slips it into the front of my panties, groaning when she feels how wet I am for her.
“God, Emily. I love how much you want me.” Bringing her lips to my ear, she continues: “I’ve been dreaming about fucking you for ninety-five days, dying to be inside you, to taste you. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?”
“I know exactly how it feels,” I whisper, my words catching as she brushes her thumb across my clit. Unable to hold back any longer, and clearly in need of release herself, she starts riding my thigh while she enters me deeply and we moan against each other’s lips. Her two fingers filling me up causes my body to convulse and when she adds a third, we’re both completely delirious and it doesn’t take much for her to start shaking against me. The sudden shift in energy causes her to let go of my hands and I immediately reach for her face and pull her tighter against my mouth as she fucks me hard and fast, lacing the fingers of her free hand through my hair.
“Come with me, Emily,” she says, before we shatter into a million pieces together. As she cries out, I hear myself screaming her name for the first time.
23
The sun has set, and the candles burning on my nightstands cast a cozy glow over my warm red bedroom walls. Although it’s a strange color for a bedroom, it works, and it gives the space a sexy and intimate feel. Last week I felt a sudden urge to redecorate, in need of more red in my life. I guess the roses inspired me to do that.
We’re in bed, under the covers, making out in each other’s arms like we’re teenagers. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I can’t seem to get enough of it, and neither can Blake. Her lips feel perfect against mine, her tongue incredible, and now that we know we have more time, we cherish the closeness after an afternoon of hot, steamy sex.
Take-out boxes are on the floor next to the bed, along with an empty bottle of white wine. I know there is no way we will be leaving the bed in the next couple of days, even though we haven’t discussed what we’re going to do yet. I can feel in her kiss that she’s not going to leave me again and that’s enough to put me at ease. We both know we need to talk, but the serious stuff can wait, this feels too good not to do right now. Our limbs are entangled, our bodies pressed together as she lies half on top of me. I feel complete, happy and spent, yet arousal still tugs at me each time she shifts to roam her hands over my body, and each time I touch her in return. Blake is incredible in every way and I want her in my arms forever. Her full breasts, her broad shoulders, her muscular thighs, her incredible smile… And then there’s her laugh. It’s warm, infectious, boisterous, and it triggers an emotion in me so raw, that my skin tightens, and I feel lightheaded with happiness. I could spend all day just listening to her laugh.