CHAPTER ONE
A coyote howling in the distance chilled Deborah Murnay. She did her best to ignore the animal and wrapped a towel around her body after rubbing in the vanilla-scented lotion her wife had ordered special for her from Paris. She could barely stand the smell of vanilla, but since Genevieve enjoyed the scent, and often took time out of her busy day to kiss a part of her body covered in the lotion, she wore it nevertheless.
Ignoring the howl of another—or possibly the same—coyote, she exited the bathroom and went into her bedroom, where lying on her king-sized bed was the short gold dress she would wear for the season opener of the Peyote Springs Opera House. The opera always started the year with a performance of Giuseppe Verdi’s 1853 La Traviata. The first time she had seen the tragic opera, she cried. The second time, she had been overcome by the beauty of the music. Now, her fifth time, she was bored. Even though Genevieve had hired a tutor to teach her Italian, she barely understood a word of it. Her wife loved the opera, which they attended every season. She would rather see something more modern, like a Broadway show, but since her wife found popular musicals gauche, she kept her opinion to herself. Genevieve expected her no other way.
The clock on the far wall released a soft, melodic ping. She had less than a half hour to get dressed before they left. Sighing, she combed her damp, highlighted blonde hair that would dry soon enough in the Nevada heat. At six in the evening, it was still a stifling ninety degrees. Her dress was perfect for tonight and for the after party after. They always attended since Genevieve was one of the opera’s top generous patrons. She hoped Genevieve wouldn’t get upset at her wearing gold instead of the standard white she wore on Sundays.
Pulling open a drawer, she found her beige thong. Her lips curved at the idea of going buff; a small surprise for Genevieve in case she wanted to play with her under her skirt. But she wasn’t that outrageous, so she concealed herself with the scrap of fabric. Searching through the pile of underwear and socks, she found the small, shiny box she planned to give Genevieve before they left. Inside lay a silver locket with her picture in it—purchased with Genevieve’s money—in celebration of their anniversary tonight.
I can’t believe I’ve been with the same woman for so long. She twisted her diamond-covered wedding band around her finger while the blazing orange sun dipped below the horizon.
The bedroom door opened and in walked Genevieve, wearing a short tight black dress along with a choker and high-heeled sandals that added even more height to her five foot eight inches. She held her breath, stunned by her wife’s beauty.
Genevieve set a small box wrapped in silver paper on the dresser, rested her hands on Deborah’s shoulders, and smiled. She smiled softly, her heart speeding in Genevieve’s presence. Her wife’s straight, copper-toned hair falling past her shoulders complemented her wonderful dark tan. Unfortunately, she didn’t tan like Genevieve, even with her smattering of Native America blood that had been diluted centuries ago.
“Dearling, why aren’t you ready?” Gen pursed her lips, tilting her head to the left to examine her.
She kept herself from wincing. She hated when Gen called her dearling. She’d rather be called “my sexy nurse,” as Gen sometimes said. It reminded her who she was and where she came from.
“I wanted to take the extra time to look perfect for you tonight.” She wrapped her arms around Gen and kissed her under her ear. Gen shivered and tightened her hold. She closed her eyes and inhaled Gen’s scent—a combination of aloe and papaya. They stayed like that until Gen’s hand went under her towel and caressed her bottom, her thumb drifting under her thong and brushing her ass cheeks. She stiffened and almost clenched on her wife’s roaming finger.
Gen released a husky laugh and stepped away. She removed her hands and wagged a finger in front of Deborah’s face. “If we had an hour to spare, I’d lay you out on our bed and rim you until you screamed, but you’re running late.”
She blinked at the crude words to explain the intimate act she enjoyed doing. She also noticed the emphasis on how she was late, and not we.
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be already to go.” She dropped her towel, contemplating whether she should wear a bra. Genevieve observed her openly through the mirror while she fluffed her hair.
Before she picked up her dress, Gen held out the box. “I know you’ve wanted to open this since I came in. Happy fourth anniversary, dearest.”
Genevieve gave her a kiss, and her tongue went deep into Deborah’s mouth, licking the inside of her cheeks and eliciting a moan. She almost fell on the bed when Gen tweaked her nipples and rolled the hard nubs with her thumbs. When she slipped her hand inside Gen’s bodice, her wife backed away, breaking the kiss. She patted Deborah’s mouth with her manicured hand and laughed.
“Open your gift,” she urged, and Deborah slowly untied the bow when all she wanted to do was rip it apart. She built up the anticipation, and when she took off the lid, her jaw dropped.
“Oh, it’s breathtaking.” She studied the fragile gold strand with a small diamond in the middle lying on a red satin pillow.
“It’s not a necklace but a belly chain. Knowing it will be tied around you would please me immensely.”
“Like a collar?” she joked weakly.
“You can call it that if you’d like.” Gen latched the chain around her waist.
She admired her gift in front of the mirror. Gen fingered the chain and dipped lower, cupping her mound and pressing her fingers in deep.
“Thank you. I love it as much as I love you.” She spread her legs apart, hoping Gen pushed her panties aside to play with her clit for a minute or two.
Gen laughed again and backed away, leaving her hot and frustrated. She loves teasing me. Hiding her irritation, she went to the dresser to give Gen her gift.
“Before I forget, I have your—” She turned, finding herself alone. Her beautiful gold dress was missing. Gen came out of the walk-in closet with a silky white tank top that gaped low in the bodice and a matching miniskirt. She had only worn it once when they went to Las Vegas for a weekend getaway. This type of ensemble was suited for a dance club or a casino and would be very out of place at the opera.
“Did you forget it’s Sunday, dearling?” Gen laid the outfit on the bed.
Her pulse increased. “I thought I’d shake things up a bit. I bought the gold dress to impress you. I know how much you love the color.” She flicked her anniversary gift for emphasis.
Gen gave her an easy smile, although irritation lurked in her eyes. “You’re sweet, but I prefer we stick to protocol. Don’t you agree? We can’t have you going back to ratty T-shirts or those horrible-colored scrubs you once wore.”
She shut her eyes to stop from saying something that might lead to an argument. Those scrubs Gen always denigrated were what she had worn when she was a nurse caring for her sick mother.
She opened her eyes and sent Gen a remorseful smile. “Sorry. I hate disappointing you.” She looked at the expensive white outfit. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”