Beneath the Surface(15)

The drive over here, the afternoon spent together, talking and wandering about the place, throwing rocks into the creek, followed by the dinner that Sheryl had kept intentionally light, had all led to this moment. The moment they both knew they were here for. They had been waiting for it all week, ever since Sheryl had asked if she could take Kristin somewhere. Though unspoken, they’d both known this was what it had been about. Of course, things could have turned out differently instead. In the clear light of day on Wednesday, when the afterglow of the party had truly settled, they could have looked at each other with doubt in their eyes. With too much trepidation for this burgeoning madness that was overtaking them. But perhaps Caitlin had been right. Perhaps this was a love-at-almost-first-sight whirlwind romance. The kind that, perhaps, only came along once in a lifetime, and they were both feeling the importance of it. Or, perhaps, Sheryl was in her head too much. Oh, she definitely was. Where was her gut instinct when she needed it most? And why did it seem to abandon her all over again?

“Everything okay?” Kristin whispered in her ear.

“Yes.” Sheryl’s voice sounded firm in a way that was hardly appropriate for the moment.

“You suddenly seem hesitant.” Kristin came to stand in front of her.

“Trust me, I’m not.” Sheryl became more infatuated with Kristin on the spot, just because she had asked. She gave her a wide smile, one that, she hoped, would take away all the hesitation she had displayed, and took a few more steps into the bedroom. It was just a bed, and a ramshackle one at that. Two nightstands on either side that Sheryl’s grandfather had made himself. Two lamps that didn’t resemble each other perched on top, of which Sheryl had no clue if they would still work. “I’m really, really not.” She clasped her arms around Kristen’s waist and found her neck with her lips.



Kristin was already in seventh heaven. If Sheryl was having any doubts at all, she could easily guess the root of them. Kristin knew that any doubt in that bedroom wasn’t born from unwillingness to do this but from the exact opposite. Too much will. Too much desire. She felt it beat under her skin, taking over her flesh. She felt like that bottle of wine Sheryl had brought for her. Kristin had opened it thirty minutes before she was going to drink it to let it breathe. Kristin had been breathing all day. She was ready to be consumed.

She felt Sheryl’s lips on her neck, but also everywhere else. What was it about this woman that drove her so insane? She had a lot of confidence, sure, but, at times, it seemed brittle. Her blue eyes not only sparkled, but held a sadness as well. Maybe it wasn’t only the effect Sheryl had on her because she was supposedly her type, but the combination of them being together. Maybe what Kristin was feeling at this very moment—extreme arousal shot through with hope—was only possible because she stood in this room, shaking on her legs, with Sheryl. Kristin was, in that moment, convinced that no one else could ever do that to her. Not so quickly, not leaving her so assured of everything that was to follow, not only in the next minutes but in the rest of their lives. And it was foolish and silly to think that way, but Kristin didn’t give a damn. Pure lust rode up her spine, traveled through her flesh as Sheryl’s lips kept connecting with her skin. It wasn’t Kristin’s first time as such, but it sure felt like it. Already, she was infinitely more aroused than all the times she’d been with Petra combined, and she and Sheryl were only kissing. No garments had come off. No intimate body parts had been bared.

“God, I want you,” Sheryl murmured in her ear, and it set off another round of fireworks in Kristin’s belly.

In response, Kristin started pulling her top over her head. She couldn’t bear the feeling of being constrained by clothing any longer. She wanted to get naked, show herself, have Sheryl all over her, meet her anew as a lover, find out what made her tick. They had so much to learn about each other, not least of all what they liked in bed. Not that Kristin knew this about herself. She was easily pleased: she just wanted to be touched by another woman. Well, not just any woman—the way she had wrongly presumed before. She wanted to be touched by Sheryl. And she was. Sheryl’s fingers drifted along her sides, up to her bra.

“Take it off,” Kristin heard herself plead, unsure where that sultry voice came from.

Sheryl unclasped the hooks and let Kristin’s bra fall into her hands slowly, reverently, taking her time to reveal her breasts. Kristin didn’t want her to take her time. She had a lifetime of missed sexual encounters to make up for. Thirty years was a long time to wait to be touched like this, by the right hands, by the right woman. At the same time, she wanted this to go slow, so she could luxuriate in every single second of it and never, ever forget about it.