“Is this okay?” I ask, sinking my fingers into her curls and giving them a tight grip. I tug gently, possessively, the light touch sending a hot pulse of pure, unadulterated need straight through me.
“Yes. Use me. Show me how to make you come like this, please.”
A low moan rumbles through my chest. Fucking hell. She’s so damn sweet like this, pliable and desperate to please me. I could get used to having her at my mercy.
Although, who am I kidding? She’s the one who has me at hers.
Without another word, I gently shove her head back down and allow her to continue her ministrations with her tongue. Again, I let my moans of pleasure guide her along with a little help from my grip on her head, guiding her face and lips in just the right way so I can grind to meet her licks and sucks. Delilah is an excellent student who must have been paying close attention last night. I didn’t realize I’d been teaching her, but she picked up on my moves and uses them on me like a pro.
She alternates between long, slow licks of my whole pussy and tight, focused flicks against my clit, allowing me to get so close to the edge I think I might burst before pulling back. Delilah is a tease, and I tell her as much between wanton moans and frantic breaths. Her silky tongue is the ultimate balm to my aching clit, dragging me higher and higher as she pulls on the knots in my stomach. She sucks on my clit and I’m right there, so close to coming that I think I might cry and Delilah knows it.
She spears my pussy with two fingers and crooks them forward, massaging my inner walls and sending me spiraling. Everything inside me tightens to a breaking point and then unspools all at once, sparks of pleasure ricocheting throughout my every nerve ending. I can feel my wetness seeping past Delilah’s fingers and the slow, gentle way sheworries my clit with her tongue, nudging me through the endless, overwhelming release.
When I finally return to earth, I glance down between my legs to find a rightfully smug and proud-looking Delilah staring back at me, my arousal glistening on her swollen, pink lips. She lowers her face and presses the softest of kisses to my clit. It’s so earnest and tender that it nearly brings me to tears.
“You,” I breathe, reaching for her and fumbling awkwardly until we’re finally face to face. “Are a fucking natural, Lilah baby.” And then I kiss her as she smiles brightly, cleaning the taste of me off her lips.
After I return the favor—twice—we stumble out of bed and to the kitchen, where Delilah sorts through the discarded stack of this week’s mail and I get started on breakfast. I’ve just poured the liquid eggs into a pan to start a scramble when I hear a fist slam down on the table top.
“That motherfucker,”Delilah hisses between her teeth. I quickly turn off the burner and push the pan to the back of the stove so the eggs stop cooking. She’s leaning over the table with a letter in her hand, looking like a sexy, pissed-off sixties housewife in her silky yellow robe and her hair tied up with ribbon on top of her head. She presses a hand to her forehead,and one of the under-eye patches she wears in the mornings slides down her reddening cheek.
“What is it, Lilah baby?” I ask as I round the table and put an arm over her shoulder. But one look at the letterhead at the top of the paper gives me all the answers I need.
“It’s Earl. That son of a bitch isactuallysuing me for custody.”
19
THAT'S A BIG 'IF'
DELILAH
If I never see the inside of Mason & Mason Family Law again in my life, it will be too damn soon. Granted, this is only my second time sitting in the office of Leonard S. Mason Jr., the lawyer I chose to represent me in my divorce, but still. Handsome and kind as he may be, I’m over needing his company.
I should be more grateful. Mason & Mason is the best family law firm in the state, and it’s not easy to come by an hour of the young Mason’s time. I’m lucky to have an in with a few local celebrities, Jay and Keith McKenna who live up on the mountain that towers over the town of Fox Hole. Jay was the star quarterback for the Knoxville Crushers back in the nineties, and their son, Dean, holds the sameposition on the same team now. Dean and I were biology lab partners back in high school, and my brother is friends with his sister. A million years ago, Leonard Mason Sr. was the McKenna’s lawyer on an at-the-time groundbreaking (in Tennessee, anyway) case that allowed both Jay and Keith to become legal parents to their children and have worked with the family ever since.
I was not too proud to name-drop when I reached out to Mason & Mason after I left Earl, and thank the heavens for that. If that motherfucker thinks he’s getting full custody of my kids, he’s out of his fucking mind. I have, however, tried to stop myself from thinking too much about the McKenna men and their journey to becoming a family. I can’t help but wonder if their case all those years ago will have set the precedent that allows Ivy and me to be mothers to our children…
Agh! No. I have to stop. I can’t let myself put the jam before the jar, so to speak. Ivy and I have only slept together once. We haven’t had a second to breathe and discuss what it means. I mean, sure, I thought I laid it all out on the line before I put the moves on her, but what do I know about discussing a potential relationship with another woman? I’m used to men who I’ve had to ease and sort of trick into a commitment. Men are easy. Just leave somestuff in a drawer at his place, start making his haircut appointments and washing his underwear for him, and bam, he’s your boyfriend before he’s any the wiser.
I thought being straightforward with Ivy was the way to go. That’s what my gut and my sister-in-law-to-be told me to do. I asked Ivy if we could be girlfriends, and she orgasmed me into oblivion.
It was amazing, of course, but it wasn’t the yes-or-no answer I needed, and now I feel too self-conscious to ask again.
“Lilah baby, you’ve got to stop,” Ivy whispers, putting a hand on my bouncing knee. “You’re gonna shake all the fancy framed diplomas off the wall.”
“I can’t stop, Vee. I’m fucking anxious about this fucking letter,” and the fact that I have no idea what we’re doing, but I digress. “And anxiety is not good for Little Bean. I have to bounce my knee, or the entire house of cards inside me is going to crumble. I can’t force myself to care about the integrity of all the fancy framed diplomas.”
“The fancy framed diplomas are pretentious as hell and nailed to the wall. If they fall, it was meant to be. Do what you’ve gotta do,” Leonard says without looking up from the letter I brought into his office. When I called this morning, he told me he’d already received a copy of the petition in his emailbut wanted me to bring the hard copy in to check against what he has.
“Leonard, with all due respect, you’ve been staring at that letter for hours,” Ivy sighs, exasperated. It’s only been about two minutes, but I appreciate her use of hyperbole for emphasis. “How good can you be at your job if you’ve got nothing to say about a simple custody notice yet?”
“Ivy, do you remember when we had Home Economics together? I was a senior and you were a sophomore, I think. We had to take care of that annoying crying baby doll for a weekend together.” Leonard shoves his glasses onto his head, pushing his hair back and laughs.
Uh, I remember that weekend well. The fake baby wouldn’t stop crying so Ivy drowned it in the bathtub. The whole scene was pretty gnarly. I couldn’t watch as the plastic baby sputtered until the battery finally kicked it.
Ivy had to help repaint the cafeteria to pay for the cost of a new fake baby, but she showed no remorse. And I can say in all fairness, after having a human newborn of my own, a real baby is ten times easier to care for than those fake ones.
“Leonard, please don’t let the court hold Ivy murdering a fake crying baby against me. She was fifteen, and in her defense, that baby was definitelydefective. It never stopped crying no matter how many times she fed it, and postpartum depression mixed with the stress of being a teen mother surely?—”
