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She welcomed the heavy kiss to her lips much like she quickly accommodated the hand between her legs. Helena bumped up against a small ledge that was big enough to hop up on, but if she wasn’t careful, she’d slip right off again. As her chiffon dress gracefully gathered around her waist and welcomed the heady touch to her mound, guarded only by a thin pair of silk underwear, her arms fought between wrapping around Delia’s shoulders or bracing her whole body against the coat closet walls.

Furs brushed up against her. Downy jackets rustled in her hair. Hangers clattered as Helena spread her legs among them, indulging the thought that she’d be the first woman ever fucked in Francesca Blake’s closet. Whoever that woman was.

“You know how to entertain a girl,” she sweetly said when she had the chance. Didn’t matter that Delia silenced her with a firm hand. Helena was already into it. Especially when she recalled her confession that one of her biggest fantasies was being yanked into a closet for this.

Right on the nose, wasn’t it?

“So we’re clear,” Delia said through clenched teeth, “we’ve got to be quiet. There are dozens of very nice, very snotty women out there, and they would be upset to know what we’re doing in here. Because most of them haven’t had fun in about twenty years and they would die of jealousy to know that you’re getting this kind of special treatment.”

That’s my middle name. Yet Helena couldn’t help herself when she was done tasting one of Delia’s many talented fingers. “We don’t know each other, right?” She fluttered her eyelashes to get the playful mood across.

“That’s right.” Delia pushed against Helena, her light jacket coming off as her girlfriend pulled up Delia’s blouse and touched the breadth of her back. Like Heaven. Helena hoped Delia felt the same way about her. “I’ve been lusting after you ever since you walked into the party. I can’t help myself.” When Helena exposed her throat and lightly moaned, Delia went in for the kiss. Two lips, a line of teeth, and a boastful tongue right where Helena’s lifeforce was its most vulnerable. “I have to fuck you. You can’t leave until I know what you feel like inside and what you sound like when I make you come.”

Such music to Helena’s ears made her forget everything else out there. Was she even at a party? Was she surrounded by strangers who could hear them, see them? The closet door didn’t lock from the inside. The best they could do was push a never-used broom against the handle, but it wasn’t enough. If someone wanted in, they’d get in.

And that was almost hotter to think about than Delia leaving a trail of possessive kisses on Helena’s chest.

“By all means,” she said with a heavy breath. “Sample me all you like.”

She grabbed the bust of her off-the-shoulder dress and attempted to pull it down, as if this were an ordinary gown she wore on date night, picked out because it gave such simple ease of access. But while Delia gathered the entirety of Helena’s skirt in her hand and pushed it to the side, the bust proved difficult. Just like Helena on a good day.

The fit was too tight. The fabric too nice. Were they at home, Helena would insist on ripping it, as if they were wild animals rutting in the woods. Yet she had to leave this nice closet in the next few minutes.

Delia saw her struggling and pinned Helena’s hands against the wall. “I bet you’re the kind of girl that gets dragged into a lot of closets.”

She grinned, her bra and breasts straining against her bust. “I’ve never been in the closet before. I’ve always been honest about who I am.”

“And what are you?”

“Right now?” Helena pushed her chest out, straining the fabric against her small curves until Delia got the hint. She buried her face between Helena’s breasts before rolling her tongue against one of her nipples, currently poking through the chiffon. Helena gasped. She almost forgot what she was about to say. “All yours.”

She welcomed Delia between her legs while their hands entwined high up on the closet wall. That’s right. Make me yours. Helena would always be her own entity, her own person, but she also got off on the idea of one special person claiming her over and over, no matter what, no matter how long it had been, how many other people came and went. Like a recurring affair. We meet up once a year. Somewhere special. Like the French Riviera. Helena was taken back to Le Negresco in Nice, where she spent a whole week pretending that her two lovers weren’t married to one another. It made the whole experience more thrilling, because occupying the fifth floor, home of the VVIP guests, wasn’t enough.

Who else had those experiences? Who else, in a matter of weeks of leaving home, became the favorite groupie of a hundred rich people with more money than sense.

Me.

Yet here was Delia Benoist, reminding Helena that at the end of the day, she only belonged to one person at a time.

They moved together in silent agreement, Helena banishing the dress from her body while Delia gave in to her deepest temptations. It hadn’t been enough to drag Helena into a stranger’s closet for a quickie. She wanted her body to completely consume this young woman who had no right to rub such illustrious shoulders. Fuck me. Now. Helena didn’t say those words. She implied them with the intense movements of her hips, the strain of her torso, the arch of her back, and the roll of her head as she accepted more kisses to her throat and mouth. Delia’s tongue was as much inside of Helena’s throat as it was on the rest of her body. Exactly how Helena liked it when she was too dirty to comprehend.

When Delia went for the kill between Helena’s legs, it wasn’t with only one finger. She knew Helena well enough by now to know she liked it full and rough from the word go.

“Ah…!” Helena was quiet, despite her need to scream in pleasure. Give her what she wants. Which is me. As it so happened, their wants weren’t too different. Helena needed this like she needed the air she breathed.

Here. Out there. Everywhere.

Since she was sixteen, she knew this was her inevitable destiny. Maybe that wasn’t so long ago for some people but for her? At nineteen? I might as well be an entirely different person. One realizing the true potential one woman offered her.

What a striking thought… like the fingers striking her where it mattered most.

“Fuck!” she hissed through her teeth. Delia already knew the perfect place to touch her. Sure, they had hooked up more than Helena had been with most other people, but she wasn’t used to this level of care and attention to sexual detail. It was like Delia wanted to pleasure her in the way Helena responded to best as if she were her own unique person with quirks and a body built slightly differently from the countless other women on the planet. And Delia was shorter, wasn’t she? Yet it never stopped her from being the effortless top in this relationship, pinning Helena to walls and beds with hardly a thank you, Miss.

Nothing embarrassed her. Not even the crazy shit Helena wrote in her notebook.

Delia remembered Helena talking about this. She made it happen. And not from a misplaced sense of ego like Irene.

Don’t think about her…