Olive Oil and White Bread (7 page)

And her instincts were telling her she wanted this woman.

Badly.

All of her.

It didn't even cross her mind to take the poor girl to the bedroom. Her want was too close, too immediate. She wrenched her mouth from Jillian's and grabbed at her vest and T-shirt, pulling them up, revealing a smooth expanse of belly that she rubbed a palm over. She dipped her head and poked her tongue playfully into the belly button.

“You have an ‘inny,'” she lifted laughing eyes to Jillian.

Not to be outdone, Jillian grasped the hem of Angie's T-shirt and pulled the entire garment over her head and off, leaving Angie breathing raggedly in her black bra, her own “inny” exposed.

“So do you.” Jillian cocked an eyebrow and smiled, and those damn dimples sent Angie's arousal through the roof once again. She peeled off the rest of Jillian's clothes, baring her completely on her living room couch, forcing herself to take a moment and just look. Just stare. Jillian's body was gorgeous. Lean, athletic, but gloriously female with ample breasts and rounded hips. Her nipples were pink and the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs was light and curly.

“God, you're beautiful,” she whispered.

Jillian smiled, then made a gesture with her finger. “And you're overdressed. Off. Now.”

Angie stood and stripped off her own clothing in seconds. Before she could resume her position, Jillian held up a hand. “Wait.” Angie stopped. “I just want to look.” Angie could almost feel Jillian's eyes on her, traveling from her head down her neck, stopping at her heavy breasts. She'd never been a small girl, would never be a small girl, but she was proud of her body. She was round in some places, had curves in others, and had always hoped the person she ended up with would love her for them. Jillian's gaze moved over her as if she was studying a priceless piece of art. Reaching her toes, Jillian finally looked back up into Angie's eyes and said simply, “You are stunning. Come here.” And she opened her arms.

Their lovemaking was wonderful and hot and awkward all at once. They started out quickly before stopping to breathe and then resuming at a more reasonable pace, taking the time to explore one another's bodies, to figure out what each of them liked and what didn't work. Jillian came first, gasping for breath in Angie's ear, gripping Angie's shoulders as Angie's fingers moved through her wetness. Angie closed her eyes as it happened, thinking the sound of Jillian having an orgasm was the most beautiful music she'd ever had the privilege of hearing.

She had little time to revel in it, though, because Jillian had barely caught her breath before she slid her own hand down Angie's stomach and into the slickness that waited there. “Don't look too satisfied,” she teased in a whisper. “I give as good as I get.” Angie wondered if she should tell Jillian that just the sound of her voice—all sexy and bossy like that—was making her think she'd sprung a leak between her legs, but all coherent thought was driven from her mind when Jillian slipped inside her.

“Oh, my god,” Angie ground out, her hips moving of their own accord. Patti had never been there—
inside
. She'd never let her get that far. But with Jillian, she not only wanted that, she wanted more.

More
.

She wanted to give more. She wanted to take more. She lifted her head and kissed Jillian deeply, pushing her tongue in as far as she could, wanting to devour this woman, heart and soul. Then she pulled back to look her in the eye. Picking up the rhythm, she rocked on Jillian's hand, felt Jillian's thumb pressing against her, and kept their eyes locked together. It was only a matter of a few short moments before Angie tipped over the edge into oblivion, crying out Jillian's name, one corner of the couch's throw pillow crushed in her fist.

They lay for a long while, until their ragged breathing returned to almost normal. Worried about squishing Jillian, Angie lifted herself up enough to roll off the couch onto the floor, taking Jillian and the afghan with her. Jillian tucked her head under Angie's chin as Angie covered them with the blanket.

“Wow,” Jillian said.

“I second that.”

Angie smiled against her hair, and they lay quietly, the only sound
the ticking of the wall clock. Jillian's breath became even; Angie was sure she was asleep. That's when it felt safe to say it.

“I've never done that before,” she whispered.

“Done what? Slept with a woman on the first date?”

Angie swallowed, caught. “Or that.”

“I'm not following.”

“I've never done . . . that. Felt that.”

Jillian lifted her head so she could look at Angie. A mischievous gleam appeared in her eye. “Had an orgasm?”

“Well, no. I've had an orgasm before.” Angie cleared her throat. “Not from somebody else, though.”

Jillian's eyebrows flew up. “Really? Never?”

With a shake of her head, Angie said, “No. I never let Patti get that far.”

“Patti?”

“The woman I dated in college. She was nice, and we made out a lot, but I was always just a little bit too scared to go any further than that.”

Jillian nodded thoughtfully. “And did you date guys?”

“I did, but you know.” She shrugged. “They were guys.”

Propping her head in her hand, Jillian asked, “So. I'm the first woman you've been with? Like this?”

“Yes.” Angie tried to tamp down the panic that bubbled up. “Is that bad?”

“No, of course it's not bad.” Jillian brushed a strand of Angie's hair off her forehead. “In fact, it's really kind of awesome. I've never been somebody's first before. I'm kind of liking that.”

Angie chuckled, hoping her relief wasn't too obvious. “I think you're letting this go to your head.”

“Oh, I totally am. So have you never
given
a girl an orgasm before? Because you seemed to know exactly what you were doing, let me just say.”

“Well, thank you. No, you're my first there too.”

Jillian shifted, moving her body atop Angie's, and took one of Angie's nipples into her mouth, nibbling playfully. “If you've never gone all the way with any girl before me,” she began, shifting across
to the other nipple and sucking hard enough to make Angie catch her breath. “Then oh my”—she rocked her hips a little, forcing Angie to open her legs to accommodate her—“how lucky am I?” With that, Jillian raised herself to her knees, pushed Angie's thighs as far apart as they'd go, and leaned down. At the first touch to her center, Angie sucked in every particle of air her lungs would hold. Her hips lifted as if trying to reach more of Jillian's mouth. The hot wetness and probing tongue set her heart to racing and her fingers to grasping at Jillian's head, fisting handfuls of her blonde hair as a groan ripped up from deep in her throat.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Angie whispered. “Oh my god, Jillian. Oh my god.” She swore she could feel Jillian smiling against her own wet flesh. It became impossible to tell exactly where Jillian's tongue was touching her, where her lips met Angie's own skin, how much moisture was her and how much was Jillian. Angie knew nothing but sensation. Hot, beautiful, sensual sensation. And just when she thought she might spontaneously combust, when she was sure her arousal couldn't possibly surge any higher, Jillian pushed her fingers inside—deep inside—her tongue playing over the hot, sticky wet, and Angie exploded.

The clock on the nightstand read 3:24 as the two of them lay spent in Angie's bed, having finally abandoned the living-room floor for something more comfortable. The intention had been to get some sleep, but they'd made a mutual decision that one more orgasm was necessary first.

Now they lay entwined with one another and Angie's limbs felt like they were made of pudding. Very heavy pudding. Jillian's blonde head was pillowed on Angie's shoulder, her breathing deep and even. Angie stroked her fingertips absently along the smooth skin of Jillian's shoulder as she lay awake, reliving the night in her mind and trying to analyze the surprising emotion simmering inside her.

Was it possible to fall this quickly? She didn't really know Jillian, and yet she felt like she did. Was that weird? Was it simply because of the sex? The awesome, limb-melting, mind-blowing sex? Was that
obscuring the logic with which she should be looking at the situation? Was she being a U-Haul lesbian cliché? Because at that moment, she never wanted to move a muscle again. She would be perfectly content to stay in her bed with Jillian's warm, naked body wrapped around her own forever and a day.

Angie mentally shook herself, told herself to stop being so silly. She was twenty-five years old, not sixteen. Fairy tale romances happened only in trashy novels, and love at first sight didn't exist. She needed to just take a chill pill or she'd send Jillian screaming into the street to get away from a crazy, clingy lesbian.

Jillian shifted slightly in her sleep, and then a tiny grin turned up the corners of her mouth, causing just a teasing peek of her dimples. Angie swallowed hard, and in her mind, threw in the towel. It was over, and she knew it.

She would do anything to see that smile.

Anything.

1991

Love Will Never Do (Without You)

Five

The entire house shook, causing Jillian to fly down the stairs, worry etched on her face. Something had obviously fallen, she just didn't know what. “What was that? What happened?”

Shay and Laura looked like they'd collapsed onto the couch, Shay sprawled like a rag doll, Laura with her legs hanging over the arm.

“Your couch weighs a fucking ton. That's what happened.” Laura groaned. “I think I broke my spine.”

“Good thing your girlfriend's a doctor, then,” Angie commented as she came around the corner from the kitchen to grab another box, looking only slightly frazzled.

“You are due for your rabies shot, aren't you?” Jillian teased.

“Oh, har har,” Laura said. “By the way, why don't you guys buy a house and move in the dead of fucking winter? That's a good idea.” She rubbed her hands together.

“You know what?” Angie said. “I think we will. And you know what else? We'll ask our closest, dearest friends to help us.”

“And they will. Because they're giant suckers.” Shay winked at Jillian, then hauled herself off the couch and swatted at Laura. “Come on, baby. Just a little bit more left in the truck.”

“I think my ears might have frozen off. Let me know if you see them on the ground outside.”

“I told you to wear a hat,” Shay scolded her.

“I'll order the pizza in twenty minutes,” Angie called to them as they headed out the front door. “Promise.”

Jillian noticed the big furniture truck pulling up out front. “Honey,” she called into the house. “I think the bed's here.”

Angie gave a little girl squeal as she came up next to Jillian.

A big, burly man with shoulders as wide as both girls standing side by side knocked his snowy boots on the front steps, then came up to the door. “Ms. Clark?”

“That's me,” Jillian said.

“I've got a queen-size bed and box springs?”

“Yup.”

“Can you show me where it's going?” He bent to untie his boots.

“Oh, no,” Angie said. “Please. Don't worry about that. We've been tracking in and out all day.”

They led him into the house to the stairs. Before he even took a step up, he made a sound in his throat and shook his head.

“What's wrong?” Jillian asked.

He took his tape measure out and measured the stairway, the wall, the ceiling. He continued to shake his head and finally announced, “The box spring won't fit.”

“What?” Angie looked crestfallen, though her voice hitched up a notch.

“See this angle here?” He pointed to the space between the ceiling and the half-wall that formed one side of the stairway. “The angle's too extreme. Box springs don't bend like a mattress.”

Jillian glanced at Angie, whose eyes were filling with tears. She always cried when she was frustrated or stressed, and moving had proven very stressful. Jillian squeezed her forearm and said to the man, “What are our options?”