As if on cue, Hazel opened the door to the bathroom, making Clem turn. She hadn’t bothered with putting clothes back on, a fact Clem was grateful for. Hazel’s body was strong, with fierce muscles softened by curves. Her breasts were heavy and full, and Clem wanted nothing more than to explore them, to find out the places that made Hazel gasp.
Clem perched on the edge of the bed. Hazel stood in front of her, and Clem put her hands on Hazel’s hips. Hazel’s skin was impossibly smooth, and Clem leaned forward to place a kiss on her hip. “Is that vanilla?” she murmured. “How do you smell like vanilla? I don’t have anything with that scent.”
“It’s a holdover from the cookie.” Hazel’s voice was husky. Her hands came to Clem’s shoulders. Her fingernails bit into Clem’s skin as Clem traced the tip of her tongue along the crease in Hazel’s hip. She knew she’d have crescent moon marks later, but she didn’t care. She almost looked forward to seeing what marks were left on her body after tonight.
She pulled, and Hazel’s knees bumped the edge of the bed. When there was nowhere else to go, Clem tugged once more and Hazel sat on her lap with a gasp.
“Well, this is fun,” Hazel said, her voice breathy.
“Yeah, you are,” Clem agreed. She wasted no time in catching one of Hazel’s nipples in her mouth. Hazel’s hands fisted in Clem’s hair, tugging and sending sparks through her scalp. She flicked her tongue over Hazel’s nipple in response, grabbing Hazel’s ass as she ground against Clem.
Clem laughed in surprise as Hazel surged forward, forcing her back onto the bed. Above her now, Hazel grinned, then set about scrambling Clem’s mind with her deft tongue and eager hands.
Hazel was greedy in all the best ways. The pressure built in Clem until it burst forth on a strangled cry. Before she could come down, Hazel dove in again, driving her higher this time. Clem couldn’t bear it, couldn’t take this pleasure that hit like a knife’s edge. But Hazel demanded it of her, and Clem’s body gave whatever Hazel asked of it.
Finally, having climbed higher than she ever had before, Clem came apart, exploding like the starbursts in her vision, her body heated and glowing like the Christmas tree in her living room.
“Oh. My. God.” Clem could barely speak over the pounding of her heart. Her breath came in gasps. “That was …there aren’t even words for what that was.” Hazel stretched out beside her, languorous and smug. Clem looked over at her and wheezed out a laugh. “Do you know how hot smug looks on you?”
“I mean, I took the form you would find most attractive, so I can hardly take credit for that.” Hazel seemed unconcerned by how dismissive that came out.
Clem furrowed her brow. She pushed up onto an elbow and stared down at the sprite in her bed. “No. That’s not true. Smug is intrinsic. It wouldn’t matter what your outsides looked like. That feeling — the way smug melts into the essence of you —thatis what’s hot about it.”
“The way smug melts into the essence of you …Clementine Baker, you could write some popular books with that sort oftalk.” Hazel grinned up at her. Clem reached up a hand to sweep a lock of hair from Hazel’s cheek.
“Honestly, I would love to do that.” The words burst out of Clem before she could stop them. She sighed, then ducked her head, suddenly bashful.
Two fingers touched her chin, gently urging her to look back at Hazel. “Tell me.”
“I don’t think there’s too much to tell.” Clem said. Hazel had already rocked her world several times over, but somehow this felt even more vulnerable. This was touching something close to her center, the very core of her being. Clem had wanted to be a writer — a published author — since she was a kid. Ages ago a teacher had seen the sensitive student who used fiction to tell her truths, and had encouraged her to write more. It had ignited a dream inside Clem: the hope of connecting with people through her stories.
She didn’t think she could tell all of that to Hazel, though. She had only just met this woman. Clem flushed, thinking about all she had done with someone who was barely more than a stranger.
“What’s the blush for?” Hazel asked, reaching up to touch Clem’s cheek.
“Oh,” Clem faltered. “I was just thinking about tonight.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but something about it felt wrong. “And how I don’t even know you. I mean, obviously I know you, but … you know.”
“I know,” Hazel said with a soft smile. She tapped Clem’s cheek. “Tell me about the writing, ” she repeated.
Normally, when people asked about her stories, they did it in a way that made Clem feel deeply vulnerable — too vulnerable to tell the whole truth when someone asked her about what she wanted to do.
But something about the way Hazel said it made Clem’s heart shiver. This was someone who would listen to her and wouldn’t laugh or judge or demand to read her work. Clem drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, then started speaking before she could second guess it.
“I work a pretty soulless job. I mean, I think it’s soulless, but the rest of my department is all in on it. But I work in the fundraising department of a private school that probably doesn’t need to fundraise.”
“You ask people for money?”
“Not me, specifically. God, no.” Clem shuddered. “I break out into hives just thinking about it. But I do the email marketing and data management for the department. And write ups. I do the feel-good write ups in the quarterly magazine.”
“Why is it soulless?”
Clem sighed. She was being unfair. “It probably isn’t actually. But I don’t think the culture of the place meshes with me. I mean, they wouldn’t be okay with me dating a woman, that’s for sure.” She sighed again, and shook her head. “And it’s not like I’m doing anything no one else can do. So those things combined make work more drudgery than delight for me.” She twitched a shoulder in what was meant to be a shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t fit in. I think that’s the problem.”
“And you would fit in with writing.”
“I think so. I mean, it’s the best, right? You get to create worlds and characters and when people read your work you are connected to them — even if just for a moment.Ifpeople read your work, I guess,” she corrected.
“Is anyone reading your work?” Hazel propped herself up on an elbow. “Have you written anything for anyone to read?”
