Micky found Robin’s gaze as her finger applied the lightest of pressure. The only flaw in the plan that she’d just hatched to drive Robin insane with lust ever so slowly was that merely touching Robin always ignited a whole slew of lustful processes inside of herself. Despite the climax she’d just had in the shower, Micky’s clit began to pulse in tune with her heartbeat again, rapid and zestful. Come to think of it, she really was Robin’s insatiable vixen, although, truly, that was just one part of it. Undeniable attraction had brought them together, even after deciding they weren’t suited for each other, but Micky was much more than this body filled with desire she lived in.
She was an out lesbian now.
Micky traced her finger to Robin’s other breast, catching a drop of water she’d missed when she’d dried her off. She circled Robin’s nipple until it rose up for her as though wanting to meet her finger. Micky leaned over and pecked it lightly, then brushed her tongue against it, before letting it slip between her lips gingerly. Robin was already starting to moan and grind. Micky kissed her way to Robin’s other nipple and lavished it with the gentle attention of her tongue and lips. Her finger wandered down, encircling Robin’s belly button and drawing an invisible line above her pubic hair.
“Micky, come on,” Robin gasped. She was always so impatient. Micky was almost certain she’d be grabbing her hand in the next few seconds and would start pushing it down. But Micky wanted to take advantage of the fact that they had all day, all weekend, to do this. She wanted for the image of Robin’s immaculate skin and shapely form to be etched on the back of her eyelids by the time she left for work on Monday. Because now that Micky was finally able to admit to herself that this was what she’d wanted for the longest time, she wanted everything all the time, and if she couldn’t be with Robin physically, she would at least be thinking about her, and the way she lay there right now, her legs spreading already.
Micky peppered kisses on Robin’s belly, her lips barely touching Robin’s skin, not going any lower than the top of the triangle of her pubic hair.
“Oh, Micky, I want you,” Robin moaned.
As her confidence as a lover had grown, Micky found herself better able to withstand Robin’s pleas to fuck her, and today especially, Micky took great pleasure in Robin’s begging tone. It illustrated how much Robin wanted her, and really, Micky could never get enough of that.
“Oh, screw it,” Robin said and pushed herself up. She drew her legs up and toppled onto her knees. Before Micky had the chance to find her bearings—and berate Robin for her extreme lack of patience—Robin was pulling Micky toward her, and automatically, Micky mirrored her position. She sat across from Robin on her knees, her legs spread, their breasts touching.
“I need you now,” Robin said.
Micky shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Let’s see what you have to say about that after I do this.” Robin brought her hand in between Micky’s legs and, while she looked her in the eye, slipped two fingers inside.
Micky’s breath hitched in her throat. Always so bossy, she thought, until she stopped thinking.
“Fuck me, babe,” Robin pleaded. “Fuck me while I fuck you.”
And Micky did. She slid two fingers into Robin’s wetness, and everything was washed away by a hurricane of lust raging through her flesh. Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The next Tuesday night, Micky drove Robin to her mother’s house in Mosman. Not only because she’d had enough of her mother’s relentless and, truth be told, very uncharacteristic phone calls asking if Micky had gone back to men yet. Gina was not usually caustic like that. Micky suspected that the reason she was acting out, was because, to her, Micky being in love with a woman was this big, new, unknown entity in her life. She needed to be able to put a face to the name. She needed to meet Robin. Moreover, Micky was proud to be able to introduce Robin as her partner. So it was with confidence more than with trepidation that she parked her car on the driveway of her mother’s house.
“It’s funny,” Robin said before they got out of the car, “but this could so easily be a street in the suburb where I grew up.”
Micky knew Robin well enough already to know that, even if she was nervous, she would never show it. She had prepped her the night before, telling her all about Gina, that she would be charm personified—no doubt about that—but her true feelings about Robin would reveal themselves during the lulls in conversation, those awkward pauses when she would take a second to breathe and relax. Micky would watch her mother like a hawk. But, in the end, as they walked to the back door, Micky wasn’t too worried. She knew her mother and she knew Robin.