Girl Fever (24 page)

“I'm not hurt.” She took that shuddery half breath that comes at the end of sobbing or laughing. “You startled me.” Obviously, but before I could be stupid and snide—“Y'think? ”—she put a hand on my arm and said, “Sorry. It's just so silly. Bad movie pratfall silly.”

The sun came out, just a little. Raindrops glittered in her hair. She was about my height, five six, with dark brown hair, some red highlights that looked natural, and tilted green eyes. She grinned.

I went on blushing, but since I was still red from running, she wouldn't be able to tell. She looked at me, though, as we stood under the trees beside the river that runs through downtown Reno. Rain still pattered down, mostly missing us. The air smelled thickly of clean wet sage and a little of wet dirt.

“I'm really sorry,” I said, because I hadn't so far, and I
had
fallen on her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Few juniper berries maybe in unexpected places. What about you?” she asked, just as I realized we hadn't both made it out of the bush unscathed.

My right ankle had started to send up signals of alarm. It seemed very seriously irritated about something
and the pain was like having a hot railroad spike driven up through the outside of that ankle.

“Um.” I didn't want to admit it. I hate being hurt even more when other people know about it.

“You're listing to the left,” she said, and took my arm to steady me. “Can you stand on that leg?”

“My car's right over there in the lot.” I'd planned to finish the trail where it ended on a city street, then cool down by walking back to my car before figuring out what to have for dinner and what to do with the long, empty night in front of me.

“Mine's closer.” She pointed to a minivan near the now-closed-for-the-evening pool building. “And I have ice.”

“Ice?” I wondered idiotically if she wanted to sell me drugs. I couldn't remember what ice was.

“Ice. Cold stuff? I had a soda. There's ice left. And I'm sure I have a plastic bag. We can put it on your ankle and I'll drive you back to your car.”

“Listen, no, I'm fine, I'll just…”

“Please? I came around the corner without looking. I'm at least equally responsible. I'm Alyson. I don't bite. Unless you like that.”

I teetered and the world revolved once, too fast.
Really
?

The night was looking up. “I'm Emma.”

 

Alyson's minivan was warm, which made me realize how cold I'd become. My teeth started to chatter the minute the heat came on, which seemed contrary of my
body (big surprise).

“You're freezing,” Alyson said. “I've got a zipper sweatshirt back here. Let's get you out of those wet clothes.”

We'd pulled over next to my car but neither of us made a move to get out. I met her eyes and couldn't look away. It didn't seem possible. This wasn't my style.

Do you even
have
a style anymore? I asked myself. Because it had been a damn long time since Elise left, breaking up the E-girls because a graphic design job in L.A. sounded better than anything she could find—or had—in Reno.

I was probably quiet too long, but this time my body came to my rescue. Wracked with a wave of new chills, I shivered, my hands moving up and down my icy arms. Very slowly I pulled my T-shirt over my head, then started ungracefully freeing myself from a damp jog bra. Alyson held the sweatshirt ready for me to turn and slide into as we sat facing each other in the minivan bucket seats. I got the thing rolled up and off my shoulders, then over my head, and heard her take a small breath. She moved forward, draping the sweatshirt around me like a cloak, both hands on my shoulders briefly before she brought them down over my pecs, along my collarbone and down to cup my breasts, her thumbs flicking my nipples as the heat coursed up inside me and the shivering changed to something very different.

She leaned forward, bridging the console between us, lowered her mouth to my right breast, and circled
the nipple with her tongue; all of it fast, as if we were suddenly running out of time. I wanted to point out where we were but she sucked my nipple hard into her mouth, still running her tongue over it, and reached one hand down to press insistently between my legs. I didn't care where we were or how much time we had.

It was like making out in high school again, in someone's car, not even taking time to climb into the back. Her fingers moved in hard, fast, long strokes right through my running tights and I shuddered under her hand, stroking her hair, tangling my hands in it. My body tightened, pulsed, and I came, my hips up and forward, everything pulsing with pleasure.

I came down slowly. It was getting dark outside. A couple passed the van, walking hamster-sized dogs on leashes. The rain had stopped and the van fogged up. Trees, sky, couple and dogs were hazy.

“I want to catch my breath and reciprocate.” Alyson wore low-rise jeans and a belt over slim hips and a flat stomach. I wanted to see what was under them but the front seat of her minivan was going to be a challenge. I glanced toward the backseat, still cramped, but an improvement. “Want to move somewhere a little more comfortable?” I asked, nodding in that direction.

“Or a lot more comfortable?” She nodded toward the key in the ignition.

Suddenly the evening didn't look so long and empty.

 

 

 

 

 

H
er body glides over yours like dark poured caramel, brown sugar sweetness under gold. You drink in all of her: the muscles in her arms, her neat waist under your fingers. The look on her face is teasing, measured, as she slips a hand up between your legs.

“Zoe,” you breathe, and she says, “Don't say anything,” drawing clever fingers through your slickness. She finds you, presses; leans up to kiss you, and her mouth is warm and wet and tastes of peppermint, as if she made very sure to suck on a breath mint on the drive home. The thought is strangely sexy—she wants you; she wanted it to be perfect for you—and you kiss her back and thrust up against her hand, spreading your legs in a silent request.

She laughs against your mouth like cinnamon,
deep and rich, and slips two fingers up inside you. You cry out, and she laughs more, rubbing her face openmouthed in the hollow of your throat, working your clit with her thumb. She's strong, very strong; her dancer's muscles stand out in her forearms as she works you, tense against the insides of your thighs. She's hot and wet and slick against your leg where she's straddled it, rubbing just slightly, and the feel of it makes you moan under her fingers, under her mouth.

“
Zoe
,” you cry out again, “oh, god, Zoe—
fuck
—” and she says, “Patience,” like she knows you're on the edge. And her fingers slow perceptibly, circling you with excruciating, tortuous gentleness, until finally you throw your head back, buck your hips against her and scream in frustration, and she flicks your clit with her thumb and lets you come.

Afterward, when you can breathe again, she shimmies up your body until she's kneeling over your chest, legs astride, her back a graceful curve. You take her by the hips without a word and press your tongue into her musky slickness; and when you make her come, you feel as if you just remade the whole damn world.

 

 

 

 

 

R
enee wrung out her hair. Her service dog, Jake, fetched a towel and dropped it into her lap. She dried off and shifted from the shower seat to the wheelchair, then wheeled herself into the kitchen. The front door banged.

“In here, Cat!”

“Hey, hon.” Cat entered the kitchen and dropped her briefcase on a chair. “Christ, students are a disrespectful lot these days. If it weren't for them, my job wouldn't be half bad.”

Renee laughed. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“Nice outfit,” Cat said, winking.

Renee spun her chair around, pretending to model the faded yellow towel. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Cat groaned. “Go on, give me the bad news and get it over with.”

“Your brother Greg called. He broke up with Arnie.”

“Again?”

“Apparently Arnie said something unforgivable.”

“Like what—‘I think you've got your first gray hair'?”

Renee laughed. “Something like that. Anyhow, Greg needs a place to stay.”

“Again?”

“Cat, he is your brother.”

“And one of life's little testicles. All right. When's he coming?”

“Around six, he said.”

Cat slumped into a kitchen chair. “Tonight? Quick, tell me the good news.”

“You've got mail.” Renee pointed to a large cardboard carton sitting in the corner.

“What the hell?” Cat picked up the box and placed it on the kitchen table. “I ordered two little vibrators.”

“I figured you must've ordered some extra stuff.”

“Nope.” Cat examined the label. “Right name. Right address. Let's open it up.”

Renee handed her a craft knife. Cat slit the tape and opened the box, then set it down next to Renee's chair.

“Holy hell.”

Two small pink vibrators, neatly packaged in cardboard boxes, nestled atop a pile of leather and lace. Renee reached down and lifted out the objects, setting
each one on the table. A dildo harness, a leather bustier, a mask, elbow-length black gloves and a whip. A red and white maid's outfit: mob cap, blouse, skirt, frilly apron, and white ankle socks.

Cat started giggling as she scooped out several silicone dildos shaped, variously, like a dolphin, a can of hair spray, and a Madonna cradling baby Jesus. By the time they got to the red velvet handcuffs, the rhinestone tiara, and a bizarre multicolored object that Cat said looked like a cross between a six-headed dildo and a dog's plush toy, they had both collapsed with laughter.

“Whoever packed our order must've been smoking something mighty good,” Cat said.

Jake sniffed at the table, then barked.

“Jake, go lie on your mat.” Renee pulled on the long gloves, then waggled her hands at her lover. “What do you think? Are they me?”

“About as much as the maid outfit is me.” Cat tied the apron over her suit and donned the cap. She plunked the tiara on Renee's head then curtseyed. “What doth your ladyship desire?”

“Explain to me what that thing is, menial servant girl.” Renee pointed to the plush six-headed dildo.

Cat picked up the object. Peeling away Renee's towel, she ran one end of the dildo across Renee's breasts.

“It tickles!”

Cat grinned. “There you go. It's a dildo tickler.” She traced its fuzzy end down Renee's belly to her crotch.

“It's too weird. Like having sex with a teddy bear,” Renee said.

“Would you prefer the Mary and Jesus dildo?”

“Ew.”

“Maybe you can use this for a pincushion, my quilting queen,” Cat suggested. She dropped the plush object into Renee's lap.

Renee reached up to touch Cat's face, then grimaced in frustration. She peeled off the gloves, dropped them, and stroked Cat's cheek. “Mmm. Much better. Let's take this silly thing off.” Renee untied the maid's apron and tossed it on the table, then unbuttoned Cat's suit jacket. Cat quickly peeled off her clothes and draped them over a kitchen chair along with Renee's towel.

“Come here.” Renee pulled Cat closer and nuzzled her breasts. “Yum. I'm so glad you're short.” She licked Cat's left nipple.

“Oh, yes!”

Gently she pushed Cat's thighs apart and slid her hand between them. Cat moaned. Renee stroked Cat's pussy lips, using her index finger to slide them apart and trace the insides. Cat sucked in a short, sharp breath.

“Maybe we should try one of the real toys,” Cat said, her voice unsteady. She rummaged through the pile on the table until she found one of the pink pearl vibrators then took it out of its box. “Oh, good, it already has a battery in.”

Cat turned on the vibrator and pushed aside the plush object to slide the vibrator between Renee's legs.
“A little lower,” Renee murmured. Cat adjusted the vibrator's placing. “Oh, yes, just there.” The buzzing vibrator tickled and rubbed at the same time.

“Want me to sit on the table?”

“No.” Renee locked the wheels of her chair then tugged at Cat's leg. “Put your foot up here.”

Cat raised a foot and rested it on the wheel. Renee explored Cat's pussy with both hands, finger-fucking her and rubbing her clit. The vibrator shifted a bit. Renee reached down and moved it, pushing the plush object against the vibrator to hold it in place.

Cat leaned closer. Renee rubbed harder on Cat's swollen bud. The ultrafast vibrations against her own clitoris, combined with the smell and feel of Cat, drove her wild.

“Cat!” she moaned, rubbing faster. She felt her lover's legs grow rigid. Her own flesh pulsated in time with the vibrator. When Cat cried out, Renee came in a rush. Her orgasm felt as if it would shake her out of her chair.

Cat sagged against her.

The front door banged shut. “Hello!”

Cat tossed something at Renee, who held it across her front. Cat grabbed something off the table and used it to shield herself as she spun around.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Greg stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.

Renee tried to hide behind the towel, then realized what Cat had tossed her was the maid's apron. The vibrator still buzzed between her legs. Cat was holding
the leather bustier. Renee started to giggle.