My flurry of anticipation breaks when something soft—featherlike—caresses my clavicle. The sensitive skin goosebumps, and a shiver travels up my spine.
She leans in and whispers. “I figured out what ‘SM’ means. Care to know?”
I lick my lips. She opened the black box with the red bow without me. I can’t help the mischievous grin forming. I probe my mind for the most salacious answers, but say none of them. “What?”
“Sapphic Mischief.”She laughs. “There was a lot more than a feather and a blindfold inside that box. So many things that I have yet to try.”
A light sensation, so careful it barely touches my skin, travels the borders of my tank top, tickling the valley of my breasts and then traveling down my arms.
“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” she confesses.
She doesn’t have to explain which one. It’s etched in my mind too. A kaleidoscope of images of my hand around her neck while I voraciously kissed her against the hotel door circles my mind. I remember the feeling of her wetness through her clothes when my leg pressed between her thighs. I’ll never forget the way she begged to taste me or how badly I wanted her that same instant. And certainly not how hard I came with just a few flicks of her tongue.
I return to the present. We’re both winning at this tantalizing game of sensory deprivation. My breathing shallows and my other senses enhance with each featherlight stroke.
I empty the air in my lungs when the tip of her tongue teases the spot on my neck that she knows gets me every time.
The feather seems out of the picture now. My hand lifts from her waist, and the next thing I feel is her warm breath and wetness as she puts my finger in her mouth. The vibration from her delicious moan when she wets it sends jolts of desire from my fingertip to my already throbbing pussy lips.
The same hand moves down between our bodies, underneath her sundress, and the pulsing between my thighs skyrockets when I discover she’s not wearing panties. She doesn’t have to show me what to do next.
Our mouths fuse together. I spread my legs wider, granting me more access by opening her further as well. She gasps when I ease a finger into her, then another, coating them with her wetness.
She gasps. I thrust harder, yet slowly and with determination. I wish I could see her face, the little flush in her cheeks when she’s close.
“Caroline,” she pants my name, triggering my other hand to grip her hips and rock her forward.
“Fuck,” I growl while I’m tugging her into my measured, forceful thrusts. “I can smell how much you want me.” She’s soaked. We both are, and we’re only getting started.
“I’m going to come all over your fingers, aren’t I?”
She’s taunting me to go faster. I can hear it in her voice. We both know she’s well aware of the answer.
Instead of giving her what she wants right away, I press my thumb on her swollen clit and switch my rhythm to slow and steady circles. This cramped position is making my already burning forearms ache with more pain, but I’m not stopping.
Just as I increase my speed, her hand slides past the elastic of my pants and underneath my boy shorts. My legs drift as wide as hers on top let me, to offer more space for her hand. She wastes no time gliding a finger into me, reminding me of her impatience.
My eyes roll at how good she feels inside me. We work simultaneously, rowing at a steady pace. When I sense her lips close to mine, I trap her moans with my mouth, and our tongues explore.
I curl my fingers against the sponge inside. Her moans turn to high-pitched whimpers, and her muscles clamp down on my fingers as I continue. With a few more flicks of my thumb, her whole body tenses. Her teeth sink into my shoulder to suppress her scream of pleasure as her juices flood into my palm. Her final thrusts against my walls combined with the sensation of her climax launch me over the edge. I dig my fingers into her hips and cry out, any self-consciousness getting thrown out the window.
We continue kissing while I ride the tremors flowing through my body. Her legs are hot against mine. I know they're tired like mine. We extract our fingers and she rests her head on my shoulder prompting me to wrap my arms around her waist. I hold her limp body and appreciate all the little noises she’s making that tells me she’s satisfied. Her exhausted giggle makes me smile.
After a couple of minutes of listening to her breathing, my heart rate returns to normal. The fabric covering my eyes gets removed. I blink to gather my bearings, and when my vision comes into focus, Basil’s hooded eyes are all I see. Beads of sweat on her forehead tell me she’s deliciously spent.
She looks me in the eyes. “I don’t have all of the answers, but I know I don’t want this to end.” She places a tender kiss on the lips, then my nose and back to my mouth. “That’s how I feel.”
I think for a moment. Everything I told myself I wouldn’t do with my target, I did. My lips did. My tongue did. My heart did. Thoughts of the case long gone, I kiss her again and offer a reassuring smile. “It won’t.”
She climbs off my lap and returns to sitting next to me. We settle on taking pictures even in our sweaty condition. I don’t think we’ve giggled this much in one day before. During the last photo, using a finger, I tilt her chin toward me and brush our lips together like it’s the last kiss we’ll ever have.
We part, and she lifts from my lap and stands. She grabs the strip of photos and holds them up. “You’re adorable and photogenic. I think we make a cute couple.”
My smile widens, and I take the strip of photos and slide it into my pocket. ”I’ll keep it safe from the rain.”
“I feel like I should make a ‘Slippery When Wet’ joke.” We laugh as she adjusts her dress, flatting the front to get rid of the evidence of the naughty things we just did. All I know is I’ll never look at a photo booth the same again.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Juliette, I assume. The reminder that I should be staying away from Basil—yet here we were. Checking the notification sooner than later might be a good idea now that I’m in the hot seat for challenging Juliette and then hanging up on her. I think of an excuse and hope Basil doesn’t question. “It might be better if you walk out first in case someone heard us.”
