Page 56 of This Is Who I Am

I start moaning, my voice now also with a life of its own, to the rise and fall of the waves starting to lap inside me. I can’t even remember a time when I was able to climax with just a finger inside of me. But everything is different now, and Estelle seems to know all about it. She must know, how else can she manipulate my body like this? How else does she know that adding a second finger would be too much and moving even a fraction faster would pull me out of this trance she’s got me in?

But she does it just right, just the way I need it—the way I didn’t even know myself I like it. Or maybe my body adapts to her. I don’t know. All I know is that I feel connected to her in the most delicious manner, to her finger deep inside of me, coaxing ever louder moans from my throat.

“Come for me, Cass,” she whispers, drawing out the ‘s’ at the end of my name, like some sort of hypnotic hiss, and my body responds to it as though it was made to do so. Because I want to come for her. Because I can. It doesn’t happen straight away, but I can feel it taking me over steadily. It builds from my core like a flame licking the inside of my skin and spreads through my muscles, and all because of her gloriously glistening finger inside me.

This climax is different than the first one she gave me. It seems to come from a different place inside of me. From somewhere I need to heal, someplace I’ve neglected because it was too painful to go to. It takes all the doubts I’ve had about myself the past couple of years, the pain from my break-up and the insecurities of my changing body, and drowns them in a sea of pure pleasure. Maybe Estelle had to be inside of me for this to happen. For this climax to wash over me and leave me slightly altered in its wake.

I come at her fingertip, my muscles convulsing, the walls of my pussy clinging to her. This time, I don’t cry. I unambiguously enjoy the incredible sense of satisfaction, of deep pleasure, that only she could give me—that doesn’t exist outside this bedroom, without her in it.

CHAPTER28

ESTELLE

I’ve just thrown away a huge stack of my father’s papers when the doorbell rings. It’s Thursday afternoon and Cass must be preparing for dinner service, yet I hope it’s her. I always hope it’s her. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now and although we both have things to deal with, it’s been magnificent to get to know her better, to simply spend time with her—and August—at her house on the cliff.

Wiping my hands, I head to the front door, my heart doing its silly I’m-so-in-love pitter-patter.

When I open the door, Suzy stands in front of me.

“Hi.” She holds up a box of something. “Red velvet cupcakes. Homemade by moi,” she says.

“Suzy. Hi.” I’m a little taken aback. Apart from a few of my dad’s old neighbors, I haven’t had a lot of visitors, expected or unexpected. Cass and I have gotten into the habit of meeting up at hers, simply because it’s a lot more pleasant—and clean. “Come in. Ignore the mess.”

“I hope you don’t mind my impromptu visit.”

“It’s a welcome distraction,” I admit. I’m starting to get sick of my father’s endless piles of formulas and calculations. Sometimes, I fear I may burn out all over again just from looking through them.

“I can hook you up with some guys who will take care of this place in no time,” Suzy says matter-of-factly. “Although I get that a lot of emotions must be tied up in it for you.”

“It’s something I have to do myself, but I might change my mind soon.” I usher her into the kitchen, which I keep the tidiest because I have to prepare a minimum of food for myself. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“Coffee. Black,” Suzy says. I should remember her better from high school, but it’s all such a blur. After my mother died, my dad and I sank into our bubble of comfort and grief and my memories from before the accident are strangely clouded. Either way, Suzy Ireland and I didn’t travel in the same social circles at school. She was the quintessential popular girl, and I was the cliché math nerd.

“Can I offer you a cupcake?” I ask, pointing at the box Suzy brought.

“Yes, please,” she says. “I used to work in a bakery. Picked up a few tricks.”

“That’s a long way from being a menopause consultant.” I grab some plates and put a dark red cupcake on each. The people in this town sure love to feed me.

“I’m a jill-of-all-trades, but with Devon, I’ve really found a professional home. If my sister wasn’t married to her and I wasn’t aromantic, I would tie her down like nobody’s business.” She bursts into raucous laughter. “I’m also a too-much-information-too-quickly kind of girl. You’ll get used to it.”

We sit in the rickety chairs at my father’s old kitchen table with our coffee and cupcakes.

“Cass is like a different person since she met you. Well, in some respects.” Suzy is also not a beat about the bush kind of girl. Cass did say Suzy had expressed an explicit wish to grill me on my intentions. I guess this is it.

“So am I.” I give her my best smile.

“It’s pretty obvious why she has the hots for you. You’re drop dead gorgeous. A math professor, no less. The gays are crazy about you.” She holds up her hands. “I can totally see it. I like you too, Estelle.”

“But?” I should be flattered by what she just said, yet I’m getting a slightly hostile vibe.

“No, no. Sorry. No buts.” She raises one shoulder. “This is just my personality.” A wide grin spreads across her face. “I’d like to get to know you better and, if you’re willing to share, ask what your plans are?” She looks around the kitchen. “Are you staying? Are you going back to work?”

“I honestly don’t know.” In order to take a beat, I bite a chunk out of my cupcake. It’s deliciously moist and just the right amount of sweet. Suzy really did pick up some tricks.

Time to find out how good she is at her new professional calling. As a menopause consultant and former life coach, I expect her to display a good deal of sensitivity and have a smooth way of handling a potentially difficult conversation—although, as far as I’m concerned, our little chitchat doesn’t have to be difficult at all.

“Hm,” I moan. “So good.”

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