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There was a sleepy kiss on her forehead, lingering but soft. She shifted slightly on her side, buckling the silky sheets under her hip. It was humid in the room; even with the lazy turn of the fan blades above her she was still warm. When she exhaled with the effort of lifting herself to look over, her grey eyes widened. Her lover was smiling down at her, not sleepy at all, proffering a cup of coffee. Her lover’s long straight hair was drifting with the breeze of the fan, caressing her tan shoulders and now tickling Angel’s hands as she reached for the cup of coffee. “Grace, you’re up. Geez, howzhyamng—” and her voice went cave-like into the coffee cup. Her beestung lips checked for heat, then she sipped tentatively, cutting off her own sentence. Angel purred, “You make the best coffee.” Her eyes rolled up to Grace’s face, a wry grin peeked out from behind the rim of the mug. She sipped again. Grace leaned down next to Angel, watching this leisurely ritual they shared every weekend. “Will you hold this a moment?” handing Grace her mug. Grace took a sip and watched Angel sit up against the pillows, rearranging her space and letting the white sheet slip down to her waist. The sound was loud in the bedroom. They both felt the tension of the next few moments start building between them. Grace readied the mug and her eyes stole swatches of skin as the sheet moved, fell. Angel’s hair was almost black, and she ran her hands through it several times. She once told Grace that it was not out of nervousness but the very feel of hair in her hands turned her on – her own, or someone’s else’s. The softer, the sexier, the better.

The heat from the mug was shifting to Grace’s hands, and transferred warmth to her thighs as she rested it in her lap. She watched Angel bounce a little as she scooted. Grace was sitting forward on her knees, now more eagerly attending to the display. Angel’s breasts curved out from under her arms, small dark nipples that, while not erect at the moment, seemed ready to share secrets. Grace had studied this beloved landscape a hundred times, and it was still a sweet joy. Heat resonated from her hands, her heart, her lap now. Angel reached for the mug again but Grace kept it back for a moment longer, watching her face. Angel let her hands fall for the moment and she pushed the remaining covers away. Her body was full, lush and soft and she rarely made a move to hide it from Grace in any way. She was tanner than usual, but still not exactly brown. She had on a pair of brightly colored bikini underwear, appropriate for summer, it seemed. Fun, sexy, irrelevant on her. Angel moved her thighs apart slightly and rested her forearms on her knees, not impatient, but reveling in the silent exchange. Grace moved the back of her fingers over Angel’s knee, a light caress. Then her inner knee, moving up only slightly toward her thigh. Angel’s thighs twitched slightly in response. Grace looked down at the cup in her other hand, and lightly let the side of it, still warm, rest against Angel’s calf, up again to her knee, the outside of her thigh. Grace’s upper lip was forming a slight mist, and her heart was beating a little faster now. Her eyes were fixed on the triangle of cloth below, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as her fingers roamed lightly elsewhere. Grace’s porcelain, sinewy body was growing taut with excitement. She glanced over at the night table and with shaky hands, she set the coffee down. Grace closed the distance between them, settling her upper body into the cradle of Angel’s legs, facing her. Her arms supported her weight as she pressed her hips into the V. Their faces were close but didn’t touch, and Angel lifted her hips slightly to welcome Grace’s lithe form. Grace was an arch; her back a curve, as she pressed into Angel, who was still supported by a pile of pillows. Angel looked up at Grace, who then shifted so their eyes locked. The intensity of their connected gaze becomes a firestarter, and each of them cannot breathe for a moment. Their lips meet, soft, just barely touching at first. The only noise was the shifting of bedsheets and their skin touching, not touching. Like skipping stones across silken waters.

Grace moved her hands over Angel’s ass, bare and warm under her fingers. Angel wiggled her hips and smiled into Grace’s shoulder, kissing there. They locked their gaze and Grace eagerly pulled off Angel’s damp panties with one hand. She slowed her pace and ran her fingers over Angel’s torso, then to her waist, then moving her thighs apart impatiently. With a deep sigh, she looked at her pussy: dark, dark triangle of trimmed hair that faded to deep pink. The sight gave her chills every single time she was gifted with Angel’s naked body. She stopped and studied the way she glistened with excitement. The smell of her filled the room, a musk of roses, fresh bread and coffee that she wished she could bottle and wear at her neck and on her wrists every day. It drove her wild – she dreamed about the smell of her when she was traveling away from home. She gestured for Angel to lay back, so she put her hand behind her head and gave her a gentle push, adjusting her legs for her. She lay prone, a fucking patrician goddess, who watched her watching her. Whenever they fucked it seemed as though the cosmos shook lightning and thunder and wildflowers into their room. She was dizzy with desire and passion and so leaned down for a deep kiss, running their tongues together. Angel was reaching for Grace’s hand, but Grace held it fast against the bed. She whispered, “I need to be inside you. It’s a need, do you understand? I need to taste you, feel you quiver under my tongue. I have butterflies again. Do you know what you do to me, Angel? Please let me in.” She touched her cheek. “Come to me, Gracie.” Permission granted, there was no more rein-in. She was on fire and nearly apoplectic with wanting. She moved Angel’s thighs apart impatiently and brought her tongue down onto her clit, running it along slowly, then faster, hearing Angel’s short gasps above her. She shifted and darted her tongue into her pussy. She gathered herself up so she was on top of Angel, watching her face as she rolled her fingers over her swollen, wet clit. Grace shuddered. She wondered if there was anything sweeter than that moment when penetration was inevitable. This was a moment that drove them both wild. She watched her face as she delicately entered her, feeling the warmth, the wet, the tight welcome. She waited, breathing heavily, with Angel quivering under her hand. Then overcome, moved her whole body with the next thrust. Moaning loudly, Angel gripped Grace’s shoulder. Grace cried out, nearly orgasmic herself. One finger became two, and she made deep strokes, the soft wet sounds that made her want to take Angel to the brink quickly, yet wanting it to last forever.

~

Grace went back downstairs to the kitchen and thought about the night before. She lifted a small piece of ice from the cup on the counter and held it to her lips. Her white blouse fanned open as she moved. Opening the drawer, she grabbed a spoon and decided to make a drink. Reaching for the cream out of the fridge, then bending to the area under the sink to get the kahlua, she poured one from each hand, combining the two into a mudslide. A strong one. God, how she missed Angel. She hated feeling so insecure when the woman was on the road. Angel travels for work, that’s what she does. Grace can take care of herself as she’s always done, but she’s never fallen so hard for someone before… never looked into another soul and saw such peace and desire, all in one. It was a very vulnerable feeling – to be so capable and strong for everything and everyone else, yet to be at the mercy of this one other, this woman who makes her quiver under her touch, whose smile brings her to her knees, and in general, makes her feel weak. It’s scared her for months now, everything is joyful and yet gnaws at her. Can she trust what they have?