Page 34 of Windlass

Angie closed her eyes. Stevie was doing this to her intentionally. When she dared to open them again, that smirk was back.

“I bet you did.” Angie was aware her tone had slipped fully out of the range of anything remotely platonic. “This is a new side of you.”

“Not really.”

She didn’t miss the accusation insinuated in that response. Not really, as in:You’ve just never pushed me far enough to find out.

“Did you end up dating her?”

“We hooked up a few times, but no. I don’t really date much.”

She’d noticed, and had never asked, worried the reason had been her. Worried, too, that the possessive jealousy she’d felt on the few times Stevie had gone out with someone would be obvious. She asked now. “Why?”

Stevie hesitated. “I don’t get easily attached.”

Angie’s desire cooled a degree or two. There was a warning there, whether Stevie meant it to be taken that way or not. How many of their friends had warned Angie not to mess with Stevie? Not to hurt her?

But what about Angie? What about how much this hurther? Yeah, Stevie was attached. She knew that. Everyone knew that. Could they not also see how Stevie wreckedher?

“Hmm,” she said. “Me neither.”

They stared at each other. Angie did not pretend to draw, anymore. Her body vibrated with tension, and beneath the almost painful arousal was a little thrill of fear.

What now?

“Me neither,” Angie had said.

Stevie looked down at Angie, who had stopped sketching in favor of gazing up at her with parted lips, chest rising and falling rapidly. The pulse point in her throat fluttered to match Stevie’s own. God, she wanted to feel it beat against her tongue.

The only thing keeping either of them from tumbling was inertia. Someone had to make the first move. Angie wanted it to be Stevie. She could tell by the breathless anticipation in every line of Angie’s body, in the way she’d tilted subtly forward, eager, willing, the gap of her tank top illustrating the effects of her quickened breath. Stevie couldn’t help looking. Angie’s chest flushed beneath her gaze. Pushing her back against the couch would take less than a second, and then her mouth could claim that curve of skin—

Some remnants of restraint surfaced. Angie would not pull away. Not tonight. Not right now. Not . . . yet. The distance would come, however. Like a prophecy, she saw Angie averting her eyes in the hallway. Angie, calling Lana, retreating further and further into herself and away from Stevie.

No, Angie needed to come to her.

Fuck.

The motion brought their faces less than two feet apart. Stevie held eye contact as her hands scooped up her shirt, pants, and underthings, not bothering to check if they were all there. She hesitated. Angie’s lips parted further, showing a hint of tongue, inviting Stevie to part them the rest of the way. The pounding of Stevie’s pulse in her ears was deafening. She heard Angie’s breath catch in her throat with a little whine.

That whine ignited a darker lust. With it came not calm, precisely, but an intensity of focus she’d only ever felt in the safety of her dreams. Yes, she could take Angie right now, and it would be everything she’d dared allow herself to imagine. But if she stood, holding Angie’s gaze, and left—

“Did you get what you needed?” she asked Angie.

Angie managed something that might have been a word once. Maybe.

“Happy to help out again later,” she added, daring herself to stand. Angie whined again, the sound barely audible as Stevie briefly stood over her. Angie’s eyes fell to Stevie’s cunt, and it was the most exquisite torture to watch her wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Stevie’s body clenched at the suggestion, but instead of pulling Angie’s face against her, she placed a finger beneath Angie’s chin and tilted her face to look back up at her.

Angie’s eyes were all pupil. Stevie would drown there if she stayed much longer, and that would undermine the restraint she was miraculously showing.

No, Angie could wait. Angie could lie awake tonight, wondering how Stevie tasted, and see howsheliked it.

“Goodnight, Ange,” she said, and as the name left her lips, she dropped Angie’s chin and walked away, the thrill of control headier than any drug she’d ever taken.

Chapter Seven

Angie woke up soaking wet, and not just from dreaming about Stevie. She spluttered, twitched when a drip landed beside her ear, splashing her, and then gave a belated squeal.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by a knock.

---