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Panting and moaning, my juices flow out into her mouth like a roaring river. She gulps and swallows every last drop, then gives my clit a long, lingering kiss, then stands up, leaving my cunt starving for more.
Gasping as she gazes at me, my eyes lock onto hers for several stunned moments as she slowly licks her glistening lips, then kisses me—sharing her tongue and my sticky nectar with me.
As always, I taste delicious.
Five minutes after Karalyn leaves the bathroom, I return to my table where Jarrod is still sitting, glancing at his watch. He looks up at me. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t know if I should dial Nine-One-One or not. I was starting to get…” he frowns, concern etching over his face. “Is everything all right? You look flushed.”
No, I’m not. My pussy is wet and wide open and aching to be fucked.
I place a hand up to my forehead. “Yes, I mean, no.” I fan myself. “I’m a little hot”—yeah and very bothered—“that’s all. Let’s say we skip dessert and get out of here.” So you can finish up what Karalyn started. “I really like the idea of us making our own dessert.”
He grins, standing up. “The check’s already paid. Let’s go.”
Eight
“We need to talk,” Karalyn says, brushing past me the minute I open the door. Her tone is as icy as the weather outside. I’m not surprised to see her. It’s been two weeks since I’ve last seen her. She looks beautiful wrapped in a full-length fur. “I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me?”
I shut the door behind her, pulling the belt to my robe tighter around my waist. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”
She whirls around and faces me. Hand on hip. “If you’re going to lie to me, Ava, at least make it a believable one.”
She’s right. Although I haven’t flat-out ignored her emails or text messages, I’ve purposefully avoided talking to her on the phone, in fear that hearing her voice would make it more difficult than it already is to stay away from her. Like hot, melted Godiva chocolate drizzled over Häagen-Dazs ice cream, I’ve come to realize Karalyn’s dangerously addictive. And, after our steamy transgression inside the bathroom stall at Negril’s, she’s a guilty pleasure I’d rather not become hooked on—if I can help it.
Besides, I’ve sort of been casually spending time with Jarrod the last few weekends. Okay, I’m using him. That night after our dinner date, I went back to his place and ravished every inch of his thick, dark chocolate pole. A part of me felt guilty knowing my ravenous desire for him was sparked more out of necessity than actual yearning. Karalyn—her mouth, her tongue, her fingers—caused that. Caused my pussy to cry out in desperate need to be fucked, deep and long and hard. That night, Jarrod delivered—well, I might add. He fed my pussy passionate strokes of pleasure. And, I’ve slept with him three more times since.
In hopes of forgetting.
Yet, my mind still sweeps through snapshots of Karalyn’s nakedness. The opening of her cunt, pink and glistening, pulled open—ready for my tongue and fingers. I had never eaten pussy, or sucked on a clit, before her, but hers—her sex, was warm and sweet and luscious. The tangy taste was tantalizing. I savored every drop of her, licking and lapping her up. Her clit pulsed in my mouth, slippery with juices. It’s an experience I will never forget.
And no matter how hard I try to block what we shared out, I am still reminded of my own nakedness beneath hers. Our slick clits grinding and sliding against the other’s. The light flutter of her tongue over my nipples, over my skin—trailing down and over my body. The way her soft hands cupped my ass, pulling me into her with need and desire—heated images that keep me wanting more.
Her eyes are on me, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to look at her. I shift my weight from one barefoot to the other, trying to contain the beating butterflies in my stomach.
She unbuttons her coat. Underneath she is wearing a long black sweater dress over black leggings with a pair of black leather riding boots. “Have I done something to offend you?”
I shake my head. “No. Not at all.”
“Then what is it? Are you feeling guilty for allowing yourself to experience and enjoy what we shared?”
I shift my eyes from her knowing gaze.
Her eyes narrow as she slips off her coat. “So now you’re questioning your sexuality, aren’t you?”
“No,” I say, crossing over into the center of the room, keeping a safe distance between us. I can smell her. Her perfume and her pussy—two distinct intoxicating scents. A pulse beats heavy in my throat as I swallow. “I’m not questioning anything. I know who I am. And I know what I like.”
“And what is that, Ava? Who are you?”
Confused.
“I’m not a lesbian.”
She cocks her head to one side, eyes glistening with amusement. “Who said you were?”
“Well, no one,” I say, indignantly.
She eyes me. “Look. I’m not here to throw myself on you or try to convert you into becoming some card-carrying, flag-flying lesbian. But I know that neither that weekend in the Poconos together nor the mini-tryst we shared in the bathroom stall has whet your curiosity. You want more. And there’s so much more I want to give you.”
“Look, Kara. I really like you. And I’m glad we…you know. Did what we did. But I’m not interested in being in a relationship with a woman.”
