Girl Fever (23 page)

Donna's friends started talking about some new movie, and Marigold was glad the focus shifted. Was nothing sacred? When she shivered, Donna noticed and wrapped a white pashmina around her shoulders. Marigold shot her a look that asked,
Are you sure? You know I'm messy.

When Donna nodded, Marigold absorbed the warmth of her woman through the fabric. Coffee and cake came, urging Marigold to sit taller. That chocolate mousse slice drizzled with raspberry coulis made her mouth water.

“Dig in, honey.” Donna handed her a fork.

“Thanks.” Marigold smiled as Donna's friends kissed, and jumped when she felt Donna's lips on her cheek. They'd never kissed in public before. This was…
new. Wonderful. She felt all warm and fuzzy, sipping coffee, her girlfriend's pashmina draped around her body.

And then it happened: Marigold took a forkful of mousse cake, lifted it to her mouth, and watched in slow motion as a drip of red coulis slipped through the prongs of her fork, beading against soft white fabric
. It'll be okay
, Marigold told herself, but as she wiped up the droplet, the cake itself tumbled down. It broke into three layers: cake, mousse and deep chocolate icing. Oh, god, it would never come out….

“I'm sorry,” Marigold said for the fourth time in as many minutes. “I am such a klutz. I'll wash it.”

“Maybe ask the server for some soda water?” one of Donna's friends suggested. Marigold's head was buzzing. She stood, flicking the cake to the table and removing the pashmina.

“I'll come with you.” Donna pushed her chair back and rose. “I'm sure we can get it out.”

Marigold never felt so small as when she'd done something wrong. She walked to the washroom in a daze, feeling the hot press of Donna's front against her back.

“I'm sorry,” she said again when they'd passed through the bathroom door.

Before she knew it, Donna's mouth was slanted across hers, their lips a tight seal, tongues wrestling. This never happened.
Never
. But it was happening now—Donna was kissing her in a public bathroom, and kissing her
hard! Marigold couldn't get over the heat coming off her girl's body. She felt consumed by it.

“I thought I'd be in trouble,” Marigold whispered, panting.

Donna tossed the pashmina in the sink. “Who says you're not?” The growl in her voice made Marigold loopy, and she couldn't believe it when Donna yanked her into the end stall. “Pull down those pants,” Donna instructed, even before the door was closed.

Marigold did as she was told, dropping slacks and cotton underpants to the floor.

Sitting fully clothed on the toilet seat, Donna patted her lap and Marigold fell onto it. At home, this was standard practice, but they were in public… well, in a public washroom. When the top of Marigold's head met the toilet paper dispenser, she turned around to watch. “I'm sorry I was so late.”

“You're off the hook, remember?” Donna's eyes were kind. “The pashmina? That's another story.”

“Sorry.” Marigold's pussy clenched as she awaited sweet punishment. “If I can't get the stain out, I'll buy you a new one.”

Donna seemed to time her “Thank you,” exactly with the first smack against Marigold's ass. Marigold let out a yelp, hoping there were no other patrons in here. They hadn't even checked.

“How many?” Marigold asked as the second slap fell.

Another one—three so soon, and all in the same
spot. That cheek was already red. “How many do you think?”

“Ten,” Marigold said without reflection. She knew she'd want more.

Four came down hard in that same tender spot, and Marigold couldn't contain her squeal. Lower for five—that one came down around her thigh. Six did, too—other cheek, other thigh. Marigold shifted in Donna's lap, clenching her muscles tight. “Harder,” she begged. It was good, but it wasn't nearly enough.

“Harder?” Donna asked, surprise in her voice.

“Please?”

Harder is exactly what Marigold got for seven, eight, nine. They fell in quick succession, and they were solid spanks every one of them. Marigold hissed, but she wanted more, oh so much more!

Ten was a disappointment: off the mark, falling in the middle of her asscrack without connecting properly. “Bonus round?”

“Saucy cheeks!” Donna teased.

The next one was much more precise. It caught the burn of her right cheek, and she felt her flesh ripple. Switch for the next one. It came down hard on her left cheek and sounded like a cracking whip. Marigold was squealing now, her pussy dripping wet and her feet running in place along the floor in anticipation.

The next few alternated in rapid fire: one, two, one, two, back and forth across her burning bottom. The pleasure-pain crossed the threshold to pain-pain, and
Marigold couldn't stop herself from crying, “Ow…it hurts,” as those precious blows fell one after another.

Marigold's skin sizzled red-hot with friction when Donna determined the punishment was complete. Her bum burned so badly she couldn't put her panties back on right away.

Donna left the stall for a moment, and came back with her pashmina, wetted in cold water. Again, she folded Marigold over her lap. This time she soothed the burn, tracing soft, cool wetness across Marigold's poor searing bottom. It was an act of such love and compassion Marigold almost wanted to cry.

After a time, they left the stall and stood together at the sink, trying to rinse the chocolate and raspberry stain from that beautiful white scarf. Marigold jumped when one of their dinner companions poked her head in the door and handed them a glass of soda water. “Hope this does the trick,” she said, and promptly scuttled away.

Marigold met her girl's gaze in the mirror and smiled. “Your friends are nice.”

 

 

 

 

 

W
ith a cappuccino in each of my hands, I watched Felice fooling around at the gift shop. She held a huge smiling balloon in front of her face and entertained some random kid, whose little body wriggled with laughter. His mother eventually dragged him away, and Felice straightened up again.

“Wasn't that the cutest little fella?” she asked. “I might buy you this balloon to cheer your…Jen?” Her playful face crinkled into a frown. She took a few steps toward me through the buzz of the airport's check-in area.

“Miss! You haven't paid for that balloon!” a shop assistant snapped.

Felice ignored her. “Hey, what's the matter? We'll see each other again in two months, and—”

“I love you,” I blurted out, and watched her expression change.

Fear gripped me. I had ruined it, hadn't I? You're not supposed to tell a coworker who's been at your branch only half a year on office exchange that you love her. Not even if she's become your best friend in those six months, not even if the sound of her laughter makes your heart beat faster every time.

I gulped. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. It's just—”

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” She lifted my chin. “Why the hell did you wait until the last minute?”

My stomach made a little flip. Her voice was calm. Not at all upset. And her frozen-lake eyes looked at me as though I had just articulated the long-sought-after explanation of some scientific marvel, not something that would ruin our whole friendship. “You…do you mean you—”

She laughed. “I've been in love with you ever since your cute rendition of ‘You Are My Sunshine' at the karaoke bar!”

This time, the flip was stronger. Before I could process what she'd just said, her lips pressed against mine, and I could hear her giggle under our kiss. The moment before I closed my eyes, I saw the smiling balloon fly away, floating up toward the airport's glass ceiling.

“I was drunk,” I pouted, clumsily trying to disguise how giddy I felt inside.

“You were so adorable.” She bit her lips, and for some moments, we remained lost in each other's grins.

“Come!” she said, putting down her coffee and taking my hand.

“You have to pay for that balloon!” an annoyed voice called after us.

Felice rolled her eyes and hurried back to throw a bill on the counter. I watched her blonde hair flying along with a floaty top that didn't do nearly enough justice to her curves.

I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to discuss what all of this meant. I didn't want to think up ways to make it work over a distance of a thousand miles.

I wanted to taste her lips again.

“There!” She pointed to an empty black bubble chair somewhat hidden in a corner. We fell into the chair and snuggled against each other, her fingers brushing my fringe out of my eyes. At the mere touch of her fingers, I could feel happiness rush to my face and color my cheeks pink.

But that was nothing compared to the tingles she evoked when she ran two fingers over my lips, creating sizzles that shot right through to my belly button.

“We can talk all night over the phone, huh?” She grinned.

I cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again. This time, it was all different. I savored it. Her body pressing against mine. Our knees touching. Her fingers fondling the nape of my neck. And those lips… I made them mine, and it was like discovering a whole new world. So gentle. So demanding.

So desperate.

“You…” She shook her head at me, but there was an impish twinkle in her eyes. “Telling me
today
.” Again her fingers stroked my face. “Lean against me,” she whispered. I did and then watched her arrange her jacket over my thighs. My breath hitched in my throat as her fingers crawled underneath my skirt and touched my naked skin.

“You're so much braver than me,” she continued in a loving whisper as her hand tugged my panties away. “I thought it was better to have you as a best friend than not at all.” Her finger crawled underneath the mesh, and I opened my legs as far as the limited space allowed. “When all I could think about was undressing you piece by piece…” She kissed my eyes, my nose, my mouth. “…and running my lips over your naked skin.”

I nestled my head against her shoulder and relished watching the small patch of black bra that came in and out of view every time she moved. Taking a shy glance around, I let my finger explore the smooth skin of her neck down to the rim of the lace.

I liked how her breath quickened.

Felice took my hand and kissed my fingertips. “They'll be all yours, baby.” She didn't give me any time to pout, just parted my pussy lips with subtle fingers. “You like that?” she softly rubbed the length of them.

I wished I could scream out how much. Impatiently, I poked my pussy closer to her touch. The tip of her finger met my clit, and I jumped as liquid heat shot through me.

“Shh,” she soothed, making sure we appeared to passersby as mere innocent snugglers, when in fact, she was working me up in the most tantalizing way beneath the jacket's cover. Nuzzling at my ear, she continued to whisper about how she could feel me pulsating underneath her thumb, how she imagined it was her tongue instead, what we would do once we were in each other's arms again.

“You're so creamy,” she sighed and dipped deeper into my pussy to massage me so eagerly I had to bury my face in her neck to keep from crying out. The peach and almond scent of her conditioner will forever smell like the sweetest caress to me.

“Oh, please…” I pressed my mouth against her skin, damp from my breath, and prayed it would muffle my moans. Torn between obeying my body's urge to spasm around her fingers and remaining as still as I possibly could, I dug my nails into her arm to find some outlet for the sensations overwhelming me as she circled my soaking clit and cradled my writhing body.

Huddled against her, safe in her embrace, I came down from heights so intense I wanted to kiss her senseless for raising me to them.

“I wish we had more time,” I whispered as I regained my breath.

“I will never regret a single moment. This was…” She shook her head, and a tender smile grew on her face. “…the best first date I've ever had.”

I hugged her, laughing, crying and soaking up as
much of her peachy scent as I could.

I kept my eyes shut as we kissed good-bye, and for what seemed like hours, I remained curled up in the curve of the chair—numbed, happy, sad, bewildered, shaken—while the last traces of her lips evaporated from my skin.

 

 

 

 

 

I
ran into her. Knocked her flat. Came round the corner of the pool building on the running trail and didn't expect anyone else on the path because it was a cold, gray April day in Northern Nevada, spitting rain. Anyone with any sense was inside at 5:30 P.M.

I've never had any sense.

So I ran into her. Full-body contact.

It wasn't pretty. I wasn't pretty. The end of a long run and my Swedish ancestry not only means keep moving or get fat in my midthirties, it also means running makes me turn beet red and appear minutes away from a coronary event.

She cushioned my fall.

I apologized before I even got her out of the juniper bush. She might have been upset if she hadn't been laughing so hard.

So when I asked, “Are you all right?” it was partly regarding mental processes. Maybe she'd hit her head?

She let me help her up and we both stood in the early, cloud-induced twilight. My sweat started to chill on my legs.

My breathing relaxed enough for me to ask again, “Are you all right?”