Page 55 of These Thin Lines

Vi ran her foot over the cold metal rung of the barstool until she felt Chiara’s arm touch hers.

“Tell me? Is it about being tested? I was months ago. And I haven’t been with Frankie for over a year now…” Vi’s eyes widened and Chiara’s smile was self-deprecating. “I told you, our issues started long before, and infidelity is honestly not the biggest problem. By far. But let’s not go into all that now. What were you trying to say before the floor got so very interesting that you had to talk to it instead of me?”

Vi laced their fingers together, her thumb caressing Chiara’s soft skin. She knew what it must’ve cost Chiara to come here, what it meant for her to be this brave, and that it was Vi’s turn to find her own courage once again. So she lifted their joint hands to her mouth, kissing Chiara’s fingertips, gently biting one, making both of them tremble.Into the breach then.

“I don’t have experience.”

Chiara’s brows lifted and her eyes gentled. But before she could reach the wrong conclusion, Vi hurried on.

“No, no, I’ve been with women before. Well, one woman and she was older, and it was a long time ago, and… I just don’t want you to have any expectations, you know. I might not be very good at this.”

“I see.” The corners of Chiara’s mouth twitched, before giving in to the smile playing there. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” She lowered her gaze a little, seeking eye contact and murmured, “if you’re sure?”

Wonderful, amazing words. Vi’s heart was full, but it was time to move past talking. Words were no longer enough. She had pined and longed for this woman all summer.

And the moment she had yearned for had finally materialized. Chiara was here, holding her hand, mischief back in her eyes. So Vi nodded and leaned in.

Right before their mouths touched, Chiara’s teasing, “an older woman, huh?” made both of them smile, and when their lips collided, so did their joy.

They kissed leisurely, Vi still unsure, exploring, testing and Chiara allowing her to take the lead. From the kitchen to the alcove that held the pristine bed with its fluffy coverlet and soft pillows, by way of the walls and an armchair that they almost fell into, their progress was slow. But oh-so arousing.

Gentle touches and tentative caresses. And kisses. All the kisses. Vi could not stop her mouth from taking more. And Chiara gave everything.

Hands on jaw, a tug on hair to raise the other’s face, to angle the chin, to bare the neck to careful nips, then back up for another kiss and another. Vi’s mouth kept returning to Chiara’s, unwilling to be distracted by the soft skin, by the expanse of it, as she slowly undid the buttons of Chiara’s Oxford shirt.

But soon her hands pushed the fabric aside, and her eyes caught sight of the lace underneath and the breasts encased in it, and Vi’s mouth actually went slack as her movements halted.

“I should’ve known you’d be a breast girl.” Chiara’s chuckle was decidedly dirty. And very self-satisfied. So Vi bit her clavicle, then licked the spot where her teeth had left shallows marks and continued to leave a wet trail downward with her tongue, wiping that smirk off Chiara’s face when she reached the top of the bra and sucked there.

Chiara groaned, and her hands in Vi’s hair tightened, their grip strong, but never pushing, never hurrying Vi, never rushing her moves—such as they were—because Vi suspected that she really wasn’t all that good at this. She tried to make up for her inexperience with enthusiasm, but she was still tentative and awed.

“I don’t mind, darling.” As if reading her mind, Chiara lowered her face to look at Vi’s shy eyes. “Take what you need. Go slow, go fast, take everything. I’m here. I’m with you.Take what you need.”

The words enveloped Vi like silk, like satin, like one of Chiara’s gowns. She was warmed by them, and if little fires were lighting up everywhere Chiara’s hands touched, the words allayed the urgency of desire; gave Vi permission to explore, to try, to please.

And Chiara really did not seem to mind. She didn’t rush. Chiara simply let Vi do what she wanted, touch, kiss, caress.

Vi’s eyes closed as her lips tasted the notch between the collarbones, salt and sweet and Chiara, full of verbena and patchouli, familiar, beloved. And the scents and the touch were such a déjà vu. Only their places were switched, because they’d been here before, in the gentleness, in the sweetness, in the adoration. Every time Chiara would drape a new piece of satin over Vi, every time her hands would glide over her shoulders, like they did right now, it would be like this. In fact, it would be exactly this. This worship. Chiara had been lifting her onto this altar of love for months, and it was Vi’s turn now.

And Chiara, generous and mindful as ever, allowed Vi all the time, all the space, her patience endearing despite Vi’s desire at times overwhelming her, like when in the alcove, Vi finally managed to take off the work of art that was the delicate bra, after fumbling with it for what seemed like hours.

Chiara moaned deeply when, after four tries, Vi finally lowered the lace and took a nipple in her mouth, licking, running her tongue over it again and again.

She didn’t ask for anything. Vi suspected she was holding back and avoiding putting any pressure on her, but Vi couldn’t bear the thought of Chiara inhibiting herself for her sake. So she lifted her face and pressed their foreheads together. Their breaths mingled, and Vi couldn’t resist taking a quick bite of that swollen lower lip. When they finally parted, her voice was hoarse from all the want.

“Tell me. Show me. Don’t hide from me. I want to see everything, and I want to do everything, everything you need, everything you want.”

Chiara’s knees bucked at Vi’s words, and when she opened her eyes, they were wild and unfocused.

“Everything then, Vi. Give me everything. I won’t break. Harder. Love me harder.”

Love. Yes, Vi thought. Very much love. And so when she lowered her mouth to Chiara’s breasts again and bit and sucked with purpose, that purpose was love.

And it was love when she lowered Chiara onto the soft coverlet, it was love when she finally tugged off the navy linen trousers and feasted her eyes on the long, graceful legs, all sinew and beautiful skin. When she trailed her lips from the ankle to the knee and then higher, up the thigh and higher still into the heat and the wet. When she looked up at Chiara’s burning eyes as her tongue took the first taste. And it was love when she watched those eyes close in ecstasy, in abandonment as Vi kept tasting, kept drinking, because she was an addict now.

Nothing and no one had ever meant this much, nothing she ever wanted to achieve, but this pleasure, this woman, this one,the one.

Her thoughts chased each other as the taste embedded itself in her mind, in her soul. Nobody would ever compare, she thought, as she felt the slight spasm under her tongue, and Chiara reached for her hand and gripped it right before her back arched and her mouth opened in a soundless cry.

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