Page 36 of This Is Who I Am

“Of course.” Her hand slips away.

We rise and stand close together for a moment, neither of us quite ready to call it a night.

“Thank you for tonight,” Cass says, her voice lower than before. “For those truly spectacular burgers at The Bay and the utter privilege of watching you devour one.”

I chuckle. “I worked hard on those burgers, as you well know.”

“Like a devoted trad wife should.” Her smile transforms her face again. She looks at me as though she sees right through the front I’ve spent years perfecting—as though she sees the parts of me I usually keep hidden.

Unhurried, we walk to the door. At the threshold, Cass turns to face me. The light hits her face just right, catching that irresistible curve of her mouth. I’ve only known this woman for a week, yet standing here feels like the pinnacle of a much longer journey.

The air between us shifts, again. Time slows. I can see every detail of her face in perfect clarity—the lone, tiny freckle left of her nose, a tiny scar near her temple, how her pupils dilate slightly in the light.

I step forward, trying not to presume. My heart hammers against my ribs, a counterpoint to the absolute stillness of the moment. Her breath catches almost imperceptibly, but I see it.

I slowly raise my hand, giving her every opportunity to step back, to reconsider. When my fingers finally make contact with her cheek, the touch is featherlight. Her skin is warm and inviting.

She doesn’t pull away—I wasn’t really expecting her to, but I’ve learned the hard way that you just never know. She leans into my touch. My thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone. Cass exhales softly.

Inch by inch, the space between us shrinks. I can smell the scotch on her breath. Our foreheads touch first. Her hand finds my waist.

When our lips finally meet, it’s with the inevitability of waves reaching shore. The kiss is slow but certain. Her mouth is warm, and she’s all there.

It’s a kiss that says more than we’re willing to admit out loud. When we finally part, breathless and slightly dazed, I keep my hand where it is, unwilling to break contact completely.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispers.

“Yes,” I say. “You will.” Only then do I let her leave.

CHAPTER19

CASS

The morning after my sublime date with Estelle, I wake before Gussie can pounce on me. Instantly, my mind drifts to that goodbye kiss. It really was something else. I play it over and over in my mind.

Estelle’s lips already have an addictive quality—and I’ve only kissed her twice. But it’s not only the yearning to kiss her again—and to see her again as quickly as possible—that I feel. I vividly remember my clit roaring back to life when my tongue slipped into her mouth. She’s so damn sexy. And I can’t believe I told her that, for me, sex being off the table is preferable. But she hadn’t kissed me again when I said that. My clit was still as dead as a doornail when I exclaimed those words with utter conviction.

I’m not so sure now, just as I’m not sure about my body’s reaction. It might just be a hormone fluctuation that spiked because of Estelle’s glorious kiss. Maybe there’s only one way to find out whether my attraction is genuinely physical—whether my body can keep up with meeting such a spectacular woman.

I run my hand over my belly and, instantly, I’m put off by its bulky curve. There’s too much of me—okay, stop it.If ever there was a more unsexy thought than ‘I’m too fat to masturbate’, I’ve yet to encounter it. But I haven’t done this in so long. Not only because of lack of desire but also because the last few times I did try—on Suzy’s recommendation—it simply didn’t work. My body totally refused to cooperate.

Once, I did manage a sufficient degree of excitement to get into it but the orgasm, if you could even call it that, was a total dud—like a reluctant wave retreating back into the ocean instead of crashing to shore. But mostly, I just couldn’t get there. As though my body was trying to tell me that the good times were well and truly over. And I didn’t even care. It didn’t bother me because I was single and unattractive—especially to myself—and, frankly, I had far better things to do with my time.

But that was before Estelle, and before last night when I definitely experienced a few upticks in lust. Perhaps I owe it to myself to try—Suzy would be so proud of me. It’s not hard to imagine Estelle in bed with me—a place she might never find herself—because she’s all I see as soon as I close my eyes. That intense, commanding gaze. Her lips slightly parted. How warm and close she was when she leaned in. But also the connection we shared, the things we talked about, the ways in which we seem to click so effortlessly.

I circle my nipple and it instantly becomes hard at the thought of Estelle’s lips wrapping around it. Those divine lips that left such an impression, I can still feel them.

I’ve learned to take my time with myself, to not expect miracles from my fifty-three-year-old body. My fingers don’t go near my clit until my brain is completely suffused with all things Estelle Raymond.

I only give. I don’t receive.Those words seem to be etched in my brain just as much as the exquisite slope of her cheekbones and the curve of her jawline. What would she have to give exactly? How would she give it? None of that might be rocket science, but it has an extra tinge of mystery because of all the other things she has confided in me. And she sure had a way of licking sauce off her fingers. Oh, fuck. Her fingers. They might not be entirely off-limits, after all.

Okay. I’m ready. I let my fingers drift lower, circling gently. But it’s as though I’m out of practice and I don’t really know how to touch myself any longer. I take a breath and start again because this is hardly rocket science either. Of course, I haven’t forgotten how to do this—a body isn’t a manual you can misplace. I suck my finger into my mouth, much like Estelle did with hers last night, and my clit reacts instantly, as though it, too, wants a whole lot more of her.

When I bring my hand back between my legs, it’s as though my body might actually still be capable of this. For a few moments, I forget where I am and what I’m doing while I relive our kiss again, its maddeningly slow approach followed by that sensual joining of our lips. I amp up the speed of my finger but it has the opposite effect, as though the desire I obviously have for Estelle won’t translate to my body. As though that arrow of lust that runs up my spine when I think of her has no path to my clit, like some critical connection has been severed.

Frustrated, I give up. Perhaps too easily, but I don’t care enough and I need the full strength of my hands for cooking later.

As if he knows what I’ve been up to and was patiently waiting by the door—as if—August rushes in and hops onto the bed with a dramatic meow.

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