The woman throws the covers off herself and moves to the end of the bed. In the subtle glow of the candle, Lottie looks positively inhuman in the best way. She could be made of stars.
“I’ll show you how I touch myself if you do the same.”
Marigold can hardly breathe as Lottie leans back, parting her legs and cupping her breast with one hand. Her eyes flutter closed. “I’ll imagine that this is your hand. You’re trailing your fingers down my body. You’re tracing my tattoos. I can feel your breath against my skin.”
Marigold is throbbing with need, aching for touch. Her own hand moves underneath the covers. She drags her nails across herself until she reaches down between her legs and moans.
“Show me,” Lottie says.
She obeys, tossing the covers to the floor and parting her legs. The cold air meets her wet center. A low moan hums in the back of Lottie’s throat.
“Good girl. Pretend your hand is mine. Tell me what you would have me do to you,” Lottie says, circling the apex of her thighs.
Heart racing, Marigold says, “I would beg you to tease me like this.” She rubs along the inside of her thigh, skimming the seam of her center as she moves to the other thigh. “And you would have me shaking before you finally gave in.” Her hand settles in between her legs and two fingers dip into herself. Lottie echoes, moving her own hand to her center and moaning at her touch.
“Say my name.”
She moves her fingers in and out, whimpering, “Lottie.”
Lottie leans back farther, taking her other hand to her breast and pinching her nipple. “I love my name in your mouth, Marigold.”
“I love…” she says, stopping herself. She won’t say it. She will not ruin this moment with a love confession that will not be returned.
“I love imagining your mouth on me,” she says instead.
“Mhmmm,” Lottie moans, sitting up and staring at Marigold’s center.
She pulls out her fingers, watching them glisten in the candlelight.
“I bet you taste so sweet. Like honey,” Lottie says.
Marigold brings her own fingers up to her mouth, tasting herself. She smirks as Lottie’s moan turns into a growl. Her fingers move back between her thighs and circle the most sensitive spot. Her entire body is buzzing. Every inch of her skin feels so sensitive, like the slightest touch could send her over the edge.
“Lottie…” she whimpers.
“Yes, Marigold. Say my name. Say it,” she commands, thrusting her fingers in and out of herself.
Pleasure rips through her entire body, forcing her to fold in on herself so that she can hold on to this feeling for as long as she can. She imagines that she is moaning Lottie’s name into her mouth, gripping Lottie’s wrist and keeping her hand in that perfect spot until the end of time. Every muscle in her body starts to let go of the tension that she has carried for so long. She is completely weightless and undone. Her eyes close as she sinks into the aftermath of such immense bliss.
This can be enough. Lottie doesn’t have to love her. She can love Lottie enough for the both of them if they can keep doing this every night. This is all she needs.
Fighting for air, she says, “Lottie?”
She doesn’t respond, but if Marigold does not say what she is feeling at this very moment, she will lose all her courage. “I think,” she continues, “I think I love you. You don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t feel the same. But I’m too weak to keep myself from saying it right now.”
Lottie says nothing.
“I’m sorry. Did I ruin the moment for us? I’m so sorry.”
Again, she says nothing. Marigold opens her eyes and pulls herself up.
Lottie lies on the edge of the bed, unmoving.
Marigold crawls over to her and grabs her by the chin, tilting her head toward the light.
Her eyes are open, but her stare is vacant. Blood streams from her nose all the way down to her neck. Her chest is still. No breath, no pulse.
Lottie is dead.
