Page 111 of Windlass

“Yes.” She sounded hoarse even to her own ears. She might have been able to resist some of Angie’s moves, but not that one. Not the promise, held just out of reach, of her mouth. If Angie kissed her, would it be goodbye? Or would it mean something more? Her hand left Angie’s and trailed up her back and over her hot skin, exposed by the cut of the sundress, feeling the sheen of sweat and the way Angie trembled beneath her touch. She was learning Angie’s body, and she trailed her nails lightly over the small of Angie’s back in erratic circles. Angie’s eyes slammed shut with a thoroughly gratifying gasp. Gloating, Stevie asked, “How does karma feel?”

“Like you have no idea how wet you just made me.”

“Jesus Christ, Angie.” Stevie sunk heavily to the grass, hand sliding down Angie’s leg for support, and then lay back to stare at the sky. Croquet could suck it. The world shimmered in time to her pulse, which might never be normal again. Her body screamed at her to pull Angie down beside her, but they were in public, and she didn’t want to explain a charge of public fornication at her next job interview whenever that might be. Besides, from here she could shamelessly see up Angie’s dress to the curve of her ass.

Also, the revelation they’d been rumbled. Also, that. She needed to address that.

But Angie wasn’t running. She wasn’t acting like a woman about to break things off or scale things back, nor was she bothering to hide from their friends. Stevie had no fucking clue what it meant.

Angie sank down beside her and rolled to face her. Dappled shade lit her face with gold-green light. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Stevie, absolutely incoherent with conflicting internal agendas: talk or tumble forever down the abyss of Angie’s pupils. She knew which she’d prefer.

“You’re really pretty.”

The compliment startled her. She was used to people talking about the attractiveness of her friends, but rarely were such comments levied at her. “Uh, me?”

“No, your mom.” Angie poked her side. Playfulness was another good sign. “Yes, you.”

“You are trying to kill me.”

“Maybe.”

“What did I ever do to you?” asked Stevie.

Angie leaned forward until she could whisper in her ear, “Well, there was that thing you did with your teeth last night . . .”

Stevie’s body liquefied. “Unless you want me to do it again right now—”

Angie, merciless, continued. “And then there was the way you looked right before I made you come for the third time . . .”

“Angie, seriously, I’m dying.”

Angie, relentless, licked her ear as she spoke, “And the way you made me scream your name into the pillow. I’ve told you, haven’t I, how the only way I’ve been able to get off for the last few years is by saying your name in my head? Even when I’m with other people?”

Angie had not mentioned this. The electrical circuits in Stevie’s brain sparked and shorted.

The feel of Angie’s body beneath her, supple, soft, and devastatingly warm; the way Angie’s laughter rang through them both; the promise of her eyes, with their curling lashes and tumultuous depths: Stevie felt each like a blow. This woman was everything she’d ever wanted.

“So I didn’t mention it?” Angie asked sweetly, her attempt at innocence halfhearted at best, and entirely coy.

Angie needed to say her name. She wouldn’t lie about that. There was no reason for it. Lana might have had Angie’s body in ways that made Stevie wonder how she’d look in an orange jumpsuit, but Stevie had Angie’s heart.

YearsAngie had said. She’d wanted Stevie foryears.

She ran out of words. She wanted,needed, to kiss her. Angie knew it, too. Her lips were flushed a deeper red than Stevie had seen in daylight, unmade-up and perfect, and her body begged Stevie with every subtle movement. Stevie made what might have been a growl or a groan or something embarrassingly likepleaseif a body could ask it without speaking.

“Tonight,” Stevie managed at last.

“What about it?”

Sex was Angie’s drug, which she took for both the high and the anesthetic.

“Angie.” She managed to muster one last milliliter of self-control. “Do we need to talk about this? BecauseI’mtrying to be good.”

“I’m okay,” Angie said quietly after a short huff of frustration. “It’s a lot, you know?”

Stevie didn’t know, not really, but the question had mostly been rhetorical. “Too much?”

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