Page 65 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

C elene’s world.

“Show me the rituals of your world,” Skye had told Celene early that next morning.

They’d outfitted themselves for a jog around Riverside Park.

Saying this, she’d loosened her hair from its nightly silk wrap, the picture of excitement.

“Don’t change anything about today. You have some work to do this afternoon, right?

Don’t even postpone that; I’d love to just float around, existing near you. ”

“Like a butterfly on the wall?” Celene asked, washing primer and moisturizer from her hands. No way she’d call her girlfriend an ordinary fly.

“Exactly like that.” Skye openly hesitated before crossing the threshold into the bathroom. New guest nerves, though they weren’t necessary. After grinning at Celene’s consent, she combed her hair into a ponytail.

Pretty, however, Skye’s hair did whatever it wanted once they stepped out in the heat, and Celene loved that, too. “Fine, but I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate.”

“It’s like I’m on vacation.” Skye met Celene’s gaze in the mirror. “Funny how you go to Yielding for time away from it all, and I come here.”

They kept the evening clear for the Vale family meetup at Donovan and Briana’s, where who the hell knew what would go down.

Byron’s gift of the house still left Celene disoriented, confused about a decision that wouldn’t have happened without her putting in all that effort. She originally wasn’t considered because of her singleness; she had to earn a place as a valued member of the family.

Plus, there was a new factor: Skye. She chose to be by her side, exuding calm Celene wished she could inject into her veins. The Vales knew they’d show up tonight as a couple, which hopefully wouldn’t cause a distraction.

Hopefully.

Until the afternoon, Celene and Skye engrossed themselves in the “Celene lifestyle.” Stretches, the jog. Takeout brunch. Meditation for equilibrium before Celene worked through a bunch of documents, the sound machine whirring.

Celene pinched the bridge of her nose. Repetitive client intake forms and questionnaires needled at her nerves, the blatant tedium. And honestly, her impending family dinner accelerated the makings of a headache. She needed her peaceful fix.

She snapped her laptop shut, setting it aside on the couch.

Trailing over to Skye on the bed, flipping through a paperback.

Celene slinked to lie at her side. Smirking already, she peeked at the cover and read aloud, “ The Mistress of Norwood’s Scientific Method: Book Six .

Has this author not run out of ways for the Mistress to bang her way through her city’s women? ”

“Oh, this one’s the best yet. She found another Mistress, and they’re competing to seduce each other first. Multiple chapters of yearning and frustration.

” Illustrating her glee, Skye’s eyebrows twitched up and stayed that way.

She waved at Celene’s plain boxes, admitting, “I tried three of your books and they made me want to rock in the fetal position.”

With a soft laugh, Celene rested her head on the comforter, batting her lashes purposefully. “Do you think the Mistress of Norwood will win the seduction competition?”

“She slept with an entire softball team in book five. I think she’ll come out on top.”

“Jesus.” Ever so slightly, she dragged fingertips along Skye’s hand upon the novel, pleased by her shiver. “Do these books do anything for you?”

“In what way?” Skye asked like someone who knew already.

Celene focused on the silkiness of her forearm, moving her own cheek upon her puddle of black hair. “If I slid my hand to check,” she started, regarding Skye in Celene’s thin lounge pants. “Would you be wet already?”

For that, Skye tilted her head in a laugh. “Shouldn’t you be working right now?”

“I warned you. I can’t concentrate with you here.” She rolled to her stomach, picture jasper charm bouncing in the fluid motion. “Read me some.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

A flustered Skye superseded any stupid questionnaire. Dark brown eyes, softly shaped brows, shoulders peaking in her lying position.

Celene dined on her visuals, needing to know. “Do you need an incentive?”

Skye’s breath caught, like she couldn’t decide which path to choose.

Her leer traveled in a slow, continuous curve from Celene’s lips to her breasts to her hips wrapped in the lightweight shorts designed for meditation and evidently arousing her girlfriend.

When Skye’s journey meandered to completion, back to parted lips, Celene crawled over.

Propped above Skye on her hands and knees, Celene dropped her voice. So Skye would listen. “What’s happening? On the page you’re on.”

Into the white comforter, Skye aired out a swear word or two. Then, to Celene’s delight, she lifted her head to find where she’d left off. “The Mistress’s sleeping with her lab assistant to take her mind off the woman she can’t have yet.”

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” Celene faux-whined, lowering to lie flush on top of Skye. They shared hushed murmurs as she shifted her knees together, pressing into Skye’s ass. A perfect angle to keep Skye’s legs spread. “What are they doing?”

“The assistant’s riding the Mistress’s fingers. On...on the blood samples.”

“Um, that’s—” Unsanitary. But— “Is it sexy?”

“Suspending belief, yeah. Two vials spilled, but they’re so into each other, they fuck right through it.” And, to prove her point, she began to read surprisingly inspired, evocative prose with all the writhing and fluids Celene expected. Well, most fluids.

Nevertheless, Skye’s soft, unsteady voice kept Celene’s mind on the sensuality of the scene.

Fair sunlight masked behind her sheer curtains, in a room arranged for restoration—and currently—pleasure.

Celene and Skye’s hips moved together, each soft collision bringing them closer to one of them breaking, losing control.

With a firm clench on the sheets, Celene licked the curve of Skye’s ear and purred out an extended, raspy moan. She did it a second time, wiping strands of hair off her tongue. Much like the unhygienic Mistress and her assistant, their arousal pushed all minor inconveniences aside.

Ever the trooper, Skye continued to read. Celene rewarded that with hands gliding up and down her back, a display of deliciously taut skin. And Celene could only handle doing that for a few minutes until her sexuality took hold, inching around to knead both breasts.

“No bra,” Celene gasped, drunk on curved softness.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Skye replied in a callback to their fake dating times. Felt like years ago.

Celene kissed the back of her head, breathing in the earthy, sweet scent of Skye’s hair.

These new heights of affection dictated the strokes to nipples stiffening to points.

Tweaks considerate of their pressure, circular motions made for both the physicality of foreplay and as veneration to her skin.

Irredeemably aroused, Celene murmured, “Read more.”

The nipple treatment pushed Skye’s uneven narration, stumbling when her head kept bobbing to the side. As if she wanted nothing more than to give in to the pleasure. To give license for Celene to take her out of this torture.

That morning, after a night of steamy, prolonged intimacy, Celene and Skye woke up before her alarm, naked and on the same turned-on plane.

Skye hadn’t broken eye contact as she slipped a hand beneath the covers and used those dexterous fingers to deliver the most expertly swiped orgasm for Celene to quiver through.

Leaving Celene to go down on Skye, engaging her mouth in a marathon of climaxes until their phones told them to start the day.

Those had been pretty fast, denying Celene the irresistible slow teases she preferred.

And now, prose about the assistant’s ass and the Mistress slapping it merely scattered into the background as sensual garnish to Skye’s body squirming in its stimulated state.

“You’re so naughty, reading this, Skye. Who do you see yourself as? Do you want your fingers inside, driving a woman mad, or would you rather grind onto a Mistress’s hand, begging to be taken out of your misery?”

Celene’s questions must’ve called a direct line to Skye’s clit. Skye mewled fitfully, releasing the book to ball and open her fist in time with their hips grinding. “I think I’m wet enough.”

“For me? Are you wet enough for me ?”

Skye interrupted their rhythm to hollow space beneath her. “See for yourself.”

Celene let go of Skye’s breast to journey slowly, tortuously, into the smooth heat inside the lounge pants. “No panties, either,” she processed aloud, eyes closed to tame herself. Because, god, Skye was excessively wet. Excessively ready. “This pleases me. To no end.”

“Thank god.”

She didn’t obsess over being single for years.

The lack of sex could be remedied on her own, and companionship was facilitated by her friendships.

Skye fulfilled a special role, and Celene couldn’t imagine living without her.

This knowledge tapped something visceral and tender, marked by her eyeing the copious gleam on her fingers, moaning, “I love you.”

Skye managed to laugh, right into the mattress. “Beautiful timing.”

“Kissing in the forest, jogging around the park, sex in my bed…nothing compares.” Getting back into it, she reached forward, offering the wet fingers to Skye. “Taste yourself.”

Hungry for herself or the erotic overture, Skye eagerly drew the fingers into her mouth, swirling a tongue that sharpened every nerve ending on Celene’s body.

Celene could only allow that much sensuality before she lost her composure, pulling the fingers free to return to their source.

There, she traced Skye’s clit and rubbed rhythmically, chasing the relief Skye deserved.

She didn’t stop there, though, locking her mouth to Skye’s nape, beneath her hair. Celene’s tongue and teeth worked tight, sensitive skin, and Skye shrieked unabashedly through it, in the type of overload she adored.

Foreplay and impatience.

They’d discussed the combination on their first hammock date.

Foreplay had long passed. Celene guided Skye through the comedown of a loud orgasm accented with dogged gasps. A sight Celene would seal permanently in her mind, of the woman who, when she could speak again, whispered, “I love you, too.”

Celene forced herself to exhale steadily, having climaxed from the press of Skye’s ass and the thrashing beneath her. Though that couldn’t fade in time for Celene to ask, “More?”

Skye surely slipped in some incredulousness with her parroted, “More?”

Flipping onto her back, she paired the question with a smile. With a trace of Celene’s jaw, the sharp shape of her lips.

Celene was the love of her life. And having this connection, Skye knew this went deeper than a sexy afternoon.

This was their way of bonding without speaking on the family meeting this evening.

More and more, she began to understand the folly of choosing women who hadn’t handled Celene’s reserved nature with authentic, sincere care.

She wouldn’t make her feel pitied.

Nor disassociate mid-intercourse. For someone who zoned out more than others, Skye couldn’t do that. Not in these deep moments.

Skye nodded, opening her mouth for Celene to cover, to lick inside possessively.

Her heart fluttered, overrun by the devotion poured into their kisses.

But they were a match made stitch by stitch from the elements Thalia praised.

She reveled in receiving this assertive attention, shivering when Celene tugged off Skye’s clothes.

Celene pushed herself up, and her stare zipped at every part of Skye’s body. Blinking lazily, she said, “We can skip going tonight, if you want.”

They could agree—an evening in bed sounded better. It was better.

She knew Celene, though. As much as the Vales annoyed her, the duty to show up and express her part was important.

“No, I want to be there for you.” Skye fit two fingers into the waistband of Celene’s shorts. “Let’s enjoy the now.”

That commitment seemed to work. Celene smirked through peeling off her skimpy around-the-house outfit, knowing how hot her figure got Skye.

She didn’t linger long, though, until she got into the same sitting position.

Brushing her black hair behind her shoulder, Celene focused on her apparent objective to make Skye come.

Skye grasped a pillow, the bedspread—anything within reach—once Celene inserted two fingers between Skye’s legs and began pumping.

The white walls, Celene’s shallow breathing, the faint aroma of sex and perfume let Skye accept the reality of their coupling.

Even the tenseness in Celene’s arm flexing was artful, a visual treat of skin and sensuality.

“Another?”

Eyes shuttered closed in this torrent, Skye answered without needing clarification. “Yes.”

Three fingers. Skye canted her hips with them, enthralled by how Celene hit all the right points, running jolts through her body. She stopped clawing at the comforter to squeeze her own breast and knew she’d made the perfect decision when Celene called her sexy.

She’d come soon, so soon for Celene.

Yet, Skye had to blink open for confirmation when Celene’s husky voice muttered, “And another?”

‘ Four-fingered penetration, ’ as Celene had put it that many weeks ago. Following extensive, tormenting foreplay.

Thinking again about how Celene could surely out-seduce the Mistress of Norwood, Skye whimpered, “Yes. Carefully.”

“Always,” Celene breathed as gently as the fourth finger she eased in.

More than wet receptive, Skye keened through the supreme fullness of Celene Vale graduating the speed of her motions in long, attentive passes. With the rising tempo, Celene breathed harder—like she couldn’t go on much longer. It was so damn sexy how Celene got off on pleasuring her.

Sucking in air, Skye began to thrash and Celene let her go for it.

Free to break the calm of Celene’s sanctuary with Skye’s harsh swears, cries that could wake the dead, bouncing from the walls in reverb. And Celene’s moans rose higher, sharper than ever. Probably the first time she’d enjoyed this level of noise in her apartment.

But neither of them could help it. Especially when Skye beckoned Celene to kiss her as she pulsed around fingers that knew her better than anyone. Curling, stretching, then departing, one contentious digit at a time.

Celene needed that.

Hell, Skye needed that. Desperately.

“Otherworldly,” Celene whispered into a sweaty, tongue-filled kiss that seized Skye’s soul. “Magnificent.”

Skye had judged Celene so wrongly on the side of the road, near the blueberry patch, as Celene gave the rush of a river, with none of the pain.

Allowing the acceptance to give her strength, she climbed atop Celene. Skye pecked a path downward, to where her appetite took her. With Celene clenching her scalp and succulence on her tongue, Skye knew what they had would last longer than a summer.