Chapter 4

“Like what you see?” she asks. I guess she’s been watching me watch her.

“You already know I do,” I say.

“Fair point,” she says. “So do I.”

“You do?” I almost squeak the words.

“Damn right,” she says. “I want a mouthful of those luscious breasts, and I want to taste the woman who can make me come harder than I’ve come in years.” She tugs my legs forward, disrupting my balance so I fall onto my back.

“Oh, so that was…” I know it was good. She squirted and came twice. It couldn’t not be good. But was it… “That was better than usual?” I ask.

“No one’s fucked me like that since med school,” Monica says. She’s sliding my bikini bottoms down my legs without question or preamble. Of course she knows I would say yes, but she doesn’t need permission. She has a divine right to my body.

She’s tracing patterns on my belly now as she studies me. She really does seem to find me attractive. I won’t put myself down. I’m okay. I could lose twenty – okay, thirty – pounds, but I have a nice figure, good face and clear skin, but she’s looking at me like she’s not out of my league. Like her life isn’t full of supermodel-class partners.

Is that it? Does she have a partner, and she needs a change? She’s lying down now, her lips inches from my left breast. Holy fucking Hades, nude Monica is real, and between my legs. Maybe the partner is a husband. Maybe she doesn’t have girls to compare me to because she’s in a straight marriage. And if she is no woman is going to experience what I am now, my hard nipple rolling between her lips and tongue. I moan at the jolt of arousal, my clit feeling like it’s trying to press itself out of my body to seek more touch.

“You’re so sensitive,” Monica says around my nipple. I feel her voice vibrating my breast and the muscles in my belly tighten. “Your breasts are so soft.” Well, yeah, those thirty pounds… Her mouth moves around, lips and tongue seeking other locations to play with as a hand sneaks over my right breast and closes around it.

In this moment I don’t care if she has a husband or a wife or a whole string of lovers on the coast. For now, she has all of me.

Her mouth closes over my nipple again. I writhe as the scraping of her teeth against it sends another shock into my overloaded clit. Then her other hand slides over my butt. Fingers trail forward, beginning to explore my sex. My hips shoot upward as she caresses the exquisitely sensitive nub.

“More…” I groan. “Please, Monica.”

She shakes her head, her teeth dragging my nipple from side to side, her finger gently circling my clit. She draws her head back, her teeth tugging on my nipple, stretching my breast, and I gasp in pained pleasure.

The fingers leave my clit. I want more of their touch, not less! But they trace over my lips, then press inside and begin to slide in and out. She pinches my right nipple hard, and I can’t help crying out. “Jesus cranberry, Monica…”

She laughsplutters at that, squashing my breast beneath her face. Then she kisses the nipple before moving away from me. “Well, since you ask so nicely,” she says. Her fingers remain inside as she slides herself down my body. Her head lowers, and her tongue begins to explore.

I’m nothing but sensitive nerves now. My hips roll with the movement of her fingers inside me, and I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to. The electric spike that enters me when her tongue touches my clit is painful in its intensity, and I moan as my need builds to a crescendo within me.

Monica’s hand creeps back up my body, leaving a sparking trail of arousal over my belly. I gasp as her lips cover my clit, my back arching as the sensation overwhelms me. There’s a lance of pain from my nipple as she pinches it, and it shoves me over the edge. I cry out wordlessly as my body explodes. I clench around the fingers within me, the contractions of my climax hard and fast. Her fingers release my nipple, caressing my breast as her tongue softly circles my clit.

As my spasms lose their power, she withdraws her fingers. She looks up to me for guidance, and I reach for her hair and gently tug her face away. I’m not one of those women who can tolerate her clit being touched after she comes. Especially after coming as hard as that. She nods and moves back up the bed to lie beside me.

I want to know if she’s married, or has a partner. Is she cheating on them with me? After the thought hit me a few minutes ago, I think it has to be true. But I’m not going to ask, because I’d screw up the chances of spending more time in bed with her over the next two days.

“Are you married?” I ask. Oh, fuck that outer voice.

She laughs. “Babe,” she says, “we’ve known each other for half a day, and we’ll be going our separate ways tomorrow. Don’t you think it’s a little early to propose?”

“I’m not proposing,” I say, sounding offended. “You know that. I don’t even want to know the answer, except it’s too late to unask.”

“I’m quite single,” she said. “I don’t have time for a girlfriend. Certainly not for a wife and family.”

“Or a husband?” I ask.

“Babe, that ship sailed when you were still in diapers.”

“Hey, now, you’re only six years older than me.”

“Okay, that ship sailed when you were in elementary school. It’s what turned my asshole brother against the family, when Mom wouldn’t let him bully me for being gay. I sometimes wonder,” she muses speculatively, “if Heather would have had an easier life if I hadn’t come out. Driving him away probably drove him deeper into his Jesus cult.” She chuckled and turned her head to see my face. “Speaking of which – Jesus cranberry?”

I shrug. “I don’t know where the words come from, they just come out sometimes. I was… not really in control.”

Monica smiles at me. “I noticed that,” she says.

“If you don’t even have time for a girlfriend,” I ask, “how do you keep that incredible body in shape?”

“I do CrossFit,” Monica says. “I can keep my workout schedule tight. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now.”

Aren’t those the gyms where everyone’s having affairs? I keep my inner thoughts inside this time.

Monica sees through me and responds anyway. “Yes, I know the reputation, but I avoid drama.”

“It works well for you,” I say. My eyes skim the naked woman beside me. “Your workout works for me, anyway.”

“Inner thoughts again?” Monica asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t care if you know I think your body is goddess-tier.”

“You say that, but you’re the one who made me come so hard. Will you spend the night with me?”

My stomach lurches. “I’m in danger of my inner voice embarrassing me again, so I’ll just say yes. How about I collect you for dinner and leave my bag?”

Monica stretches. Oh my funky God, don’t do that. “It’s time to start getting ready, isn’t it? So you’ll be back here in two hours?”

I slide off the bed and retrieve my bikini. “Yeah, I will,” I say. I slip on the bottoms, then wrap the bandeau top around myself. Before I can fasten it, Monica takes the strap and hooks it in place.

“Thanks,” I say, then groan as her hands come around and squeeze the cups. My nipples are still very sensitive, and her touch sends a thrill of arousal through me.

“It doesn’t seem too oily,” she says, smirking as I turn around. “Had to check.”

I slip into the towel robe and flip flops and leave her room.

I take a quick shower to lose the last of the massage oil and any scent of sex, then spend most of the next hour trying to get my hair into shape. After swimming this morning and ignoring it in hot tubs and steam treatments I don’t have much hope of styling it, and the best I can do is create a facsimile of its normal waviness.

My dress is a gold two-piece, a narrow gap between the top and skirt. It’s high-necked with a deep back. I squeeze myself into it, then into my nude hose and heels. I pack a bag of casual wear for tomorrow, extra underwear, toothbrush and necessities. It’s like having a sleepover at high school. Except that sleepovers didn’t include sex.

Well, okay, some did, but that was later. Our parents never figured out why their daughters looked so smug in the morning.

I show up at Monica’s room with five minutes to spare. She greets me wearing hose and a strapless bra.

“Nice outfit,” I say. “I might even set my reservations aside and ask you to dance.”

Monica glowers at me. “Help me into the dress, please?” She asks.

I do. It’s a deep green strapless thigh-length dress, and it looks incredible on her. I zip it up, feeling the muscles under her curves, and marveling at how firm they are. Then I caress her ass for good measure. She gives me a raised-eyebrow mock glare before giving her face a final touch-up and slipping into her heels.

The whole group, the wedding party and the four of us hangers-on, are at a single large table. Hannah, beside me, is the only one not in a dress. She’s wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and red Western tie. Though she is wearing heels.

Given some of the stories I’ve heard of bridal parties at the weddings of some of our friends, this has been remarkably drama-free. But, apparently, not entirely so. Kayla regales us with Allison’s missteps in rescuing a damsel in distress. The girl she’d mentioned at lunchtime had accidentally enmeshed her in a plan to avoid a scheming parent, and now Allison was obliged to sit with another party and play the part of the girl’s besotted girlfriend.

Allison being, of course, the one straight member of the wedding party.

Moments after Kayla finishes sharing this, Allison shows up with her captor, a pretty dark-haired girl in a red velvet dress, who apologizes profusely for taking Allison away from us, which was a terrible way to reward Allison for saving her from a predatory mom. Allison seems amused with the whole fiasco.

After Allison and the pretty girl leave, Tiff suggests kidnapping her. We could walk up to the table and carry her back. No one takes her seriously. Hannah leans close to tell me, sotto voce, that it’s par for the course, both for Tiff’s suggestions and everyone’s reaction. When Heather suggests that Allison looked too amused to want rescue, Tiff suggests that we kidnap both of them.

When the excitement dies down, I turn to Monica. “You said you were at medical school. Are you a doctor?”

She nods. “I’m an ophthalmologist. I’m with a small independent practice.”

“That’s the one that does laser surgery, right, not glasses prescription?” I ask.

“Right, and other medical diagnosis and treatment. I can prescribe your glasses, too, but you won’t usually want to pay my prices, unless there’s an insurance reason for your visit.” She frowns. “Eye surgery really isn’t great dinner conversation, though. What do you do? You said you worked with the brides?”

“Not directly,” I say. “I’m in marketing.”

“Ohh,” says Monica. “Is that a creative use of your… talent for muddling words and letting your inner voice escape?”

Hannah wants examples. I’m not going to tell her about the therapist jealousy, because that would lead to awkward questions about what we did with the information, but I think I can remember the others. “Umm. One was calling Monica an amazon. I was definitely thinking that one. The other was calling myself a spa virgin. And Monica liked my modified blasphemy, Jesus cranberry. Sorry about that one,” I say, since Hannah is a churchgoer.

She shrugs. “I see the point. I don’t think they’ll market a product.”

“Right,” I agree, “but sometimes one can strike a chord.”

“There was God-fucking too,” Monica interjects. “I don’t think they’ll use that as a slogan, either.”

I give Hannah an apologetic smile. “That was just OMFG though,” I say.

I don’t tell them about Jesus crust, with or without bagels, but then that one at least stayed inside. I think. I do tell Monica that Hannah is training to become a vet, and she commiserates with her over the intensity of medical studies and the added stresses of working with animals. “My job can be high stress,” she says, “but it’s rarely traumatic, unless I’m dealing with cancer.”

“Isn’t that your friend?” Monica asks, a little later. We’re drinking coffee, having sunk a few bottles of wine between the ten of us. The dance floor is becoming more crowded. The band is playing a swing number.

She’s right. A dark-haired girl is spinning and flipping a shorter redhead, who is definitely Allison. I point her out to Anita, and soon the whole table is watching. They look like they’re performing an exhibition, they’re so good.