Can't Get Enough (2 page)

“Sleep well?” I inquire, masking the grin that wants to burst all over my face. She sports a sexy bed-head, short black hair pushed up by sleep, and her athletic body is only covered by a skimpy pair of shorts and a crumpled tank top. No bra as far as I can see—and I’m looking.

“On and off.” Barefoot, she pads over to a chair and pulls it back, her eyes searching for coffee. “Still getting used to the bed. It’s strange coming back here after so many years. Everything is different now.” She pours herself some coffee and stirs in two teaspoons of sugar. “Have mum and dad left me in your care?” She fixes her blue eyes on me, as blue as the sky reflecting in the water of the pool, and smiles. Her hair is starting to come down and a strand falls over her eyes. She has one of those unevenly cut hairstyles, short in the back and longer in the front.

“I promised them no harm would come to you.” I suppress the urge to make her a sandwich, the desire to look after her and make her forget about her sudden break-up.

“Sorry they kept going on about Lionel last night.” She crosses one leg over the other and cradles her coffee cup in the palm of her hand. “They can get carried away sometimes, and honestly, if you want my opinion, you’re way too hot for him.” She winks at me and I’m sure it’s meant innocently but I have trouble taking it that way. I don’t blush easily, but I feel the heat creeping up my cheeks.

“I know they mean well. They just want to keep me from turning into an old maid.” I accompany my statement with a little chuckle.

“I’m sure you don’t need John and Helen Archer’s help with that.” She gives me a once-over and, if I’m not mistaken, fixes her eyes on my cleavage for a moment. “You must be fending off advances.” The sparkle in her glance fills me with joy. “A woman like you.” She says it as if it’s an irrefutable truth and I try not to beam too much.

“Oh, stop it, Catherine.” I flutter my eyes. “You’re making me blush.”

“Mum may disagree, but I have impeccable taste in women.” Suddenly, her eyes get cloudy and I can see her mood darken on her face. “Although I could be a better judge of character, I guess.”
 

There’s that pain again. I want to make it go away, kiss it away if I have to. Or even if I don’t have to. I get a grip on myself and push these nonsensical thoughts to the back of my head. My day’s already been made, anyway. Five minutes of semi-flirting with Cat is all it takes.

“Do you want some eggs?” I want to do something for her. It’s stronger than myself. “Some toast, maybe?” I also want to get her mind off Jenny.

“I’ll wait for lunch.” She drains her coffee and stands up. Already, I feel the emptiness. “Let me clear this off.”

“I’ll take care of that.” I rise out of my chair and stand next to her, her body heat glowing against me. Simultaneously, our hands reach for the same plate and when our fingers collide sparks shiver up my spine. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was falling in love.

“Come on, Rose.” She turns her face towards me and her mouth is so close, her lips so curvy. “You’re saving my holiday. Let me at least do something.” Our hands are still touching so I don’t want to let go of the plate. I peer into her eyes and my heart starts throbbing again, the same senseless thudding as the night before when I put my hand on her knee.

“Let’s do it together.”

“Deal.” Cat lets go of the plate and focuses her attention on the rest of the table. Tires hiss as a car pulls up on the driveway. The moment is gone. It was good enough to hold onto for a while.

* * *

In the afternoon we’re all lounging by the pool. I peer over my sunglasses as Cat swims laps, her strong shoulders gliding in and out of the water. The drops cascading down from them every time she comes up for air stir a funny sensation in my belly. I can’t wait for the moment she exits the pool, her skin all wet and her muscles pumped from exercise. John and Helen are dozing in the shadow of the oak tree and I imagine they aren’t here. I picture Cat pushing herself out of the water while pinning her eyes on me. She walks over to me with long confident strides and the drops of water falling out of her hair stain the book I’m reading. She bends over and places a moist hand on my neck.

“Come here,” she says before pressing her lips against mine. “This has been a long time coming.”

She takes the book from my hands and tosses it to the side. She pulls me down on the sun-bed until I’m flat on my back and straddles me, her wet bikini cooling my thighs. She kisses me again as if it’s the most natural course of action, as if there’s no other conceivable way for us to spend the rest of the afternoon. With wet hands she cups my breasts, stiffening my nipples. My blood races through my veins and I’m ready to surrender.

“Drink?”

“What?” I open my eyes, which I appear to have closed in the midst of my fantasy, and find Cat towering over me, a towel wrapped chastely around her body.

“Oh sorry, did I wake you?”

I scold myself for having missed her exit out of the water. And also a little for the inappropriate thoughts flooding my brain.

“I was just resting my eyes.” The lesbian detective book she lent me sits in my lap. It’s not half as saucy as I wanted it to be. “I’ll have a G&T, please.”

“Never too early for that.” She shoots me a sly smile and heads into the kitchen. I catch my breath and am aware of the throbbing between my legs. I sit up and compose myself. Helen and John are still snoozing. I berate myself for wishing my dear friends weren’t here. I just really want to kiss their daughter. 

John and Helen visit me every year, so I’m used to their company. Cat hasn’t been here since she was a teenager and having her around has unsettled me. I haven’t been myself with all this daydreaming I do about her undressing me, taking charge of me, really. 

“Here you go, madam.” She thrusts a large G&T into my hand. The towel has descended to her hips and I have to pull my gaze away from her wet bikini top. As the drink cools my throat, I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my mind. I haven’t experienced this kind of instant attraction in years. I rack my brain for explanations but always come up empty. I’ve known Cat since she was sixteen, since she was a rampant tomboy with a mouth that—to Michael’s delight—drove her mother crazy. When I’m in London, I see her at least once a month, and never has even the slightest inkling of this kind of inappropriateness surfaced before.

She settles on a deck chair a few feet away from me and leafs through one of Helen’s Hello Magazines. Her wet bangs cling to her forehead and I’m eager to continue the fantasy I was indulging in before she interrupted, but I can’t do it when she’s sitting so close to me. Too much reality is mixed in with the dream.

Her skin is already turning golden-brown, setting off her blue eyes even more. She doesn’t have the typical pale British complexion that goes red after two hours in the sun. Instead, there’s a darkness about her. Not just in her looks—her hair and her tan—but also in her brooding air. Although bruised—her affair with Jenny was not the first that ended badly—she still has that easy-going flair of youth. A flexibility that seems to diminish with age. A nonchalance that drives me crazy.

I imagine what I would say to her if I had free reign. If John and Helen weren’t her parents and it was just the two of us here, in the sun-drenched garden of this house I inherited from Michael. Would I go up to her, put my hands on her neck and whisper something in her ear? Something outrageous like, “I need you to fuck me now.”

“Are you all right?” Cat catches me staring at her and I don’t avert my gaze. Surely I deserve a bit of fun.

“Perfectly.” My voice sounds a bit hoarse and I quickly sip from my drink.

“You look a bit flushed. It’s not the book, is it?” Her smile is so disarming. I do wonder what got into Jenny that she ditched Cat for someone else. Clearly, it doesn’t make any sense. I want to tell her she didn’t deserve to get cheated on, that it’s ludicrous, but I know it’s not my place.

“Heavens no.” I shake my head. “My drink must be too strong.”

She looks at me as if she knows I’m hiding something. If only she would punish me for it. Pin my wrists to the chair with the palm of her hands and stare me down. At some point, I will need some chastising.

“Please, excuse me.” I have to walk away. I need to remove myself from this explosive situation before I burst a vein.

“Sure.” Carelessly, she turns her attention back to her magazine and my heart breaks a little.

I walk into my bedroom and close the curtains. I sit down on the edge of the bed and pant as if I’ve just run half a marathon. I scan myself in the mirror and hardly recognise the person sitting there. I recognise the familiar face, of course, and my curls rioting in all directions. But the passion in those eyes, that blatant want, is completely foreign to me. I nod at my reflection and I know it’s time for something I haven’t done in a long time. 

I shuffle backwards onto the bed until my body is totally supported. I pull my legs up and let my hands wander between my upper thighs. I’m surprised by the heat glowing through my bikini bottoms when I let a finger slide over the seam. I realise I’ve neglected certain body parts for years, willed certain desires to take a back seat. I can’t explain why Cat seems to be the catalyst for this sexual awakening I’m experiencing, but the fact of the matter is that just watching her has made me so wet I can’t ignore it. I need to do something about this frustration that hasn’t reared its head in seven years but has now decided to ambush me with unstoppable force.

I can’t stand any fabric covering my swollen pussy lips anymore and tug off my bikini bottoms. I close my eyes and think of Cat. Her smile and the occasional sparkle in her eyes. I dream I am the cause of her pleasure, that I make her smile, make her feel better. I imagine her eyes peering down at me as her hands discover my body, as her fingers play with my nipples.

My clit is rock hard and pulsing for attention. When I dip a finger between my pussy lips I discover my wetness and, although expected, the heat of it still surprises me. I screw my eyes shut and envision Cat’s finger doing to me what I’m doing to myself. I bet she’d do it better. I bet she has some secret lesbian tricks that would make me come five times in a row.

“I’ll fuck you,” I make her whisper in my ear. “It’s all I wanted to do since I arrived.”

I flick a wet finger over my clit, cautiously, but with plenty of determination and pretend Cat makes me moan with pleasure. I’m at her mercy. She can do whatever she wants with me as long as she never stops, as long as she keeps doing it and I can go back for more.

“Oh Cat,” I grunt, and saying her name sparks bursts of electricity to pop in my veins.

“I want you so much, Rose,” I have her say, while I imagine her fingers going deep.

From the depths of my gut, a fire builds and spreads through me, enflaming my muscles and skin. I nudge my clit quicker and quicker, to the rhythm of the sparks dancing in my belly. My muscles contract and I toss my head back into the pillows. My mind focuses on the image of Cat holding out her hand for me earlier. Instead of offering me a drink, she holds it open expectantly, her eyes forcing me to follow her into the bedroom. Drops of water rain down her shoulders and crash down onto the fabric of her bikini.

My clit and fingers are so wet from my juices. If only it was Cat’s tongue setting me on fire like this. Cat’s tongue there. The mere thought of it pushes me over the edge. I come while I mutter a muffled cry for Cat. My orgasm spasms through me and, though satisfying, I already know it’s not enough. It will never be enough as long as it’s not Cat giving it to me. Because it’s too blatant to ignore, I’m ready to acknowledge my desire for her. I don’t need to know why, don’t need to analyse the origin of this madness. I just need to do something about it. If I boil everything down to its essence, which I’m more than willing to do, we’re both single adults and we don’t need anyone’s approval. Now all that’s left to do is seduce her.

* * *

On Saturday, John and Helen’s thirty-seventh wedding anniversary, I set my plan into motion. I convince Cat’s parents to enjoy their special day by themselves and take Cat on the road with me. She appears relaxed when we cruise down the country roads, happy even, or at least content in the moment. I make myself believe it’s my company perking her up. I need all the confidence I can get for this.

I start things off in a relaxed manner by taking her to a winery where I engage in some innocent flirting and Cat, to my delight, has no apparent qualms about flirting back. We get a little tipsy but sober up before continuing our odyssey. I drive her to a secluded spot near a small forest where Michael asked me to marry him. It’s quite significant for me to, of all places, take her there. But I feel as if I need to make an emotional investment. I’m not half-hearted about this. For the first time in many years I’ve found the freedom to give in to my desires, to needs buried along with Michael, and I refuse to question my motives any longer. This is no time to hold back.

We share a bottle of wine I brought in a cool box. I try to keep it casual but automatically, as if I have no control over what comes out of my mouth, I tell her about how Michael proposed to me here. It adds a graveness to the situation, a solemnness I wasn’t really going for. In all honesty, I have no idea what I’m doing. I suppose I sort of believed the moment would present itself.

When I take the bottle back from her, in desperate need of a few more gulps, I let my hands rest on hers. She doesn’t immediately retract, which I take as a good sign. My heart thumps in my ears. I wait for her to look into my eyes and I know it’s now or never. I mentally prepared myself for this moment all week, for this split second in which I change my life.

I let go of the bottle and cup her right cheek.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” I trace my fingers over her ear and feeling her skin on my fingertips makes me gasp for air. I scan Cat’s eyes for a sign of something—hopefully surrender—and wait for her reaction.

“Have you ever kissed—” she starts.

“Does it matter?” I cut her off. There’s plenty of time later for questions like that. I just want this moment between us to develop into something more—a kiss, at least. I’ve been dreaming of her lips for days, been touching myself with a frequency I never even deemed possible because of them. “I want you. I think that’s obvious.” There. It’s out in the open, in the glorious mid-afternoon Tuscan country-side no less. There is no better scenery for this kind of romance—or pent-up lust, if you will. I’ve laid my cards on the table. I’ve said the words. My heart is in her hands now.