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The work went easily enough, Chloë humming while doing the somewhat mundane tasks because she was still on a bit of a high after last night.

I’m Morgan Banks’s girlfriend!

I am the girlfriend of Morgan Banks!

Morgan Banks is my girlfriend!

Girlfriend, thy name is Morgan Banks!

What an amazing turn her life had taken. Okay, sure, essentially everything in her life was remarkably the same: she was still an online college student; she still lived in a tiny house in her parents’ backyard; she was still a manager at this coffeeshop, but now, in addition to all that, she had a girlfriend. An official girlfriend who was a yummy older woman and who was funny, smart and who Chloë couldn’t believe she got to see naked.

She had even gotten over her qualms about Morgan’s sexuality because Vanessa the Wise had been right a few week ago: The only thing that mattered was now, and now Morgan was as lesbian as…well, the next lesbian. Ample proof of that could be found in Chloë’s panties now as she recalled just how perfectly Morgan had eaten her out last night.

Concentrate!

She had just selected the coffees she wanted to present to the next Lesbeans gathering, including a Honduran blend that she was super excited to try, and had just placed the orders for them with the various suppliers when her eyes happened to fall on a hot pink Post-It note amongst the seemingly hundreds of Post-It notes Vanessa was in the habit of affixing to any available surface on the desk. Chloë had always told herself that when she finally got her own place, she’d have a non-Post-It note policy in force because after working here she was sick of the things. The way Vanessa used them they spread like weeds.

Call Ralph re LVM 2

Meet Megan/Myrtle Encinitas Mon

Bring Chloë!!!

It must have been seeing her name which had made her notice this particular note, but there was something else that had caught her eye. LVM was her and Vanessa’s shorthand for La Vida Mocha, used in any texts or emails they exchanged about the shop. But what did LVM 2 mean? Ralph, Chloë knew from her position as manager, was La Vida Mocha’s account rep at the shop’s main equipment supplier, unless there was another Ralph which Chloë deemed unlikely because it was a ridiculous name and she hoped parents were no longer naming their kids that. She had no idea who Myrtle was. And what did Bring Chloë mean? With three exclamation points no less? Vanessa hadn’t said anything about needing her in Encinitas.

Chloë puzzled on this for a bit but eventually shrugged. Somehow, despite the plethora of Post-Its in a rainbow of colors that were cluttering the desk, Vanessa always managed to tend to whatever task each sticky note was created to remind her about, at which point that note would be discarded only to be replaced with others. A vicious cycle. The point was, Chloë knew that whatever the cryptic Post-It meant, Vanessa would get around to telling her.

Chapter 30

Morgan was fairly positive that what Chloë had told her was a lesbian tradition, wasn’t a lesbian tradition, but she sure as hell was not going to complain at this particular moment.

They were in Chloë’s car, heading to Del Mar, a city south of Carlsbad, to go to a sex shop Chloë knew of.

“The cool thing about the place,” Chloë had told her when she had arrived at Morgan’s to pick her up, “is that it’

s women-owned and so they really understand the products they sell.”

“Sound like you should consider working there,” Morgan had jibed.

“I totally would but I love coffee too much,” was Chloë’s response.

Then, once they were in the Jetta but before she started the engine, Chloë had looked at her with that smoldering stare Morgan had come to dream about and had said, “You know, Miss Banks, there’s a certain lesbian tradition about going to sex shops.”

Naturally, the ever-curious Morgan asked what the tradition was because for all she knew, there really was a tradition.

“The tradition,” Chloë began, “is that it is much more fun to go shopping for toys when you are completely aroused.”

“Ooh, I like where this is going,” Morgan had purred.

“You’re going to like it even more in a second, I promise,” Chloë replied back. “Lay your seat back.”

Morgan had complied readily, reclining the passenger seat as far as it would go. Then, while Chloë drove, the younger woman kept her right hand under Morgan’s skirt, playing her fingers along Morgan’s upper thighs, oh so close to Morgan’s core. She kept this up as they drove through Carlsbad en route to the I-5, which would lead them to Del Mar. Morgan’s pussy responded to the teasing by sending shivers of anticipatory pleasure through her form and she knew that it had been a mistake to wear a thong tonight because by the time they were stopped at the traffic light on Carlsbad Village Drive, waiting to turn onto the highway, Chloë had made her so wet the panties were overwhelmed.

Now, on the I-5, speeding south, Chloë had gotten more aggressive. Now, her fingers were gently brushing Morgan’s clit over the damp lace of the thong and Morgan had opened her legs wider, signaling to Chloë that she could have whatever she wanted down there.

Every now and then, the act of driving would force Chloë to use both hands to better maneuver the car but then she would mercifully bring that right hand back, those fingers with the chipped nail polish circling Morgan’s clit just enough to keep Morgan teetering on the brink.

“Please, make me come,” Morgan moaned.