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

weren’t on her hips, that she was exposed, that she was seen. And Janet quivered for her—knowing it.

And there was her pussy. The soft fleece of her hair, the gentle parting of the lips—an invitation Wendy couldn’t refuse. She leaned in, already knowing she would love this part. Licking lightly at Janet’s folds, kissing along the contours of her groin, the sensitive space between her legs but outside her sex where a woman was so rarely touched.Wendy loved this almost more than the penetration, the taste—before that, the sweat.

Past teasing, going into foreplay, the little space for just the two of them where she could shower Janet with affection. Not fucking her, not quite, not yet, just pleasing her. Showing her how she was loved. And when her tongue slipped farther and farther from her control, when it started to explore the moist part in Janet’s labia, felt the beginnings of the pressure inside her… God, she tasted so good…

Janet started to shuffle, shifting her weight from foot to foot and trying to take the dress all the way off. She was either not liking how the dress trapped her arms and blinded her eyes, or was ill at ease with how much she did like it. Wendy thought it was the second one. Janet had been wet before she’d even started.

She clamped her hands on Janet’s hips, stilling her. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

Wendy could’ve sworn she felt Janet clench from six inches away. She went a little harder, just a little harder—long, slow kisses on her core, crushing her lips to it, letting her tongue push just a little more insistently inside. And Janet welcomed her, hot and tight and wet and ready.

Wendy brought one hand away from Janet’s hip, keeping the other on her waist as a reminder to hold still, and she took her fingers to Janet’s sex and she petted it, gently, softly, letting it learn the feel of her fingertips on every curve, every fold, every glorious inch. She only touched, she didn’t press.

She loved the part before, the luxuriating in Janet Lace, but how could she decide between that part and this? Between wanting her and having her? Both ached sumptuously—wanting her meant she didn’t have her, but having her meant an end to that delectable tension, the clarity of her lust.

No, she loved all of it, from joking with Janet at the door to this. And she loved just the feel of Janet as she pushed her fingers inside; as her tongue settled in a lazy curl on Janet’s clit, so hard, so needy; as her fingers climbed the inside of her, all tense, all taut, and found that secret little place where Janet’s pleasure lived.

“There you are,” Wendy whispered into her cunt, and felt her, and felt her, and felt her.

Whatever resolve Janet had, and it was considerable, it broke in the face of this final, undeniable summit. What had mounted inside her had grown too large to deny and she let out a cry of sheer, shocked, satisfied surprise. Janet went all liquid around Wendy, and Wendy loved it, and caught her even before her knees started to buckle.

She helped Janet out of the dress. She laid her down on the floor, to pant and open her eyes and realize where she was. And once Janet’s eyes were open, once the ecstasy had faded enough for her mind to come back, Wendy kissed her.

She loved it with the dress in the way. But she loved it a little more when it was just Janet—undeniable, indescribable, overpowering Janet.

“That’s how sweet you taste,” she said as she pulled away—and watched Janet lick her lips.

Janet took a deep breath, pleased, girlishly bright, and put her hand on Wendy’s cheek and mouthed three words quickly, quietly. Then kissed them into Wendy’s lips.

And then, in a fit of motion, Janet was back on her feet, pulling her panties up, throwing on the casual clothes she’d laid out. “Now we are going to be late.”

Wendy looked around, not quite wanting to watch Game of Thrones with her fingers smelling like—there was hand sanitizer on Janet’s vanity. Of course there was. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “I mean, not only are we both women, but we were only at third base.”

Janet tied her scarf into something intricately simple. “You’d better drive. If you make me laugh too hard, I could crash.”

Wendy scooped up Janet’s keys and handed Janet her purse. “Okay then. Tally ho.”

And just as she started for the door, she felt Janet’s hand in her hair, jerking her head back just roughly enough, sharp teeth at her ear: “Next time you pull a stunt like that, you’d better have a few hours to spare for you to finish the job. Just so you know.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Lace.”

“Good,” Janet said huskily, and released her, hand dropping down to slap Wendy’s ass. “Now, please hurry,” she concluded, all business once more. All crazy-hot business. “Punctuality is a sign of respect, you know.”

Wendy hurried before her. She didn’t know if she loved Power Dyke Secret Kinky Librarian Janet Lace more than Spy Undercover At A Caviar Tasting Party Janet Lace, or taking a little sip of a kiss from Janet versus the overpowering truth of really kissing her. But she definitely liked being topped by Janet just a little more than doing the topping.

After all, she’d already done that tonight. Wouldn’t want it to get old.

ABOUT GEORGETTE KAPLAN

It was never easy for Georgette Kaplan. She was born a poor child in Mississippi, where she still remembers sitting on the porch with her family, singing and dancing around her. After learning she was adopted, at the age of 21 she hitchhiked to St. Louis, where she worked at a gas station and in a traveling carnival. After a shooting incident at the gas station, she decided to quit and pursue her lifelong dream of a career in writing. She now lives back in Mississippi with her life partner