Girl Fever (13 page)

“Try getting one of those through customs,” Kelli said, between gasps. She was close, Drusha could tell. If it hadn't been for the sink, she would have sunk to her knees and licked Kelli until she came. She made do with pressing the heel of her other hand into Kelli's mound. Kelli writhed until she came with soundless puffs of air. Drusha was pretty sure it had all taken about three minutes.

“Fuck,” Drusha said, holding her. “My underpants are all wet.”

“Should've gone without,” Kelli said. “How the hell am I going to get you off?”

“If you need
me
to tell you that…”

“Brat.” Kelli squeezed her ass, hard, then tugged on her belly ring. “Push your pants down.”

Drusha peeled her jeans off. Her underpants went with them. Suddenly she could smell herself more than she could smell Kelli.

Kelli looked down at her pubes like they were art. “Put your fingers in your pussy,” she said. “Shove them in with my come all over them.”

Liquid gushed out of Drusha's cunt, already sopping as a wet sponge. She braced herself against the door. She formed her three longest fingers into an arrow and pushed inside herself.

Kelli shoved her T-shirt up and squeezed her tits, rubbing the heels of her hands against Drusha's nipple bars. “Fuck yourself,” she growled. “I want to hear it.”

Drusha let her head fall against Kelli and jerked her arm, thrusting as fast as she could. She couldn't help but bump Kelli with each stroke. Kelli didn't seem to care. She kept working Drusha's nipples; Drusha had come from that alone, before.

She hunched her shoulder, trying to reach farther inside. Just then, Kelli began flicking her clit. Drusha sucked air against an inner twisting that all at once sprung free, whirling her into loose-limbed, shaking aftermath.

Drusha hadn't noticed before, but she could feel the plane's vibration in the door at her back, an extra stimulation that now helped soothe her down from her frantic peak.

Kelli said, close to her ear, “I came again after you did. You are so fucking hot. I really thought you were going to scream and the flight attendant would catch us and I'd end up losing my tenure.”

“If you did, I'd keep you as my love slave,” Drusha said. “Rich kid, remember? Trust fund?”

“Does a trust fund cover love slaves?” Kelli kissed her. “We'd better get out of here. You go first.”

“Like nobody's going to be able to smell me.”

“I have baby wipes.”

“The fuck?”

“Good for trips like this. I stuck them in my sock. Hold on—there.” She kissed Drusha again. “Now go, before I ravish you again. That'll have to wait until the hotel.”

“I'll make plans for that hotel.
And
for the plane ride home.”

 

 

 

 

 

P
aige's concentration was lost the moment Lydia strode into the dressing room in a skintight belly-dance dress that matched the long, red hair flowing dramatically behind her.

“Right, solo done. Just our big finale to go!”

Paige rolled her eyes. She'd been practicing for the finale when Lydia burst in and had now lost her place completely.

“Do you think we've got time for one more run-through?” Paige's eyes flirted with the clock above the door.

“Darling,” said Lydia, placing her hands on Paige's shoulders, “we've practiced it a million times. If you don't know it by now, you never will.”

Lydia was right, Paige knew, and yet she still
couldn't help feeling nervous. It was the same every time she performed; she loved choreographing a routine, rehearsing and planning the costumes, but when she was finally backstage at a show, surrounded by exuberant performers, colorful veils and the mingling scents of perfume and hairspray, she'd start to feel sick and would vow never to put herself through the ordeal again.

Feeling suddenly ridiculous in her skimpy blue bra and skirt costume, Paige crossed her arms protectively across her stomach, sending the rows of gold coins around her waist into a jingling frenzy.

“Oh, Paige, chill out,” said Lydia, “or do I have to come over there and make you relax?”

Paige's reply was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Five minutes, guys!” called a runner from outside.

“Perfect, just enough time.” Lydia grinned mischievously and Paige knew without a shadow of a doubt what her girlfriend was thinking.

“Whoa, we can't. Not here, not now.” Paige gestured around at the dressing room, trying to appeal to Lydia's sensible side, even though that had never been the most successful strategy in the past.

“You know your trouble?” said Lydia, sauntering over and planting a kiss on Paige's forehead.

“Falling for my dance rival?”

“No, you think too much. Now let me relax those shoulders. How can you dance sensually if you're all tense?”

Paige closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of
Lydia's soft hands working the knots out of her shoulders. Just as she felt the tension start to leave her body, however, she felt those hands ease down toward her cleavage and the tension flooded straight back.

“Lydia!”

“Okay, Okay.” Lydia held up her hands in mock defeat. “I can see you're not up for it. Guess I'll just change into my costume, then.”

Lydia stood before Paige, slowly peeling off the slinky dress she'd worn for her solo. Paige watched as the body she knew so well was revealed; the full breasts she loved to caress, the hips that mesmerized when she danced, the creamy legs that seemed to go on forever. Beads of sweat still clung to Lydia's skin from the exertion of her solo and Paige found herself wanting to reach out and kiss them away.

Lydia stood before Paige completely naked, the dress pooled around her feet. Her hand was placed cockily on one hip and her long hair just covered her nipples.

“Still think we haven't got time?”

Paige realized she'd been snared; the warmth growing between her legs didn't care how little time there was and demanded further attention.

Lydia saw the shift in Paige's expression and grinned. The two girls came at each other in a whirlwind of passion and excitement, kisses and caresses landing wherever they happened to fall. Paige's hands roamed Lydia's back, squeezed her arse and scratched down her shoulder blades as their mouths met violently. They
pressed together, hot and fierce. Lydia's voluminous breasts smothered Paige's, constrained as they were in their sequined bra. Lydia reached for the clasp.

“No, wait; no time,” breathed Paige, her voice hoarse.

“Okay.” Lydia shrugged, lowered her head to the double mound of Paige's cleavage and began to kiss and nibble at the exposed skin. Paige moaned and curled her fingers in her lover's hair but couldn't resist a glance at the clock.

As if reading her mind, Lydia started to move more quickly. She pushed aside layer after layer of Paige's flowing skirt until she reached the treasured prize beneath.

“Oh, Paige honey, you're so wet!”

Paige couldn't have replied even if she'd wanted to. Lydia knew her too well and manipulated her desperate clit with practiced ease, running teasing fingers around and then lightly across the tiny, wet bud while her tongue dived between into the cleft between her breasts.

“Oh…oh!”

Paige tipped her head back and moaned with desire, pushing her hips forward in her desperation for a firmer touch. After a minute more of teasing Lydia relented and with strong fingers switched to the quick, circular motion that she knew would be an instant hit. Sure enough, an uncharacteristic list of expletives issued from Paige's lips and she wailed like a person who really didn't care whether anyone heard her or not.

“Oh…fuck!” Paige panted out at the height of her orgasm, juddering and shuddering as Lydia held her tightly between the legs and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Her body felt limp, peaceful and completely relaxed.

“Mmm, that sounded nice!” Lydia grinned.

Snapping back into the moment like a pro, Paige glanced at the clock. A minute to go.

As Lydia rushed to pin up her hair up and clip on her bra, Paige froze.

“Oh, my god, scratch marks!” Two bright red streaks marked their passion across Lydia's shoulder blades, clearly visible above the skimpy bra. Lydia examined them in the mirror. Her amused expression suggested she wasn't terribly concerned.

Paige was just about to reach for the concealer when the door burst open.

“You're on, guys!”

Lydia yanked up her skirt just in time to avoid showing the runner more than she'd bargained for.

“Come on, gorgeous.” She laughed, grabbed Paige's hand and sprinted to the door. “Let's give them a show to remember!”

 

 

 

 

 

O
n the drive up to the campsite, I start to worry whether I had turned off the stove before we left.

“Babe, did you check the oven?”

“Try to stop worrying.” Sasha's calm voice always makes everything go quieter, like she's turning down a dial somewhere inside me.

Sasha lays her hand on my leg. Little sparks shoot out from where her fingers curl around my inner thigh. For the last five years, this is what she does when I drive—a way to remind me that she's right there, beside me, when she knows I'm probably going a million miles in my head, agonizing about something.

“I checked everything before we left. We're going to have a good time with Mindy and Tara.”

I make myself unclench my teeth. Mindy and Tara
are the types of laid back people who never worry about mosquitoes or running out of drinking water or getting poisoned from food left out in the sun. A rabid raccoon could bite Mindy in the face and she'd still be smiling and saying,
Hey, what's everyone stressing out about? Just let me finish my beer before we go to the hospital
.

“It's going to be great,” I tell Sasha and concentrate on making sure none of the other cars crash into us.

People drive so badly when it's a long weekend.

 

“What a night,” Sasha calls to Mindy and Tara before slipping into our tent.

“Come on, quick, the bugs are getting in,” I hiss.

“Okay, I didn't realize I was sleeping with the Bug Police,” Sasha jokes and seals the tent.

It makes a loud noise like something tearing.

“Good night!” Mindy calls.

“Don't make too much noise,” Tara yells.

I listen to hear them zip up, but there's only quiet, punctuated by rustling and giggling. I lean over to tell Sasha, because they'll be covered with bug bites tomorrow, but she covers my mouth with hers and pushes me down. Our sleeping bag slips underneath me and the air mattress bounces up and down, pressing us against each other. Everything feels different here than in our bedroom at home where I always need everything in its place and Sasha lets me have free rein. It's shaky and unsteady inside the tent—this space where nothing is the same. Maybe I don't have to be, either.

Sasha pulls off my skirt and panties with one hand and yanks up my tank top with the other, undoes my bra and stares into my eyes. The air is cool against me. I feel bare under her, like suddenly I have miles of skin I never had before. Sasha looks beautiful, but strange in the moonlight, like someone I don't know. My hand slides on her stomach, moving across her chest, pulling there, tighter. I draw her down closer. Something catches in me.

“Do you think they put out the fire?”

“Yes, yes, the fire is out,” Sasha whispers into my neck.

Her breath so close stirs me. It's like there's a bunch of dry autumn leaves rattling around me in crazy circles that I can't control, and she's the windstorm. When Sasha brushes her mouth over my neck my legs spill open and I let her take me, unlike at home where I always have trouble staying in my skin and it feels better to be the one touching someone. She's sucking hard there and it's as though all the tightness in me bleeds out from that one spot. My legs fall open wider and I can feel how wet I am. It's seeped down onto the sleeping bag underneath us; this throbbing between my legs erases every other thought. I pull Sasha's hand there and she pauses for a moment, checking with me. We don't usually do this.

“Please,” I whisper, clenching her tighter around the wrist.

She runs her finger over the swollen split of me and I buck up against her, eager.

“Not so fast,” she teases.

I can tell she enjoys being the one to make me beg. Usually it's me who strings her painfully along, forces her to ask if she can come.

But I don't want to wait.

“We're not playing that game,” I bark.

“Shh,” she says. “Mindy and Tara will hear.”

“I don't care. You need to fuck me and you need to fuck me now.”

I push Sasha against me again, kissing her roughly and pulling her tongue into my mouth, holding her face close.

Her finger pushes into me and nothing else matters but this. For once, I don't feel like I have to hold on to everything so rigidly. It's like climbing outside of a closed, hard little shell that's been pressing into me only to find that outside, there is so much more space than I ever realized.

“More,” I say in a low growl, panting.

Sasha comes back at me with three fingers and I'm full with her, twisting against her as she fucks into me, slow at first and then fast. I let everything else go except the shape of her above me, the feel of her inside of me. I'm rooted to the ground by Sasha's fingers pumping into me, my cunt clutching at her.