It wasn’t just Sheryl’s exploring finger causing Kristin’s heartbeat to skyrocket. It was, perhaps even more so, the position of her head and where it indicated her gaze was fixed.
For a split second, Kristin wondered whether Sheryl was part of a group at university that huddled together in a circle and got their hand mirrors out to look at their nether regions, as an act of self-love or whatever they called it. Sheryl kind of struck her as the type. It came with the assuredness she displayed, and the light but deft touch with which her finger moved all over her, now applying some more pressure, its tip slipping slowly inside of her.
Kristin bucked up her hips in anticipation. Somehow feeling Sheryl’s finger slide inside of her represented the pinnacle of this lovely day they had spent together. Perhaps Kristin would come, perhaps she wouldn’t—she didn’t have enough experience to predict the outcome—but it didn’t matter, because this moment, the one in which Sheryl, with a brand-new sense of determination about her, slid high inside of her, was already everything.
Sheryl’s lips touched down on her skin again. Her tongue shot down. Another finger was added. Kristin had been so wrong. All her senses were flooded with exquisite sensation. The smell of the trees outside mixed with the scent of her urgent arousal. Sheryl’s one hand on her belly, the fingers of the other inside of her. The sight of Sheryl’s head moving gently up and down. And then, the best of everything, Sheryl’s tongue on her clit.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Kristin moaned. Sheryl’s fingers kept delving, causing a delicious tingle to run through her with every thrust, but what was really doing her in was Sheryl’s tongue flicking over her clit like that. She’d gone from gentle to frantic in a matter of seconds and Kristin felt it everywhere.
Something inside of her belly started contracting, then spread to her sex, and though fully expected, the intensity of it surprised Kristin. She got a sense she was howling profanities but was deaf to the sound of her own voice as the climax tore through her. The very first orgasm delivered by Sheryl’s hands. God, those hands. The thought of them caused another ripple of pleasure to wash all over her. The ripples kept on coming, zapping all the energy from her, leaving her limbs loose and muscles drained.
Sheryl crawled up to her, peppering her cheek and neck with the lightest of kisses, then gazing down at her again, the way she had done before her excursion south. There was a different kind of sparkle in the blue of her eyes. Perhaps caused by the shifting light outside, or perhaps by something else. Either way, Kristin interpreted it as the two of them being on the exact same page: the first one of their long history together.
Chapter Seven
“Hey.” No matter how many times she’d woken up in this very bed, Sheryl always seemed to forget the racket the birds made at first light—which came at an ungodly hour at this time of the year. When she’d opened her eyes a beat earlier, she’d found Kristin awake and looking at her already. “Sorry about nature’s alarm clock.”
“Don’t be. It’s magnificent,” Kristin said. “It reminds me I should get out of the city more.”
“It would be even more magnificent if they kept it down until at least after six o’clock.” Sheryl theatrically flopped her pillow from under her head and pressed it to her ears.
“Don’t be such a drama queen.” Kristin shuffled closer to her, her warm body pressing against Sheryl’s underneath the sheets.
“No one has ever accused me of being that before.” Sheryl looked at Kristin from underneath the pillow. At her sleep-crusted eyes, and the way the skin around her temples wrinkled ever so lightly. Crows’ feet so light, they were probably only visible in this light. Perhaps only at this particular time of the day, when the birds were chirping, and Sheryl’s eyesight might have gotten a boost from the massive orgasm she’d had only a few hours earlier.
“There’s a first time for everything then.” Kristin pried the pillow from between Sheryl’s fingers.
“Oh yes,” Sheryl said, “there most certainly is.”
“Anyway, it serves you right. You shouldn’t have kept us up half the night with your… shenanigans.” Sheryl could feel Kristin’s breath on her cheek.
“Is that what you call it? Shenanigans?” In one fluid motion, Sheryl pushed herself off her side and on to Kristin, her knee pressing between her legs.
“How do you call it in the Gender Studies department? Making sweet, sweet love?”
You would never know by looking at her, but Kristin had a sharp sense of humor hidden underneath that proper exterior of hers. And all the things she had shown Sheryl last night. If anything, it was Sheryl who felt she’d been left behind by Kristin’s abandon. Sheryl with her years of experience, who was out and proud, and who had at least one discussion about the female orgasm every week.