Page 106 of Harvest of Sighs (Thornchapel 3)
“I should probably get going,” Rebecca says, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are on my body instead—where the water trickles over my shoulders and down my breasts to drip off my nipples. Her fingers curl in on themselves, like she’s trying very hard not to reach for me, and I see the quick dart of her tongue as she licks at her upper lip.
Warmth—so unlike the churning, cherry-shaped heat I’ve been feeling all day—floods me. I feel hot and alive in a good way, in the best way, and suddenly I want Rebecca more than I want anything. I want her to curl her fingers into me, I want her to lick me.
I sink to my knees again, and this time it’s not because I can’t walk. This time it’s my choice.
When I kneel to the woman I love, I exist again. I get to have feelings that aren’t cherries, I get to have choices that aren’t escape or survive.
“Don’t flirt,” Rebecca chides me. But her pupils have dilated into liquid pools of hunger, and she takes a step closer.
“It wouldn’t take long,” I whisper, peering up at her from under my wet eyelashes.
She laughs, and a dimple I almost never see flashes in her cheek. “Since when has not long with you ever been enough for me?”
I smile up at her, sliding my knees apart so that she can see between my legs.
Her eyes drop to my pussy and her smile fades into a hungry expression. “I thought I told you not to flirt.”
&nbs
p; “Can you blame me?”
“I have an appointment.”
I spread my knees even more. “I could help you relax before you go.”
She comes closer. She’s wearing cobalt Blahnik flats I bought for her last month after I’d finally had enough of looking at the horrible wool things she normally wore. I picked them because they have a raised vamp that exposes the top of her feet, the delicate cambers of her tarsals and metatarsals, and even now I want to lean down and press my lips there. Show her my devotion.
But then she lifts her foot to step forward and panic flares through me.
“Stop! You can’t get those wet!”
Rebecca laughs again, a low, throaty ha. But she does stop, just out of range of the spattering water. “Have I finally found something stronger than your lust?”
“They’re Blahniks and they’re suede.”
“And you’re adorable and you’re ridiculous.” She leans forward enough to tug on a wet lock of my hair. “I really do need to go.”
The idea of her leaving, of not having her hands, her kisses, her pain—it sears me with abrupt fear. “Tonight then? We could play tonight?”
Her mouth twists in regret. “I’m going to be home too late to play, I think.”
I sulk. “You’re going to make me wait until tomorrow.”
“Delph,” sighs Rebecca, “I’ll probably have to work late tomorrow to make up for lost time. I’m missing this afternoon and evening as it is—”
Alarm blares through me. “Tomorrow night is the exhibition at Justine’s. You promised we could go.”
“Oh,” she says. “Right.” But she doesn’t look enthusiastic.
“Bex,” I say, trying to sound cool. Trying to be easy. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”
And I have been. I’ve been so excited to scene publicly at our club, where everyone can see us. All the submissives Rebecca has taken home, all the Dominants she’s friends with—she’d claim me in front of all of them. Everyone would know I was hers and I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore if she was . . . hiding me . . . somehow. Keeping me as a convenient fuck.
If Rebecca flaunts me in front of everyone, then I’ll know I’m not just a novelty, not just the fat girl on her boffing bucket list. I’ll know she’s proud to have me as her own.
“I know,” Rebecca says. “But there will be more nights like it soon, I’m sure.”
I can see it now—I can see how she’ll dodge the next night, and the next, and the next after it, until we never do it at all. Until she’s hidden me forever, because I’m embarrassing and ugly and afraid of cherries—
