Page 43 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

M onday night was for tweezing. Not Skye’s brows, since she’d tackled that last weekend. But her stained-glass pieces were developing beautifully. She’d hand-cut enough varied sheets of glass to assemble Forever Fuchsia leaves together by tweezer.

It was meticulous.

And time-consuming.

Not to mention dangerous. Without her protective gloves, her hands would be scraped up by the pointy shards.

Skye absolutely loved it.

It was the closest feeling to spending a day outside. Trapped off in her ventilated secret room, assembling her secret art for her secret commission to her once-fake girlfriend—another secret.

Working on this piece also served as a good distraction from her phone.

Celene’s ‘God’ and ‘How can I use these?’ responses to her photos were positive indicators.

She’d sent unrelated, not-naughty messages while out shopping with Nadine on Sunday, and Skye replied with shots of anything inspiring from the Woodmere Art Museum.

Skye sending seductive pictures of herself hadn’t come up again.

Shutting her eyes, Skye tried to shush the doubtful voices. Did it count as sexual harassment, as they hadn’t been asked for? But they were unmistakably naughty.

She deposited the tweezers and a shiny leaf on her desk. It still shocked her to have a girlfriend at all, let alone it being Celene Vale. She could only assume Celene liked the photos, as the woman didn’t shy from expressing animosity. It was sort of hot.

“Wow,” Skye said to the compartment’s wooden walls. Never before had she considered a sharp temper in a dossier for an ideally passionate match. Yet she pondered there, suddenly too warm, recalling Celene losing her cool once Elise brought Skye into their argument.

Her phone buzzed loudly on the desk’s edge; Skye caught it before it fell to the floor. At 2 a.m., she expected no disturbances. Then, she checked the notification, and her work time lost all significance.

Celene – 2:02 am

Are you alone?

Skye’s jaw dropped. Okay, this was the equivalent of a ‘You up?’ message.

She quickly pushed her delicate items into tidy piles, removed her gloves, and switched off her lamp before scrambling out of the trap door, back onto her loft bed.

After sliding the door closed, she found the fortitude to respond.

Skye – 2:07 am

I am.

Celene – 2:08 am

I can’t stop looking at your pictures.

I’m alone, too.

“Oh, say less,” Skye whispered as she washed her hands in her bathroom, then ran a hand towel under the faucet to pat her neck. She’d run a fever, and nothing even happened yet.

Skye – 2:16 am

I was worried you didn’t like them.

Skye locked her bedroom door and kept only the lamp underneath her bed switched on for minimal, atmospheric lighting.

For what, Skye could guess; she knew it’d be well worth the forethought.

She scaled her ladder two rungs at a time and lay on her covers, absently twirling fingers into her curly bangs.

Celene – 2:20 am

Skye, stop. Of course I like them.

They distracted me all day.

All day? At her high-powered job? Skye smothered a girlish bray into her hands.

Skye – 2:22 am

You bring that out of me.

Celene – 2:23 am

Can we talk?

I want to hear you.

Skye gave an affirmative reply and still nearly leapt through the ceiling when her phone buzzed for a call. She bemoaned the absence of video until the rousing sensation of Celene’s voice wrapped around her.

“Where are you right now?” Celene asked in a husky, unambiguously turned-on timbre, a feast for the senses.

Skye would probably lose consciousness if she thought about anything that may have transpired before the text exchange. “In bed. How about you?”

“I’m having a glass of Malbec. I’m not far from my bed, though.”

This was legit. Skye skimmed her mind for what to ask, very rusty at this. “So, what are you wearing?”

And, what a relief, they broke into laughter. Skye quieted hers with a hand. Luce wouldn’t hear, but she’d take no chances. “Sorry. I’m not used to this.”

Celene recouped in a melodic sigh. “And what is this , per se?”

A new flush stuck Skye’s thin pajama top to her skin. “It’s late at night. You’re looking at my sexy photos. I’m in bed. You’re drinking wine.”

Moments stretched by until Celene spoke. “I’m dressed in a nightgown, silky and sheer. It barely goes lower than my thighs.”

“Oh. I can see that.” Skye wasn’t exaggerating; her eyes hazed into daydream mode, on the softness of the fabric when Celene ravished her mouth days ago, how the textile bunched in her hands. “Um, how’s that wine?”

“It’s almost gone. Now, tell me what you have on.”

The sharpness there quickened her heart even more. Like an impatient supervisor checking over her shoulder. Skye may not make it through this. She touched each item as she named them. “Sleeveless pajama top. Drawstring shorts?—”

“How short?” Celene cut her off, urgency directly impacting the juncture clinging to her panties.

“They don’t cover a lot. I’ll say that much.”

Celene’s shuddering breath wound Skye up drastically, almost painfully. “No bra?”

“God, no. It’s too late for bras.”

“Mm, same.”

In the many instances of them kissing lately, Skye relished in the press of Celene’s breasts against hers. Soft, unignorable fullness. A slow breath left her lips. “When will you get into bed?”

“In a minute.” That mischief Skye appreciated tinted Celene’s tone, with, “How do you want me? On my back or my stomach?”

Skye’s moan shook her whole body. It took concerted effort to keep her free hand over her clothes. “Which do you prefer?”

“I’ll start on my back.”

“Excellent.”

She flattened her ear against her phone to pick up on the shuffling of what she assumed to be Celene’s bedsheets. Distantly, Skye recognized a car alarm in the Manhattan background, not a nuisance, and more seasoning to the mood. Like she was there.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Skye joked in her anticipation. Anything to keep her sensitive body at bay.

“Sleep’s not on my radar.” Celene sounded much closer, the texture of her sultry voice an undeniable aphrodisiac. “I’m thinking about us kissing in bed, my thigh pressing into you. The way you swivel your hips in a slow grind drives me wild.”

Skye hadn’t consciously done it; it’d happened naturally. “You liked that.”

“It made me wet.”

“God, oh.” That would do her in. She grasped a bed railing next to her head, needing an anchor. “Say that again? Please.”

Celene got breathier; the heat of her words deadly. “Skye, you make me so wet.”

Skye would surely warp the railing. “How does this work? Do I...do I just start touching myself?”

“You’ll touch yourself when I say so.”

Out came a whimper, not even a moan. Skye’s hips jumped off the bed. “You’re fucking torturing me.”

“I love when you let go.” Shifting sounded through on the receiver, followed by Celene again. “How much foreplay is too much? You’re responsive, you fluster easily. Maybe I should tease you for hours until you’re overcome with want.”

“Hours? My god.”

“Would that be too much?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t ever experienced...” Skye gulped, battling arousal demons for vocabulary. “Extended foreplay.”

Celene’s laugh was slow, intentionally crafty. “Touch your breast. Only one. Over your top.”

Skye indecisively hovered a hand above either mound of her chest until she picked her right breast, strumming a nipple peaking through the fabric.

Razor-sharp pleasure cut through her; she took pitifully weak grasps so she wouldn’t come too soon.

Her hips, although, had gone sentient, riding phantom fingers in the air, loosening those gasps into moans.

One after another, a production line of arousal.

“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Celene said, her voice unrelenting. “What are you imagining?”

“I’m imagining your sexy tongue in my mouth.

And...and...” Skye thought of Celene’s suffocating, sensual kisses.

The slicker she grew, the more she lost a grip on her bashfulness and the meaning of the word.

“Celene, god. You have the prettiest, most elegant fingers, and I stare at them sometimes, fantasizing how they’d fit inside me. ”

Then, the unthinkable happened. Celene’s moan rang out, and it wasn’t low and saucy like her seductive voice; it was hoarse, stair-stepped, a shudderingly higher pitch than expected. After it, Celene asked, “Do you imagine two fingers?”

“Yes. And more.”

“Get on speakerphone. Touch your breasts with both hands and picture me doing it.” She cursed, and Skye wished she knew why. “I cannot believe you sat on my hammock with your nipples tempting me.”

Skye couldn’t recall if Celene had told her over or under her shirt, but she chose artistic liberty, writhing at the skin-on-skin caresses. Slowly with her fingertips, as if her body could handle more teasing. Celene’s labored breathing let her know the feeling was mutual. “What are you touching?”

“I’m on my stomach now, just pushing my hips onto my bed.”

“Do you let your partners fuck you?” Skye had been wondering. A tactful avenue to broach the topic.

Celene hummed softly. “Why? Is that an offer?”

Skye pinched her nipples with light pressure, decidedly soaked. “I’ll only do what’s comfortable for you.”

“Mm,” Celene’s voice bounced up in a second of clarity before returning to seduction. “Nothing pleases me like giving orgasms; the other woman’s moans, how she hugs around my fingers, wetness trickling down my chin.” She moaned again, and Skye almost combusted. “But I’ll switch sometimes.”

“I’m relieved, because I want to touch you. So, so badly.”

“So, so badly?” Celene’s tone was a warning, and Skye braced herself. “You want my pussy?”

Was it possible to be too keyed up? Would she cross into overstimulated territory? Skye’s center fluttered on nothing, and she gave voice to it. “Celene, uh. I think I came a little.”

That brought out another one of Celene’s incredible moans. “Will you do it again for me? I need to hear that again, fuck.”