For a moment, Greta wondered if she’d been too forward. They’d had an electric connection when they met, and Greta wanted more of that. That didn’t mean she wanted to swap cute nicknames, but it did mean she was still thinking about Lee—and not just sex. Conversation and sex with Lee both sounded good.
So did naughty puzzle games.
Or public sex.
Or… a lot of things. The mysterious woman from DC had filled Greta’s fantasies since they met.
There was something intriguing about the woman with the book tattoo and obvious fondness for secrecy, the sense that if they actually talked they’d get along with their clothes on. Not everyone in DC was in politics, but Greta could see Lee working for an advocacy group, as a progressive lobbyist, or even at a research think tank. Maybe law? Lee was obviously clever and discreet, and she had the money to pay the Sappho’s Kiss Society membership fees. That meant she didsomethingthat paid well.
As much as Greta didn’t know if she was ready to try actually dating, she admitted that she felt a lot closer to ready when she thought about Lee. Maybe it was time to try again. Maybe she ought to broach the subject with the sexy woman who was commanding and secretive.
Greta’s notifications chimed again as she put aside the manuscript she was reading, drawing her into the present.
Lee:Are you at home?
Marie:In bed reading.
Lee:Something good?
Marie:Hot lesbian romance.
Lee:Oh? Where are your hands? Show me.
Greta paused at that. This had taken a sudden turn, and she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to risk on an app.How blunt is safe on here?Sure, she paid for privacy, but what if Lee ever found out who she was? She didn’t seem like she was the sort of person to ruin a woman’s reputation, but people could surprise you. Tasha was supposed to be forever, had claimed she needed the security of a ring even though Greta wasn’t ready, and then she was the one who panicked and moved out.
Lee:(If this isn’t a thing for you, that’s okay. I have just been thinking about you, too.)
Marie:What were you thinking about?
Lee:A make-believe party where you are riding my face again.
Marie:Please.
Lee:Send me a picture for now.
Marie:Of?
Lee:Something to inspire me.
Greta weighed the thought of it. As long as her face wasn’t in it—or the book she was editing—a picture was harmless.Right?Lee looked almost her same age, and there was nothing improper about two consenting adults exchanging selfies over a secure app designed for sexual connections.
Greta rolled over so her chest was against the mattress, arched her back slightly and tugged her shirt lower. She wanted the camera to capture cleavage but no nipples, and then held her arm out and took several shots. She picked the best one and clicked send. Then she deleted all of them.
Lee:Gorgeous. I love your breasts.
Marie:Thank you. I grew them myself;)
Lee:Shall I worship them tomorrow?
Marie:I do like worship.
Lee:Your body is made for it.
For a moment, neither one replied, then Lee messaged, deleted it, messaged again. The thought of sentencesnotsent was maddening for Greta. She wasn’t exactly Pandora with a box, but she was immeasurably curious, more so when she knew someone was self-censoring what they said to her.
Marie:What are you not sending?
Lee:I want you to touch yourself for me. I want to see.
