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Finally, they separated, Chloë pulling the dildo out of her girlfriend, the wet squelching sound it made upon being extracted proof of just how flooded Morgan’s pussy was.

When Morgan was free, she quickly turned Chloë so that now Chloë was leaning back against the table. In a flash, Morgan had the harness removed, dropping it and the still attached dildo to the floor. Then, she got on her knees in front of Chloë.

“Oh my god, baby,” she uttered. “It is so hot how wet your legs are!” And Morgan then began cleaning Chloë’s left leg with her tongue, starting just inside the knee and licking up along her thigh, Chloë watching her catch every rivulet of come with the tip of her tongue.

“Fuck, Miss Banks!” she uttered softly, this sight turning her on immensely.

Morgan gave Chloë’s clit the briefest of sucks before repeating her clean-up routine on Chloë’s right leg, again starting low and working up. This time, when she reached the apex between Chloë’s legs she dove her tongue into Chloë’s pussy. Chloë’s head snapped back, her eyes closed, her mouth wide open, cries of carnal delight emanating from her throat, her hands gripping the edge of the table, a grip which turned vise-like the moment Morgan began sucking on her clit. This time when she came, the room felt like it was spinning. Her pussy now was nothing but liquid explosions of pleasure and soon her moans became screams as she bore down on Morgan’s face, grinding her clit against it, wanting Morgan to drink everything pouring out of her.

When it was over, she had to lower herself to the floor because there was no way her legs could keep her upright now, especially in heels. And so there, on the polished granite floor tiles, she and Morgan lay, both looking up at the ceiling, catching their breath.

“Jesus, Miss Banks! How are you so good at that after such a short time?”

“The bigger question is, why do I like it so much?” Morgan replied. “At the risk of giving you the heebie-jeebies, I wasn’t much for going down on men.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’d do it just out of a sense of fairness more than anything but it wasn’t something I got turned on thinking about. But I literally think about eating you out several times a day, Chloë. Why?”

Chloë shook her head, for a moment unable to answer verbally because a belated pang of pleasure from her last orgasm had just shot through her core.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” she said when it passed.

“Maybe I am gay,” Morgan said and something about the sound of her voice made Chloë turn her head to look at her. There were tears streaming down her face.

“Morgan, don’t,” Chloë said soothingly, adjusting herself so she could embrace her girlfriend. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Morgan sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“It’s just…I’m fucking thirty-six-years-old! Why am I only making this discovery about myself now?”

She sounded a little angry.

“All my life I’ve been trying to find Mr. Right and failing miserably each time! Now, suddenly, I’m on the floor with a woman who I want to absolutely consume each time I see her and I’m wondering, how much happiness have I missed out on in my life because for some reason God, the Universe, Fate—whatever—decided to play a joke on me and not make me realize it’s a woman I really want until now, when I’m pushing forty!”

Chloë wiped away the next tears which fell from Morgan’s eyes. She suddenly remembered Vanessa’s statement from a couple of weeks ago, about how women like her and Chloë were lucky to have known they were lesbians practically all their lives. Chloë knew she was still very young but she would hate to imagine having lost any time so far not knowing she was gay.

“You know, this doesn’t necessarily mean you’re gay,” she told Morgan. “Maybe…maybe you’re somebody who simply has been looking for a person, you know? Not a gender.”

The corners of Morgan’s lips turned up into a slight smile.

“Maybe,” she said. “That’s actually really profound, Miss Marchand.”

Morgan turned onto her side to face Chloë. She stroked Chloë’s cheek.

“And I suppose this means you are that person?” she asked.

Grinning, Chloë said, “Well, I am pretty fucking fabulous, dude.”

“You are,” Morgan agreed. “And you need to know something. It’s not just about the sex, Chloë.”

Chloë felt her heart beat a little faster.

“It about you, Chloë,” Morgan went on. “Even sitting on the sofa with you, watching something stupid on television makes me happy. Or listening to you go on and on about your day at work makes me happy. We can be doing the most mundane things but as long as we’re together, I’m happy.”

Chloë smiled, feeling her own eyes watering now.

“I feel the same,” she said. And she did. The past few weeks had almost felt like she was living someone else’s life. Heck, just other night, when they had both returned to Morgan’s house after the little celebration at Vanessa and Megan’s house, she and Morgan had simply put on a movie and cuddled together on the sofa watching it, both a little buzzed still from the Champagne, before turning in for the night. They hadn’t had sex; they hadn’t even made out, and yet Chloë remembered feeling incredibly contented as she drifted off to sleep that night.