Page 105 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
“I need to see more of you.” Demand wove into Skye’s words, in opposition to her pleading tone and unrestrained need in her eyes. Bold, as if she weren’t one tug away from complete exposure. To push her point, she nudged Celene with her knee to step back, to comply.
These bursts of a daring personality intrigued Celene. Opposite effects of them—when Celene became more secure, she acquiesced. When Skye experienced the same, she hopped onto the counter, mouth parted in anticipation.
Balance. So very balanced.
Celene had been tactful, choosing the loose button-down in case things took a sensual turn. Her fingers didn’t shake—no matter how much being wanted gave her a buzz. Button by slowly unfastened the button, she watched Skye’s breathing labor. Teasing her slender fingers along the seams, Celene grasped the tails of the blouse and revealed her body in a slow parting. No bra. And panties she’d chosen with intention, thegreatest compliment being how Skye obviously wanted them forgotten on the chilly 80s tile.
Sparing seconds to reconnect, Celene dove into a rougher kiss, one teetering on desperation. And she couldn’t bite back her gasp when she slid her hand under the towel, making contact with a trail of wetness on her thigh.
“Fuck,” Celene panted onto the closest half of Skye’s pouty lips, confirming the distinct consistency of wetness that had nothing to do with the shower or her sweat. “Is this mine?”
When Skye spoke, she sounded close to hyperventilating. “Yes. Please.”
Celene smirked. Ah, the boldness right out the window with the humidity. “Yes, please, what?”
Skye arched forward in a jerk, kissing the edge of Celene’s ear. “Please lick me.”
“God. Gladly.”
Tearing away the offending towel, Celene then dropped the blouse, in critical need to tilt Skye’s thighs up with both hands and stake her claim. The angle her body bent to accommodate the counter’s height went secondary to getting her fill, sweeping her tongue in spirals that had Skye grapple on Celene’s forearm in an impressively tight grip. Bottles clinked, maybe perfumes knocking over as she expended every part of her mouth in Skye’s wetness, the pliability of her labia, the taste of her entrance, the sensitivity of a clit that got Skye to beg for climax at every purposeful scrape of her teeth.
Celene could quit. She’d quit her job correcting jerks to live off her savings if it meant spending days and weeks performing oral on Skye Florentine. Just the thought of completely devoting herself to satisfying her girlfriend made Celene’s fingers move between her own legs, pulling her panties aside first. Slickness on her face, slickness between her legs. Overwhelming. Too overwhelming, grounds for a hoarse moan into Skye’s center.
The sound of her self-pleasure must’ve tipped off Skye. Her free leg stroked restlessly onto Celene’s shoulder as she whispered, “Please tell me you’re touching yourself.”
Knees fighting weakness, Celene moaned, “I am.”
Skye leaned further back, making soft contact with the wall and the mirror. “Let me see.”
Jesus. Celene pried her lips from her obsession with a reluctant whimper. Her spine unbowed as she stood straight, eyes boring into Skye’s as her two fingers strummed in alternating positions on herself, how she did to prolong the tension until she came.
A futile attempt, when Skye’s pointer and ring fingers took over to stimulate her clit. Skye closed her eyes, bottom lip seized under her teeth. Probably the way she touched herself at night, in the white sheets of that loft bed. In the days Celene gave her a reason to fuck herself.
Celene could handle this visual for a paltry number of minutes until she came in a dry, fiendishly pitchy cry. Skye’s hand sped up as her lips parted in a sympathetic moan, her dainty, unbelievable features open and lustful and unfathomably engrossed.
It took ten extremely shudder-y seconds to find her mind again, but when she did, it steered her between Skye’s legs again. Skye’s hand grappled for the counters, her short nails scratching in fits to hold onto any fucking thing, toppling a soap dispenser. Though Celene didn’t wait. Her tongue resumed in its circular caresses around Skye’s clit. And for some reason, she said, in a lengthy exhale, “Thank you for liking me.”
Skye deflated with a strained laugh. “You’re welcome.”
Quickly, Celene slid fingers still glossy from herself into Skye and immediately twisted them in gentle repetition, a technique she’d learned in their forays hours prior. The road to Skye screaming for Celene, fluttering velvet around her fingers.
They continued in their motions, now sticky outside of a shower’s doing, until Skye’s screams softened to prayer-like whispers.
Slumped and still in recovery, Skye summoned Celene with a weak wave.
Celene took extra care removing her fingers before she leaned close, expecting a kiss.
And she got that. Along with her disheveled girlfriend rasping, “You’ve drained me. Please bring me those pastries. I’ll eat them here in the sink.”
At some point in their passion, Skye’s ass wedged into the sink bowl. Celene burst out laughing, loving the feeling. Life with Skye was so fucking fulfilling. She spun in place, reaching backwards to pull Skye’s hand. “Climb on my back. I’ll feed you breakfast in bed.”
Dating Yielding’snature-loving darling enthralled Celene Vale.
Their morning in the slightly muggy air involved a walk around Lake Harrier, glittered with factoids on its two-year creation, the origin of its hawk-inspired name in Skye’s satiny voice. Orating all this was an occupational compulsion, Skye had joked, downplaying this knowledge born of fielding tourists’ questions at Luce’s shop.
Celene wondered where that self-consciousness came from—perhaps from girlfriends too embedded in the Yielder culture to find this interesting.
Well, history tours were a must in Celene’s solo travels. Stepping through untamed grass, Celene tightened her arm around Skye’s waist, telling her to leave nothing out. Knowledge was attractive.
