Winter Jacket (22 page)

"Where does she think you are when you're with m
e or when you spend the night?"

"I don't know.
She's my roommate, not my keeper. I just text her when I won't be coming home so she knows I'm okay."

I looked down to our enjoined hands.
Her fingers were a marvel, long and sturdy-looking, yet still feminine. "Are you going to text her tonight?"

"I could." Her grey-blue eyes narrowed, lids looking heavy. "Remember that s
ex tornado from earlier today?"

"How could I forget?" I felt flushed just from the memory.
 At her prompt I easily recalled how wet she'd been for me. I wanted to be with her again, but properly naked this time.

"The tornado was one-sided."

"I don't mind." I didn't think of myself as a stone butch at all, but getting to touch her had been enough. "Besides, we didn't exactly have enough time to do anything about that."

She gave me a small smile, bashful as she dropped her gaze. "How about now? Do we have enough time?"

I cleared my throat.  “All the time in the world.”

She slowly licked her lips; I watched the trajectory of her pink tongue and suppressed a shudder thinking of all the things I wanted her to do with that tongue. “Why don’t you t
ake off your granny panties and finish that drink so I can return the favor?”

I quirked an eyebrow
and brought the beer bottle to my lips. "You know very well I don't wear granny panties."

A smile started at the corners of her mouth and slowly took over her entire face. "What do you have on right now?"

“Why should I tell you?” I felt like playing hard to get after all the taunting I’d endured when we were taking things slow. 

Her lips pursed. "I suppose I could just check for myself." Her voice had taken on a low burr that told me she had no intention of asking for permission.

She stood up and took my beer bottle and set it out of the way on the coffee table.  She repositioned herself so she was straddling my lap. I gazed up at the nimble form practically floating above me.   She brought her hands to her own firm, upturned breasts, cupping the small globes in her hands.  I gaped in awe and released a low groan at this overtly sexual creature now tweaking and pinching her own nipples through her sheer top as she began to grind against my pelvic bone.  Hunter Dyson was giving me a lap dance.  This certainly wasn’t what I had expected from my understated former student.  I clutched her upper thighs and attempted to sit up.  But refusing my attempt to reclaim dominance, Hunter placed her hands on my shoulders and pinned me flat on my back.

“Patience,” she admonished. She grabbed onto my wrists and pinned them against my sides. “I’ve been imagining this moment for far too long.” 

I was never very good at following orders, but for her I stayed still.  This was a new side to Hunter that I'd never experienced before, and I was pretty sure I was totally into it. Even though I self-identified as a Top and a bit of a Dom, there was something truly delicious about surrendering and giving up control to someone else. I couldn't ever be a full-time bottom— it wasn't in my personality—but I could relinquish this to her for the night.

She breathed heavily, directly into my ear, and I squirm
ed and began heavy breathing of my own.  I groaned when she slid the tip of her tongue up my neck to my right earlobe, which received prompt attention from her chewing and nipping mouth.

She
dipped her head and covered my mouth with her own.  I moaned into her mouth and attempted to grind against her pelvic bone, greedily craving more stimulation.  I wasn’t going to last long.  Her hands went to the bottom hem of my v-neck top and she broke the kiss long enough to pull my shirt off.  Tenderly, gently, she placed small, butterfly-soft kisses on my collarbone. She licked and nipped at the bare skin, eliciting small sighs and moans from me.

She slid lower down my body, eventually releasing her grip on my wrists.  She kissed and licked a trail down my torso, stopping briefly to stimulate my sensitive nipples
through my bra, which grew hard under her touch, her tongue, and her teeth.

She sl
id off the couch entirely and onto her knees. I sucked in a sharp breath when her hands went to the waistband of my jeans. She deftly popped open the top button and slowly, very slowly, unzipped them.  She placed deliberate kisses on my stomach, down to my hips, licking hard at the bone that peeked out just above the waistband of my pants. 

She ran her fingertips up the outsides of my thighs and curled them underneath the
waistband, ready to remove my jeans. I was only too happy to lift my backside off the couch and allow her better access. She dragged the jeans down my thighs, past my knees, down the length of my calves, until she reached my ankles. I expected her to completely remove my pants, but she left them pooled at my feet.

She raked her short fingernails down my abdomen.
I bit down on my lower lip, hard, without really realizing.  When I let up, I ran the tip of my tongue over my lip and felt the deep indentations I'd given myself.

I heard her quietly groan as she rocked on her knees and leaned forward until her nose practically bumped against my panty-covered clit.
I squirmed against the couch and bit down on my bottom lip again.  She rested her hands on my upper thighs.  She ran them along the naked flesh of my inner thighs, and I bit back a needy moan. 

She seemed content to hover there, just over the place
where I needed her the most. She groaned again, this time a little louder and more desperate. I clenched my hands around the pliable couch material and dug in my barely-there nails. Hearing how much she was enjoying this role-reversal was nearly enough to shove me over the edge, and she'd barely even touched me.

"Please,
Hunter," came the pained whisper choked out of my mouth.  Her head snapped up to meet my gaze. Her steely blue-grey irises met my own darker blue.  Cornflower, I thought to myself. That's what they were.

"What is it, Ellio?" she asked sweetly. Her wide, pink mouth curved into a coy smile.  She leaned closer and breathed against me, warm and wet.

I made a frustrated noise and slammed my head back against the couch cushions. I wasn't used to being in this position – not in control and allowing someone else to give or deny my pleasure.  But as much as I hated getting teased, I also loved it. Anyone who gave me what I wanted right away usually didn't last too long. The delayed gratification, regardless of the situation leading up to it, was worth the delay. I could beg her to touch me, which is what she wanted to hear from me, no doubt, or I could wait it out and enjoy my torture.

I wanted to feel her hands ghost over my inner thighs.
I wanted her breath, labored and hot, tickling my skin. But more than anything, I wanted her mouth intimately pressed against me, roughly tonguing my clit through my underwear. I wanted her fingertips harshly digging into my hipbones as she pulled my underwear tight against my throbbing sex. I wanted her mouth sucking me through the narrow column of material between my splayed thighs until I no longer knew where my arousal ended and her saliva began.  I wanted her fingers urgently pressing against me, dipping as far inside me as the material would allow.  I wanted to hear the material tear and groan and stretch as she tried to pierce me deeper. I wanted to beg for it, to be desperate to feel her shove that damp swatch of material to the side, and to finally feel her with no barriers separating us.

I breathed in sharply when I felt
the sudden heat and moisture of Hunter breathing hotly over my covered skin. Her nose bumped along the length of my slit over the thin material of my underwear.  She placed her mouth over my cotton-clad sex and gently tongued my clit through the soft material.  I groaned at the sensation of the wet material brushing and rubbing against my most sensitive skin. She continued to flick my clit back and forth, rolling the nub around and breathing warm, wet air onto the covered skin.  I squirmed beneath her wet touch.  I’m sure she could sense my frustration and impatience
.

She stared hard at my body, her eyes glazed over with desire. “So beautiful…” she whispered.
  With one smooth motion, she pulled my remaining clothing past my hips and down my legs. 

When I looked down and saw the graceful sweep of long lashes, the flush bright on her normally porcelain skin, it took all I had not to grab her by the back of her neck and press her against where I needed her mouth the most.
I didn't want to scare her or make her feel inadequate – like I needed to be in the driver’s seat to thoroughly enjoy her.

Her touch was tentative, thoughtful, and delicate.
This was not the desperation of youth eager to please for fear of rejection.  It was as if she sensed that we had all the time we wanted or needed, as if she too wanted to languish over the act in case it wasn't real.  I rested my head against the couch pillow and let myself enjoy the dedicated attention.

When her fingers parted my lips and sank deep inside,
I knew I wouldn’t last long.  It had felt like a solid year of foreplay.   Two long fingers slid in and out with a dedicated rhythm. I felt the sudden wave of heat and pleasure rake over me starting deep in my core, expanding to my fingertips, and down to my painted toenails as the orgasm took over.

She raised
her fingers to her mouth and carefully licked them clean.  I unabashedly moaned at the sight of this gorgeous creature feasting on my arousal.

“Are you
sure
you’ve never done that before?” I rasped.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “So it was okay?” she asked, her tone meek.  She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up from the floor so she could return to her previous position, straddling my lap.  My hands fell easily to her hips.

I let my head fall back against the couch pillow, and I laughed at the space above my face. “It was
amazing
.
I’ve never gotten off so hard or so quickly in my life.  I kind of feel like a teenage boy now.”

Before more self-doubt or feelings of inadequacy could trouble her, I grabbed her waist and spun us, so I flipped positions with her.  She let out an adorable squeak of surprise when her back hit the couch cushions.

I let my gaze linger over her figure.  She looked flushed and altogether delectable.  “My turn,” I grinned.

++++

CHAPTER tWELVE

I woke up early the next morning and watched while Hunter continued to sleep.  I don't think I'd ever seen someone sleep so hard or be so trusting in bed next to me.  I didn't need much sleep myself and usually stayed up late working or writing and got up a few hours later to work out.  But dating someone meant spending more time in bed. I didn't mind, but it took some getting used to. When you're constantly busy, constantly at motion, it can feel strange to just be still for too long.  I'd have to get over the guilt of thinking I should be grading or working on my next book or doing something else productive.  I had a hard time shutting myself off.

I knew it was just a matter o
f time before she woke up and caught me staring, so I drank her in while I could.  Hunter’s breath fell in long, even breaths. She made the cutest little noises when she slept – not quite talking in her sleep, but definite noises. I'd also discovered that she had a habit of reaching for me in her sleep. Her fingers would curl around my bicep or her hand would innocently slip beneath the waistband of my pajama pants and rest against my hipbone, or she'd bunch the material of my cotton t-shirt in her fist.  With anyone else it would have felt suffocating. I liked my space when I slept. I wasn't anti-cuddling, but it was rare for me to actually fall asleep like that.  I could handle a few minutes of spooning before I needed space.

Hunter gently stirred beside me, her blonde eyelashes fluttering open.  When she saw me watching her, instead of getting weirded out, her smile grew.  “Morning.”  Her voice was deeper, raspier than usual from sleep.

I propped myself on my elbow.  “Morning,” I returned.

She
shifted in bed besides me with slow, careful movements. I watched her with interest. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I think Sylvia slept on me last night.
My leg is asleep." I felt her move again beside me. "I'm just trying to get my legs back without waking her up."

"She's just a cat,” I quietly chuckled. “
It's okay. If you disturb her, she'll fall right back asleep anyway."

"Do you think I'm too polite
?" Her gaze was on me, disturbingly intense and serious for the early hour.

"Because you put my cat's comfort above your own?"

"People say I'm too polite."

I stared
at her, perplexed. "There's nothing wrong with having good manners."

"I think it makes people uncomfortable. Like they don't know how to talk to me," she frowned. "Like they can't be their real selves around me
for fear of offending my 'delicate sensibilities.'"

"For what it's worth, I don't feel like that." I
rolled onto my side so I could take one of her hands in mind.  I ran my thumbs along her palm. "You're one of the most complex women I've ever met."

"I don't know i
f that's a good thing or not."

She looked so serious, I kept my laugh to myself. "I just mean that there's so much more to you than this polite exterior."
I tightened my hold on her hand. Her skin was incredibly soft. "Your personality keeps me guessing."

She made a f
ace. "Now I sound like Sybil Dorsett."

"I can’t believe
you know that reference," I gushed.

“
I spent a lot of time in my high school library over lunch periods. I found
Sybil
when I was getting lost in the stacks. I was painfully shy," she told me. "And the combination of that with my tendency to be too polite made people think I was stuck up."

The idea of this amazing
woman being taunted or feeling awkward and ostracized angered me. So many things about her made more sense.  Why she hadn’t voluntarily spoken up in my class more. Why she hadn't wanted to draw attention to herself by taking off her jacket. The scars from her past remained at the surface.

“I suppose we can’t stay in bed all day,” she sighed, looking up at the ceiling. 

“I suppose not,” I said, still thinking about Hunter Dyson – the woman she had been and the woman she was becoming.

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” she said, her voice no longer melancholy and serious. “Join me?
We could whittle away at that carbon footprint together."

Butterflies organized a mass assault on my stomach and I forgot my mental musings.  I wanted to take a shower with her in the worst way, but I also needed to show a little willpower.  We’d decided to stop “going slow” just yesterday and we’d already had sex twice.  Normally that would be cause for a parade down Main Street, but I didn’t want our relationship to revolve around physicality.  I’d fallen into that trap too many times.  I needed to pace myself with this girl so we didn’t burn too hot, too intense, too soon.

"I don't want you to get tired of me."

“Fat chance of that happening.”
  She wiggled her eyebrows at me. When I still didn’t take the bait, she threw the covers off her body.  "Fine, fine," she huffed. She made a disgruntled noise as she got out of bed. "I suppose I can handle showering on my own."

"
Well if you need help soaping up your back, just give me a holler.”  I didn’t want her to think I was rejecting her.  I was rejecting the very real fear that we wouldn’t last if I didn’t show some self-restraint.

She made a humming noise of approval.  “I’ll totally take you up on that.”

“
Think about what you might want to do today.  I know you’ve got some work to do, so we could stay in or go out – whatever you want."

"
My choice?" she asked, leaning down and playfully batting her eyelashes. “Who knew you were so good at letting go of control, Ellio?”

I found the nickname entirely endearing.  She’d used it once the previous night, teasing me.  I’d never had a nickname before besides Troian’s nickname of Bookworm and its multiple shortened forms – Book, Bookie, Booklet.  She’d tried Worm once, but I’d quickly put an end to that.  I could get used to Ellio.  I could get used to this playful, sexual side of Hunter as well.

I felt myself blushing furiously.  If our latest intimacy was any indication of the rewards I received when I relinquished control, I’d let her Top me any day of the week.

+++++

While Hunter showered, I started to piece together something for breakfast.  I didn’t have the same pancake skill-set that she did, but I could manage toasting bagels and brewing coffee.  Maybe I would even make some blueberry muffins – from a box though.  I wasn’t
that
talented. 

I tried not to think about Hunter being naked in my shower as I cleaned and cut up fresh fruit.
I tried not imagining her body, stripped bare with water droplets cascading down her smooth flesh, running down her neck, past her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts, down her flat abdomen, and disappearing at the juncture between her thighs. While I dug through the cabinets to produce a box of muffin mix I tried not to think about where my lucky loofa was currently touching as she soaped up her limber body.  It was nearly enough to make me abandon my breakfast scavenger hunt.

A knock at my front door pulled me from my X
-rated thoughts. I went to the front entrance, the box of muffin mix still in hand, and opened the door. The woman standing on my front stoop was probably the last person I’d ever anticipated seeing again.

"Ruby?  What the fuck?"  Normally I didn’t drop f-bombs.  It was kind of my thing.

My unexpected visitor didn't wait for an invite. She welcomed herself inside. "Good morning to you, too," she greeted as she walked past me and into the house.  She inhaled deeply.  “Mmmm.  That smells good.  Care to spare a cup of coffee for an old friend?”

“Not really.” 
I folded my arms across my chest. "What brings you to town?" I tried to keep my voice emotionless.

Ruby
pulled off her jacket, revealing the small, trim figure it hid. She dangled the coat at the edge of her fingers; I knew she expected me to take the jacket from her and hang it up, but this was one person from whom I didn't mind withholding a few pleasantries.  She wasn't completely obtuse. She hung her jacket over her right arm. "A conference. I thought I'd pop in and see how my old friend was doing these days." She gave me a steely look. "You haven't returned any of my emails."             

"I haven't
read
any of your emails," I corrected her. I glanced nervously in the direction of the staircase.  I sincerely hoped Hunter would be taking a long shower. I closed the front door even though I had no intention of letting this woman stay.

Ruby
and I had attended graduate school for our doctorates together, years ago. We'd entered the program at the same time, and I'd instantly disliked her. She had made it clear early on that the feeling was mutual. I usually found a way to get along with everyone I met, but there was something about this woman that made it impossible for the two of us to ever be friendly.  She was fiercely competitive and neither modest nor gracious about her accomplishments, about which she'd be the first to remind you there were many. Being in the same program and studying the same topics, we often found ourselves in direct competition with each other for grants and fellowships and other awards.

Our mutual animosity
had continued until the final year. By that time we had both finished course work and comprehensive exams. The only thing left was to write the dissertation and I'd be Dr. Elle Graft. Because I no longer had need to be on campus everyday while I worked on my manuscript, several months had passed without the bad luck of running into Ruby, my personal nemesis.

I'd been on campus that day to support another grad school friend who had just successfully defended his dissertation proposal.
A group of us had gotten together afterwards to celebrate at a local bar. Somewhere between the third and fourth pint, I'd realized that Ruby was also at that same bar, just not with our group. She was sitting by herself at the bar, drinking and watching whatever sports game was on. With my tongue and usual reservations loosened by alcohol, I'd launched into a rant about my displeasure at seeing her there. I hadn't cared that my voice probably carried and that she might have heard every hateful word.

Later, when I had excused myself to use the bathroom, I had practically stumbled over a woman on my way out of the partitioned bathroom stall. I'd apologized for my clumsiness until I recognized who it was
–- Ruby.  I was still harboring massive resentment and she looked equally displeased to see me as well. One moment we were arguing about something whose topic currently evaded me, and the next, my backside was pinned against the row of bathroom sinks and her hand was shoved down the front of my pants.

I hadn't even known she was gay. But then again
, my gaydar had never been fine-tuned.  That moment signaled the beginning of a very intense affair. We hadn’t exactly had a relationship; we'd never gone out on a proper date, and we didn't celebrate anniversaries of any kind. I didn't talk about her to any of my friends, and she never introduced me to any of hers. We had come to an understanding. We used each other as a release for all the stress we were under between finishing the dissertation and job interviews for university teaching jobs.

Ruby
was fearless in bed and she'd challenged me to try things I hadn't ever thought I'd be into. We discovered early on that we were both on the dominant side, which in hindsight probably explained why we'd never gotten along outside of the bedroom. Even then, however, I still didn't really like her and was only so happy to take that aggression out on her body.

It had been a particularly intense few months, but after we had graduated and had procured teaching jobs in different parts of the country, it had ended. There had been no exchange of belongings; neither of us had kept things at the other person's apartment because we never had sleepovers.
 It ended as quickly as it had started, and I only had my memories and one faint scar on my hip (we had very briefly explored knife-play) as evidence that it had ever really happened.

But none of this helped explain the minimally veiled animosity I currently felt as she stood in my foyer.
  But I wasn't really angry with her; I was angry with myself.

About a year into teaching at my current school, I had met
Cady, my most recent ex-girlfriend. We'd met at a book club that Troian insisted I join. She worried I wasn't getting out and meeting anyone outside of the campus bubble.  It was one of those feminist book groups that pretends to be about the literature, but generally turns into too much wine and hooking up.

I was never any good at delayed gratification, unless it was a bedroom game, and so I fell into bed with
Cady, a lovely, bright woman, after only the second group meeting.  And that would have been fine if it hadn't developed into something more. Instead, it turned into the one-night-stand that lasted a year and a half. One minute we were mapping each other's bodies with fingers and mouths, and the next we were picking out new linens for my master bedroom.