Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (novels to improve english .txt) 📗

Reached out with pointer and index finger to touch Wendy’s throat. Felt her swallow. Heard her sigh. She drew her fingers down Wendy’s body, between the swell of her breasts and the slight ridges of her rib cage, down the center of her belly and her navel and the fine, rich hair that waited to net her fingertips. Wendy breathed like the waves coming in at high tide, sweeping out as far as they could, then sucked back in just as far. Janet took her fingers away before the hair darkened into black. Wendy bit her lip before she forced herself to open her mouth again. Her lips curled into a coo next.

“You like being touched with two fingers,” Janet said smugly.

“Yes, Ms. Lace.”

Janet reached around Wendy—the action pulling her close to Wendy’s body, so close that her coat touched to Wendy’s—and she drew her fingers down Wendy’s back. There was muscle just below the skin, muscle packed hard with tension, and Janet petted it firmly, pushing into the corded tightness. She thought it would be very good to massage Wendy, some day. To take her from this rigidity into absolute softness. But right now, she lived for how pitched Wendy’s breathing was.

She dropped her hand to Wendy’s ass, groped it suddenly, remorselessly, and Wendy’s mouth fell open and there was a keening exhale, unexpected and all the stronger for it. Wendy rubbed her thighs together. Janet wondered if that was how fruit felt before it was harvested.

“I didn’t say you could move.”

“I’m not moving, I’m just…getting comfortable.”

Neatly, nicely, Janet wiped her hand on Wendy’s coat. It’d gotten a little damp with Wendy’s sweat. Then she reached down and fitted her forefinger to Wendy’s sex, like she was placing a key at a lock, and it felt like she was touching an ocean.

“Jesus,” Wendy moaned, her breathing peaking and twisting and turning, as Janet fingered the lips of her sex to one side, to the other, seeing how it opened for her, how it welcomed her in, how it wanted her with such intensity that even Wendy couldn’t quite show it all. Except by this. Except by touch.

“We’re not so different… I like to be touched this way, too.”

Janet took her hand away. Wendy whimpered and Janet put her finger to Wendy’s lips, felt them quiver, felt them part, felt Wendy suck as Janet fed her finger to her. When she took her hand away again, Wendy was moaning. She didn’t even need to be touched.

“Did that taste good?” Janet asked.

“Yes, Ms. Lace,” Wendy answered, just between pants.

“Do you think I’ll like it?”

“Yes, Ms. Lace.”

“Do you think it’s good enough for me?”

“Yes, Ms. Lace, please, Ms. Lace…”

“Do you want my hand?”

“Yes, Ms—”

“Will you come if I give you my hand?”

“Yes—”

“Will you scream when you come?”

Wendy could barely speak, she was breathing so hard. “I’m screaming right now, Ms. Lace.”

Janet smiled. She didn’t know how it was she could think this woman was adorable when her finger was still wet from Wendy sucking herself from it, and yet… “Do you know how wonderful it is just to touch you?”

“No, Ms. Lace.” Wendy met her eyes. “Show me?”

Janet touched her where it would feel as good for Wendy as it would feel for her, thumb on her clit, palm on her cunt, four fingers between her legs and under her and almost lifting her up. Giving her heat and pressure and touch, almost everything she needed to come, but Wendy would have to put up the friction herself.

“Fuck my hand,” Janet told her.

Wendy did. Rushed against Janet almost hard enough to knock her over if she hadn’t been so firmly planted, trapping her hand between their two bodies, rutting against it, pleasuring herself on it, plunging herself down to Janet’s rubbing thumb and her clenching hand and the moisture she herself was spilling on Janet’s palm, everything warm and wet and beautiful for her, and Janet felt it in the palm of her fucking hand when Wendy came, felt her throb, felt her clutch, felt a little liquid rush skip between her fingers, one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, goddamn, either I’m that fucking good or she has been waiting too fucking long, then it stopped and Wendy went boneless, held up only by Janet’s arms around her and body against her and then a whispered command in her ear: “Stand the fuck up.”

Wendy whimpered—practically sobbed—and got her feet under her. Janet put a hand at the small of her back and walked her, on tender feet, to the bed. Wendy collapsed there as if she’d runfrom New York instead of flown.

“Did I scream?” Wendy asked.

“You moaned,” Janet replied. “That’s enough for now.”

Somehow, Wendy managed to raise her head. “Ms. Lace?”

“Janet,” she corrected, getting a bottled water from the minibar. Wendy had earned it.

“Janet,” Wendy said, her voice cracking as she relaxed with the game’s end. “Can you put your arms around me again?”

“Uh-huh.” Janet took her glasses off and lay down beside Wendy and held the bottle as she took a long drink. As soon as she’d finished, Janet screwed the cap back on, dropped the bottle off the side of the bed, and fit herself to Wendy like she was another layer of clothing against the cold.

Wendy moaned sweetly. She put her hand over Janet’s on her body. “I’ve always believed that it’s better to say this early than too late—I love you.”

Janet kissed her. From the way Wendy returned it, it seemed like enough. It seemed like more than enough.

It felt bracing, having Wendy sleep against her, so comfortable, so at ease with her. Like a puppy falling asleep on Janet’s lap. Yes, it seemed odd to think of her as ‘adorable’ after what they’d just done—or, looking at the clock, what they’d done an hour ago. But she couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.

Janet enjoyed it implicitly, but she couldn’t quite trust it. It felt wrong. She knew it was just nerves, the flight, the presentation, but it