Page 90 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
“I’m one finger in,” Skye gasped, meeting her hips begging for more. “So wet for you.”
“You’re teasing yourself,” Celene called out. She had no family members to worry about in her apartment, the luck. “I can start like that once I get my hands on you.”
Skye scraped nails into her sheets, her pillow, absolutely no control over herself. The wet sound of her rubbing spurred her on harder. “Please come back. Come to town and give me your tongue again, give me everything, Celene. Ugh, let me ride your face.”
That did it. And Celene’s orgasmic cry should’ve come with a disclaimer, some warning recording. Harsh and labored, and on the wings of a long, drawn-out exhale. Skye hadn’t ever heard such an unrestrained, passionate moan.
Free, it sounded so free of the stress that plagued her.
Skye unleashed a moan of her own as she came, louder than anything she’d suppressed tonight. She panicked a little, then relaxed when no hall lights came on. “Oh my god.”
“I swear, you’re a gift,” Celene drawled out. Orgasms must leave her a little sluggish, and it’d be amazing to experience that in person. Where they could hold each other, swapping words and kisses. “Luce may put out a search warrant because I don’t intend on letting you leave.”
As she caught her breath, Skye grinned. “I won’t want to leave.”
“Imagine it. Long, languid mornings with my mouth between your legs. We’d order out, have conversations filling in the blanks of our years apart. We could spend hours in the sunshine, or lounging in my bed until I’d need you spread open again, giving me those sexy moans.”
That swelled something heavy inside Skye; her heart thrummed under her feverish skin. All she could utter was, “I’m glad I foraged that day.”
Celene’s laugh was sluggish, too. On the verge of falling asleep—a detail Skye would keep in mind about their sexy days. “I’m starting to think no matter how, something would’ve drawn us to each other. Like always.”
Secure in the night, Skye loosened her hold on those emotions. Happy tears wet the pillow at her cheek as she whispered, “Yeah. Like always.”
22
Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin.
Celene spoke to her phone, asking it to define the differences between the three. She needed some reasoning, some justification for this boost. The hormone that guided her hand to her alarm, hitting the snooze. It was a mostly unused button, relegated to days sick in bed. This time, she sloshed in her sheets with the satisfying slothfulness after an episode of pleasure.
Last night, she’d hoped Skye would be down for phone sex, but damn, did they surpass her expectations. Celene yawned through her messy hair, going right into deep belly breathing, thoughts on her girlfriend’s barely concealed moans. She cycled through supine stretches, twists, and knees-to-chest hugs until her body woke up for a good day.
Then, she got a call around 1 p.m. from Mavis, and it soused her into a cold pool of reality.
Bringing her to Harlem on a treadmill. In the inclined setting, determined to chase any feel-good hormone. She already missed it. Instead of agonizing on her own, she trekkednext to a willing workout participant.
“Byron plays pickleball and that’s the extent of his fitness.” Shanice Vale toweled her brow on the neighboring treadmill, groaning. “He could stop skipping breakfast. Or drink more water. He’s so attentive with Theo, but the man doesn’t sleep enough.”
Hearing someone else’s criticism of her father stroked a smile upon Celene’s face. “He’s a creature of habit.”
Shanice laughed, tossing the towel to catch onto the treadmill handle. “Don’t I know it. New fatherhood spooked him.”
With Nadine at the office, Celene’s list of confidantes was rather short. Though divulging to a mother-in-law was unorthodox, she knew Shanice valued their time together, giving her a new mom break.
Mavis’s call. She sighed as the treadmill flattened to the jogging stage. Celene’s necklace beat onto her chest rhythmically, timed to her pace. She’d grown to love that built-in speedometer. Shanice picked up speed, a couple of long braids escaping her ponytail.
At this hour, the gym Shanice chose contained about ten other people milling about or lifting weights: the calm before the rush of gymrats later. Celene eyed the sitcom playing on an overhead television. If other people weren’t checking it out now and then, she’d turn it off. Just pointless when all one needed was music or the sound of their breaths. Licking her lips, Celene asked, “How’s Theo?”
Shanice smiled like she always did whenever someone brought up her bouncy baby. She’d sent Celene a video of him doing a squishy dance to the radio. It was cute, watching him find the beat. “Your brother just got over a bug, so he’s good.”
Nobody ever prepares a daughter for her father introducing a woman twenty years his junior. Celene hadn’t been immune to the murmurings of power dynamics, intentions, andfinances on both Byron and Shanice’s parts. The six-year gap between Celene and Shanice made them peers, thus presenting boundaries she’d yet to fully understand.
Mentioning her baby must’ve activated a mommy mechanism. Shanice swiped to check for calls on her phone secured on her stand, then, in her absurdly casual way, cupped her breasts through her tank. “Let’s talk about someone else. Bringing up Theo is triggering my letdown.”
“Do you need some privacy?” Celene looked around for a restroom sign. Leaking milk seemed like a waste, not that she had ever experienced this problem.
“Thanks, no.” She pointed to her tank top, at her black sports bra underneath. “I’m wearing nursing pads, and I’ll feed the little one after this. Anyways, how’s Skye? It’s Skye, right?”
Considering her and Skye’s intimacy last night, the supreme keening of Skye coming only for her, Celene thumbed the treadmill console for more speed. “She’s good.”
