Page 55 of This Is Who I Am

“It’s right there.” I point at the nightstand.

“Ah, there you are.” Estelle picks up the sizable bottle of lube. “You’ve been much talked about.” She pretends to study the bottle in great detail. “Time to see whether you stack up.”

My heart leaps all the way into my throat, although that doesn’t stop the blood from rushing to my clit.

“Are you sure?” Clearly, she is. She’s holding the bottle. But I still feel like I have to ask.

“Come here.” She extends her legs and pats her lap, as though I would even fit there.

Fully naked, I climb onto the bed, swat the pillows out of the way, and sit with my back against the headboard. “You straddle me. Surely you don’t mind, what with being such a top.”

She looks at me with an expression I can’t decipher. I can’t read Estelle the same way I could past lovers.

She puts the lube to the side and crawls over. She plants her knees on either side of me. The moment is hot and full of promise, my clit raging in the tightness between my closed legs, and all I can think of is how much I want her naked on top of me—maybe even more than her using that by-now-infamous lube on me.

“This to your liking?” Her silky voice snaps me out of my secret desire and what I get in real-life is so overwhelmingly powerful, I instantly forget what I wanted a mere second ago.

Her hair cascades onto my shoulders, her lips are a fraction away from mine, her breath is warm on my lips. She’s like a tsunami of hotness from which there is no possible escape.

She waits for me to reply before kissing me. I look up into her dark eyes and curl my arms around her waist.

“Very much,” I whisper.

When her lips touch down, goose bumps cover the entire expanse of my skin. Inadvertently, my hands slide underneath her tank top. She doesn’t flinch. Still, I need to ask.

With great difficulty, I pull back from our kiss.

“Can I touch you here?” My voice is ragged with lust. My hands rest on the small of her back.

“Yes.” Her lips pull into a smirk. “Hold on,” she says, before pulling her tank top over her head. “Anything that’s not covered, you can touch.”

Oh, fuck. I’m getting way more than I bargained for. As if they have a life of their own, my hands move toward her breasts, my lips toward her nipples. One of my most fervent wishes has already been granted.

I wrap my mouth around her hard nipple, swipe my tongue gently along its tip, and my clit is completely beside itself. It’s so damn easy to lose control of myself when I touch her like this. Because, almost instantly, I want more. But I also know I have to stop myself from wanting more. Still, there’s a little voice in my head saying that this is only the beginning and when we first met, when we first had that conversation about her being ace, I most certainly wasn’t expecting this. And look at me now. Lips hot around her nipple, hand cupped around her breast.

I glance up at her, try to look at her face, hoping to glimpse some sort of bliss, but it’s not what I see, because this is only for my benefit. I’m the one who has to rearrange something in my brain. I’m the one who has to adapt to this, because she’s already giving me all this. Most certainly not against her will—thank goodness she made that very clear—but our joy in this is not matched, and, truth be told, it’s a bit of a bitter pill to swallow. Because I want nothing more than to give her pleasure, than to give her the same pleasure she gave me. It’s the most logical equation possible. Yet it’s not. So I let go of her breasts, even though everything about them is moreish, but I’m not someone who’s in the habit of taking more than she’s allowed—or thinks she’s allowed.

Estelle must sense my hesitation. Surely she can’t read minds, but I imagine she’s been in this kind of situation a few times before.

“Hey,” she says, as she maneuvers off me. “Whatever you’re feeling is perfectly normal, but…” How can she still be so understanding and sensitive with all those scars on her heart she admitted to having accumulated? “We have that lube.” Her voice has dropped into that low sexy place again and it connects directly to my clit.

Then, she’s all over me, erasing any doubts from my mind again—she’s unnervingly good at that. Because she’s an expert at reading my body, at sensing what it needs, at processing, at lightning speed, what I like, what turns me on—her lips on my neck, her fingertips slowly trailing between my legs.

My body’s all revved up, my cheeks hot and my core burning, when she finds my gaze, looks straight into my eyes, and asks with that silky-smooth voice of hers, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

I should tell her that, between my legs, things have changed considerably the past few years. That I’m extra-sensitive and the softest touch can sometimes even be too much. I should communicate, but my throat is closed up with a lust so profound it has drowned all my words.

I’ll have to trust that she will know—and I do. Estelle is so easy to trust it should be scary. I should be more careful, with my body and my heart, but look at where she has me again.

I spread my legs wider for her. I watch her, heart pounding furiously in my chest, as she grabs the lube and squirts a generous handful into her palm. Her fingers glisten and it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Slowly, she brings her hand between my legs and transfers some of the lube to me—to my throbbing lips.

She takes her time, as I trusted she would. While she plays with me, escalating my arousal, she lies down next to me, fixing her gaze to mine. I’m completely at her mercy. I’m totally enthralled by her, controlled by her gaze and her divine fingers.

She opens me up with a fingertip and, already, my breath stalls in my throat. She looks at me, as though she can read from my face what my body needs—what her fingers should do next.

Gently, she slides in farther and I feel it everywhere. Again, I don’t know how this is possible. Again, she must have magic powers—although it could also be the lube. Because the past couple of years my vagina has no longer been a great ally. First, there was the dryness. Then, the pain, not obliterating but dull and as if wanting to spread the message that the good times were over now. That I should close my legs, and my private parts, for business. And I did. It was only Estelle who made me want to touch myself. And it’s only Estelle who can now slide her finger, slowly and gently and stealing more of my breath the deeper she goes, high inside of me.

There’s nothing but tenderness in how she gradually moves her finger inside me. Her gestures are so minute and perfectly matched to my sensitivity. There’s not a hint of pain. It’s all pleasure and surrender and I want to look into her eyes like this forever. She unravels me with the subtlest movement, tugging at a seam that’s held me together in all the wrong ways.

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