Danika takes it, and together, they walk the few paces to Kim’s bedroom.
Danika’s seen it before, seen the king bed, the fern-green sheets, the family photos. But since the funeral, it’s changed. The quilt is patterned denim blue, new-looking. There are still photos on the wall. She freezes in the doorway, suddenly unsure about what she might see, and her hand drops from Kim’s.
She snatches a glance around the photos on the wall. There’s one of Kim and Bella, laughing over a large bowl of pasta. Another of Bella and Cami in their soccer gear, arms aroundeach other. It must have been taken at the soccer camp that seems so long ago. There are no photos of Chris. His photos are still in the hall, the ones that had so upset her at the funeral, but Danika thinks that they no longer have the power to anger her.
And here, in what is nowKim’sbedroom, Chris has no place.
Kim comes over, takes her hand and leads her the couple of paces to the bed. She makes eye contact, and her warm brown gaze holds it as she rests her hands on the hem of Danika’s sweater. A finger dips underneath, traces the skin around the waist of her skirt. She fingers the hem of Danika’s sweater, then lifts it, bunches it in her hands. “Okay?”
Danika nods, lifts her hands and lets Kim pull the sweater over her head. She’s wearing a sleeveless t-shirt underneath, and Kim disposes of it in the same way.
Danika stands there, feeling faintly foolish in just her bra. A new bra that she may or may not have bought with this scenario in mind. Black, underwired, with a lace edging that is so much more appealing than her usual cotton things.
Kim hums, and her finger traces the top line of lace. “Pretty. But I think what’s underneath will be more beautiful.”
Danika huffs a laugh. “Flatterer. We’re nearly middle-aged women who’ve each borne a child. I don’t know about yours, but my breasts are not beautiful.”
In answer, Kim yanks off her own top and throws it aside. Her bra is the sort of practical cotton Danika often wears, a chocolate-brown colour that looks good against her skin. She unhooks it and shrugs it from her shoulders. “See for yourself.”
Kim’s breasts are fuller than her own, but have the same silver lines that breastfeeding can bring. Her nipples are larger and darker, and her breasts aren’t… Danika hunts for the right words. Perky. Jutting. Artificial. They’re soft, natural. Even a little droopy, the nipples not pointing straight ahead, but angled out to the sides.
But they are beautiful.
Danika raises her hand, moves closer, traces a line from the base of Kim’s throat where a pulse thunders, down her sternum, between her breasts. Kim’s skin is soft, and when Danika splays her hand, her pinkie brushes Kim’s nipple, which instantly puckers.
Oh! Danika drags her gaze away from Kim’s breasts and seeks her face. Kim’s eyes are slits as she stares down at herself, seemingly enraptured at the sight of Danika’s hand on her breast.
A zing darts through Danika, and she realises it’s pride. Pride that she’s brought out this reaction. She circles Kim’s breast until the final pass is a tight circle around the nipple.
Kim looks up, and their eyes meet. “You feel good.”
“You feel better.” Emboldened, she bends her head and touches her tongue to that hard brown nipple. Kim’s gasp echoes in her ears, and her fingers push into Danika’s hair.
Kim’s nipple tightens further, and Danika teases it with her tongue.
“Let me take your bra off.” Kim’s voice comes from somewhere over her head.
She straightens, puts her hands by her sides, as if she’s not sure what to do with them.
Kim kisses her again, and this time there’s an urgency that was missing before. Her fingers work around Danika’s back and deftly unsnap her bra. Danika stands straight as Kim pulls it away, and then Kim’s hands cover Danika’s breasts, Kim’s lips work their way down the side of her neck and continue until her tongue is swirling around Danika’s nipple.
Her knees jerk. It’s so intense, so fierce, so fiery, and the desire is instant. She’s wet, she knows she is, and in the pit of her belly there’s that hollowness of desire, the need for more.
She swallows as Kim tugs her nipple between her teeth, lightly scraping as she did earlier on Danika’s skin. But this time, she feels iteverywhere.It’s as if her skin is a sheet of flame, super sensitive, burning with the need for Kim to cover her, possess her…fuck her, fill her, kiss her, taste her.
Love her.
She stills with the suddenness of new emotion. No, that can’t be right.
But it can be, and it is.
There’s no time for her to process this flash of knowledge. Kim straightens and meets Danika’s eyes as she pushes down her loose, nubbly pants, taking her undies with them. Kim bends, pushes them down, off, away, her socks and Birkenstocks with them, and when she stands, it’s just Kim in her skin, her hair still bound in its wispy plait.
“Too much? Too soon?” Kim’s hands fist by her sides, and a line forms on her forehead.
“No,” Danika says, her voice hoarse. Her eyes drift down Kim’s body. Over the breasts she now knows, over her slightly curved stomach with the familiar silver lines. A brown line runs from her navel down. Danika’s gaze traces the line of her full hips, her thighs, curvy with muscle. Her shins with a soft dusting of sun-bleached hair.
Then up again to the juncture of her legs, where there’s a patch of brown curls.
