Page 128 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Hopefully.
Until the afternoon, Celene and Skye engrossed themselves in the “Celene lifestyle.” Stretches, the jog. Takeout brunch. Meditation for equilibrium before Celene worked through a bunch of documents, the sound machine whirring.
Celene pinched the bridge of her nose. Repetitive client intake forms and questionnaires needled at her nerves, the blatant tedium. And honestly, her impending family dinner accelerated the makings of a headache. She needed her peaceful fix.
She snapped her laptop shut, setting it aside on the couch. Trailing over to Skye on the bed, flipping through a paperback. Celene slinked to lie at her side. Smirking already, she peeked at the cover and read aloud, “The Mistress of Norwood’s Scientific Method: Book Six. Has this author not run out of ways for the Mistress to bang her way through her city’s women?”
“Oh, this one’s the best yet. She foundanotherMistress, and they’re competing to seduce each other first. Multiplechapters of yearning and frustration.” Illustrating her glee, Skye’s eyebrows twitched up and stayed that way. She waved at Celene’s plain boxes, admitting, “I tried three of your books and they made me want to rock in the fetal position.”
With a soft laugh, Celene rested her head on the comforter, batting her lashes purposefully. “Do you think the Mistress of Norwood will win the seduction competition?”
“She slept with an entire softball team in book five. I think she’ll come out on top.”
“Jesus.” Ever so slightly, she dragged fingertips along Skye’s hand upon the novel, pleased by her shiver. “Do these books do anything for you?”
“In what way?” Skye asked like someone who knew already.
Celene focused on the silkiness of her forearm, moving her own cheek upon her puddle of black hair. “If I slid my hand to check,” she started, regarding Skye in Celene’s thin lounge pants. “Would you be wet already?”
For that, Skye tilted her head in a laugh. “Shouldn’t you be working right now?”
“I warned you. I can’t concentrate with you here.” She rolled to her stomach, picture jasper charm bouncing in the fluid motion. “Read me some.”
“Are you trying to kill me?”
A flustered Skye superseded any stupid questionnaire. Dark brown eyes, softly shaped brows, shoulders peaking in her lying position.
Celene dined on her visuals, needing to know. “Do you need an incentive?”
Skye’s breath caught, like she couldn’t decide which path to choose. Her leer traveled in a slow, continuous curve from Celene’s lips to her breasts to her hips wrapped in the lightweight shorts designed for meditation and evidentlyarousing her girlfriend. When Skye’s journey meandered to completion, back to parted lips, Celene crawled over.
Propped above Skye on her hands and knees, Celene dropped her voice. So Skye would listen. “What’s happening? On the page you’re on.”
Into the white comforter, Skye aired out a swear word or two. Then, to Celene’s delight, she lifted her head to find where she’d left off. “The Mistress’s sleeping with her lab assistant to take her mind off the woman she can’t have yet.”
“Aw, that’s not very nice,” Celene faux-whined, lowering to lie flush on top of Skye. They shared hushed murmurs as she shifted her knees together, pressing into Skye’s ass. A perfect angle to keep Skye’s legs spread. “What are they doing?”
“The assistant’s riding the Mistress’s fingers. On...on the blood samples.”
“Um, that’s—” Unsanitary. But— “Is it sexy?”
“Suspending belief, yeah. Two vials spilled, but they’re so into each other, they fuck right through it.” And, to prove her point, she began to read surprisingly inspired, evocative prose with all the writhing and fluids Celene expected. Well, most fluids.
Nevertheless, Skye’s soft, unsteady voice kept Celene’s mind on the sensuality of the scene. Fair sunlight masked behind her sheer curtains, in a room arranged for restoration—and currently—pleasure. Celene and Skye’s hips moved together, each soft collision bringing them closer to one of them breaking, losing control.
With a firm clench on the sheets, Celene licked the curve of Skye’s ear and purred out an extended, raspy moan. She did it a second time, wiping strands of hair off her tongue. Much like the unhygienic Mistress and her assistant, their arousal pushed all minor inconveniences aside.
Ever the trooper, Skye continued to read. Celene rewarded that with hands gliding up and down her back, a display of deliciously taut skin. And Celene could only handle doing that for a few minutes until her sexuality took hold, inching around to knead both breasts.
“No bra,” Celene gasped, drunk on curved softness.
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Skye replied in a callback to their fake dating times. Felt like years ago.
Celene kissed the back of her head, breathing in the earthy, sweet scent of Skye’s hair. These new heights of affection dictated the strokes to nipples stiffening to points. Tweaks considerate of their pressure, circular motions made for both the physicality of foreplay and as veneration to her skin. Irredeemably aroused, Celene murmured, “Read more.”
The nipple treatment pushed Skye’s uneven narration, stumbling when her head kept bobbing to the side. As if she wanted nothing more than to give in to the pleasure. To give license for Celene to take her out of this torture.
That morning, after a night of steamy, prolonged intimacy, Celene and Skye woke up before her alarm, naked and on the same turned-on plane. Skye hadn’t broken eye contact as she slipped a hand beneath the covers and used those dexterous fingers to deliver the most expertly swiped orgasm for Celene to quiver through. Leaving Celene to go down on Skye, engaging her mouth in a marathon of climaxes until their phones told them to start the day.
