Page 96 of A Country Kind Of Love
She also likes the idea of kissing Cleo. In fact, shelovesthe idea.
Now. Tomorrow. Forever.
Cleo presses her forehead against Peyton’s, her body leans in close. The rustle of leaves, and surrounding chatter echoes in the distance as Peyton’s attention remains solely focused on Cleo and a moment she thought wouldnever come.
?
There’s a leak inthe ceiling.
Peyton stares up at the thin brown line that’s formed in the centre of the room. She must remember to tell Jesse in the morning. She also needs to tell him to stop watching porn above a volume two. It’s the third time in a month she’s heard the moans and groans of the industry’s finest echoing down the stairwell from his bedroom on her midnight run to the bathroom; that visual image is not what she signed up for.
The bedroom door swings open. Cleo is wearing nothing but a pair of funky women’s boxer shorts. The design looks like a colourful Hawaiian theme mixed with zigzags and paisley. They’re unique. She holds her boobs as she kicks the door shut behind her. They’re small enough to use just the one arm to cover both; Peyton loves that. Small boobs have always been a turn on for her, especially when their pierced—Cleo ticks all the boxes.
“Hi.” Peyton purrs. She drags herself back with her palms until her elbows hit the bedhead. The bedsheet wraps across her body purposefully. She has tried to be sexy once or twice in her adult life; now is not one of those times. At the risk of looking like a naked inexperienced contortionist she keeps her body covered. Peyton’s skills do not include physical flexibility, although she wishes they did.
Peyton uses her index finger to summon Cleo back to bed.“Come here.”
Cleo’s soft skin glides against her own. Peyton buries her head in Cleo’s neck and whispers, “you smell so good.”
Cleo grinds her body against Peyton’s which leaves her to question whether she has enough stamina to go for round three. If she were playing sports, more importantly football, the first two rounds would’ve resulted in a touchdown. It would have been a home run for baseball fans and a buzzer-beating three-point shot for basketball. In layman’s terms, she came—twice—and it was fuckingincredible.
“How are your lips so soft.” Peyton traces the outline with her own. She’s worried hers are going to feel like sandpaper in comparison. Cleo’s lips are like two perfectly plump exfoliated peaches.
“Lip balm.” Cleo chuckles.
She kisses Peyton’s neck and traces the length of her jaw. Peyton’s vagina throbs like a heavy beat on the sound system in their apartment. She can’t concentrate. She can’t even fathom what she did with her eveningsbefore Cleo.
If Cleo applies a smidge more pressure with her pelvic movement she might... Oh there it is. She’s never been able to orgasm three times in the space of an hour or in the space of a whole night for that matter, but...holy shit.
“Are you trying to make me dependent on you?”Peyton asks.
“Yes.” Cleo lays her head on Peyton’s chest as Peyton attempts to slow her breathing.
“Thank you,”Peyton says.
“For what?”
“All of it: the singing, the talking, thesex.” She whispers the last part as though it were a secret. Once a prude, always a prude.
“The sex, huh?”Cleo grins.
“Yep, that is my favourite part.”
Peyton holds back a smile. She runs her hand through Cleo’s hair; each piece that falls between her fingers reminds her how precious she is, how special and sacred moments together can be. She loves every inch of hair on Cleo’s head, and that terrifies her.
“I am so in awe of you.” Peyton squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t believe those words just left her mouth. Cleo is going to think she’s too much. It’s the twenty-first century,you’re hot,would suffice. Cleo doesn’t respond right away. Peyton opens her right eye, and Cleo is staring rightback at her.
“I am in awe of you too.” Her smile finishes with a pout, and Peyton is positive it’s the most delightful thing she’s ever seen. If she was to die now, those lips the final image in her mind, she could live with that.
“This might sound a little bit stalkerish, but I drive past the coffee shop most days. I pull over, and I spend twenty minutes talking myself out of coming inside.” Cleo admits. She drops her head to Peyton’s chest. Is she embarrassed? Peyton knows she’s saying it to make herfeel better.
“You do?” Peyton asks. She lifts Cleo’s chin softly with herfingertips.
Cleo nods.
“I wish you’d have come inside.” It’s hard for Peyton to hide the disappointment. Weeks isn’t years, so she isn’t about to dwell on it too much, but it sucks to know whilst she was crying into her Cheerios and listening to sad songs on repeat, Cleo wanted tosee her too.
“I’m here now,” Cleo replies.
