Page 15 of Romancing the Clone (Sunrise Cantina #3)

Wait, wait. “I’m interested,” I squawk. “I promise I’m interested. I’m just…surprised.”

She tilts her head, watching me. “Still? I thought I was making myself obvious.”

I lick my lips—oh god, they taste like her—and hesitate.

Do I get involved, knowing that I can’t ever tell her the truth of who I am?

Of what I am? Does it really matter? If I turn away now, I’m going to lose her.

I know that as sure as I know how to breathe.

I can’t explain to her and she won’t understand.

More than that, I don’t want to turn away.

Just because I’m a clone, that doesn’t mean I can’t have happiness.

Surely I can find out a way to balance everything.

Surely I’m not doomed to be alone. Ruthie found love, but he’s also a clone.

Ruth, my other sister, is currently being cosseted by her big mesakkah husband.

She’ll be protected by his name and his wallet.

But no one can protect Simone, or me. We have the most risk of all.

I stare at her, full of yearning and indecision. A look of hurt flickers across her face, and that’s all it takes. I don’t want to be the one who hurts her. I want to be the one she depends on when the universe tries to bring her down.

“Can we kiss again?” A knot of emotion in my throat makes the words difficult. I hold a hand out to her, trembling.

“You don’t have to be scared of anything,” Simone whispers, cupping my face. “It’s just me here. You know I won’t hurt you.”

She leans in, her fingers gentle on my skin, and then her mouth brushes mine again. It’s soft. Sweet. Perfect. It unlocks a deep, needy hunger in me. I cling to her, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. Our tongues brush. Simone gasps.

And I am fucking loving this.

It’s like something inside me has torn free.

I kiss her hungrily, my mouth slanting over hers, not letting her up for anything.

It doesn’t matter that I’m shorter than her and have to stand on my tiptoes as I wind my arms around her neck and shoulders.

It doesn’t matter that I’m not the most experienced kisser and my enthusiasm is greater than my finesse.

She makes soft sounds of pleasure with each kiss, whimpering when we pause, and it tells me that I can keep going.

I pull her closer, burying my face against her neck when we part again, and she jolts against me.

In the next moment she groans, holding me tight as I suck on the slim column of her throat.

I kiss every inch of bare skin I can find, nipping at her ear before kissing her jaw and then back down her neck.

I want to devour her whole, taste all of her.

I have vague memories of other kisses in the past, both male and female, but they don’t compare to how I feel when my lips touch Simone’s.

It’s like she’s the spark that turns my body into an inferno.

I kiss down her throat again, to her delicate collarbone, and this elicits a laugh from Simone. She squirms against me as my hands roam over her. “God. I swear I brought you here for cake, not to make out.”

“Should I stop?” I ask, then trace her collar with my tongue.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” She slips a hand down to my butt and squeezes one cheek.

Her mention of cake fills me with ideas, though.

No cake tastes as good as her mouth, but if she wants me to appreciate her work, I can absolutely do that.

I glance over at the cake and drag my finger through the icing along the ‘R’.

When my finger is good and coated, I look over at Simone—flush-faced, eyes glassy with arousal, mouth parted—and brush the icing over her lips.

Then I kiss it off.

The honeyed sweetness gets everywhere. It’s on our tongues, our cheeks, our lips, and our kisses seem to alternate between lapping at each other’s skin and tangling tongues. It’s messy and wet and delicious and I’m so in love with this gorgeous woman.

“Happy birthday to me,” I whisper, and lick her upper lip.

She whimpers, and the sound of it warms my heart and sends heat pulsing between my thighs.

I want to do more. So much more. Her collarbone shows a faint red mark from my hungry mouth, and I take another swipe into the icing, then paint it over the spot. I lick the icing off, and her head tilts back, her sagging in my arms. “Just nowhere near the belt or below.”

“Absolutely not,” I say between licks, my arm at her waist. “That’s where my mouth goes.”

Simone moans. “Here I’ve been dreaming about doing that to you.”

“We can take turns. I’m not greedy.” I nip at the cleavage peeking out from the neck of her tunic. “Actually, I might be a bit greedy.”

Her laughter is breathless. “You can be greedy with me.”

Good. I move further down and bite at the tip of one breast through her clothing.

Simone cries out, and then her hands are in my hair, holding me there.

Now I’m the one groaning, my hand cupping one breast as I tongue her nipple, wetting the point of it through the fabric.

I’ve given up on the idea of stopping, of not being with her.

I can’t walk away from her or her soft cries, her desperate whimpers, the fingers laced in my hair holding me close.

We’ll just have to figure something out…tomorrow. Tonight, I want to touch her.

I bite at her nipple through her clothing again, then look up. “Sit on the counter.”

“You’re so bossy,” she breathes, even as she shoves the cake aside and hops up on the counter behind her. “I love it.”

Good, because I don’t think I can stop being bossy when it comes to her.

I’m ravenous, desperate to touch her everywhere.

I grab the waistline of her pants and tug it down, and she shifts her weight atop the counter to help me drag them down to her ankles.

Once they’re off, I toss them aside. Her eyes are luminous as she watches me, her now-tangled ponytail teasing her shoulder.

I move forward and spread her thighs reverently. She leans back against the wall, her gaze on me as I slide toward her.

Her pussy is beautiful. The lips are slightly uneven, one side peeking out more than the other.

She has darker, crinkly hair here, and it cups the flushed, shiny skin that promises to be as wet as it looks.

She’s natural and slightly imperfect, and I love that because it makes her unique.

No other pussy will look like hers, and it feels a bit like I’ve uncovered a treasure.

“Are you shy?” I ask her, as she’s gone silent.

“No. It’s just been a while.”

There’s a hint of uncertainty in her gaze, and it makes me ache for her.

I don’t know what she went through in her captivity.

She hasn’t volunteered it, and I haven’t asked.

But I know it’s a big step to jump into sex again after being abused.

I want her to feel loved and cherished and beautiful.

“Do you want me to stop? You know we can at any time.”

“I don’t want to stop.” She reaches out and caresses my cheek with one hand. “I promise I’m fine.”

I’m going to make sure she’s fine, I decide. Just in case.

Stepping back, I take one slender foot in my hand. It’s a long foot, because Simone is taller than I am. It’s still beautiful and elegant, though. I press a kiss to the arch, reverent. “I don’t want to stop, either.”

And then I begin kissing up her leg.

I treat her like I would a fragile musical instrument or a delicate work of art.

I caress her with light touches, appreciating and admiring as I stroke her leg and kiss her skin.

I love the softness of her body, the jiggle in her thigh, the arch of her foot.

There’s a fine down of hair on her legs and I love that, too.

It says that she’s comfortable around me, and comfortable enough in her skin that she doesn’t feel like she has to shave.

Some lovers might not like it, but I do.

I love everything about her—body hair and all—and adore all of it.

Slowly, I trail kisses up her leg and toward the inside of her thigh. And then I pause.

Simone breathes out softly, her fingers carding through my hair. “I promise you can touch me.”

I glance up at her. I love the way she looks, all tousled and blurry with arousal. I want to put my fingers inside her, to feel her body clench around my hand. But I think about the icing again. I lift two of my fingers and suck on them as our eyes meet, cleaning them with my mouth.

She moans, watching me. When my wet fingers emerge, she grabs my hand and leans in, sucking on those same fingers. Her hot, hungry mouth makes me achy, my pussy throbbing with need. I want to touch myself to the sight of disheveled Simone, her legs spread in invitation.

I tug her forward, moving her toward the edge of the counter and angling her body so her pussy is presented properly. “I’m going to taste you now.”

“God, I wish you would.” Her hand slides down to her thigh, creeping towards her sex.

Feeling greedy, I push that hand aside and bury my face between her thighs.

She cries out, her legs jerking, but I lock my arm around one leg, holding it over my shoulder as I nuzzle in and taste her.

She’s musky and tangy and perfect, just the way I’d anticipated, and it only increases my arousal.

I tongue her slickness, learning her body and kissing all over.

I know the things I like when I’m touched between my thighs, and I try them out on Simone, determining what makes her squirm.

I tease around her clit with my tongue, rubbing at the sides.

I stroke lower, easing the tip of my tongue into her hot core.

I nip at her labia and suck on the small bud of her clit.

All the while, I press my thighs tightly together because touching her is making me wildly aroused.

A woman knows how to touch another woman to give her pleasure, and Simone responds to all of my caresses.

I suck on her clit, my tongue flicking against the hood as I rub two fingers through her folds and down to the entrance of her body.

She’s hot and wet here, and I use my fingertips to draw circles at her opening, teasing her where she’s the most sensitive.

Her hips jerk against my mouth, and her breath sobs in her throat.

“Inside me,” she pants. “Please, put your fingers inside me.”

I lift my head briefly, tapping my tongue against her clit. “You want me to make you come?”

“Yes!”

“Or do you want me to…drag…this…out?” With each pause, I tap my tongue against her clit again.

Her eyes flutter shut, her head tilted back. “Make me come.”

Those needy, frantic words make my pussy pulse with arousal. With two fingers buried inside her, I press my mouth down against her clit once more. My other hand steals into my pants and between my thighs. My panties are soaked and I’m slick as hell from touching her.

I finger myself, my body making wet sounds as I pleasure Simone.

Her hands are in my hair again, her hips flexing in time with my plunging fingers, and I make sure to crook one finger inside her, to touch that perfect spot on her inner wall that will make her see God.

Her movements become erratic, her breath quickening as she approaches her climax, and I never stop my steady rhythm.

Lick. Finger. Tease. Stroke. She demands that I go faster, to give her more, but I continue to give her exactly the same, never pausing, never stopping, because I know that’s what’s going to drive her over the edge. The rest is just distractions.

When she comes, it’s with her hand tangled in my hair, her thighs quivering and tight, a strangled noise escaping her throat.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and I work her all the way through her orgasm, fingering and licking and sucking all the way through.

She comes for so long and so hard that by the time she finishes, I’m coming, too.

My panties soak with my release, and I moan her name against her labia, my face still buried in my new favorite spot.

I rest against her inner thigh until I can catch my breath, her long fingers playing with my hair. “That was incredible,” she breathes. “It’s been forever since I’ve come.”

I’m glad I could do this for her. I’m glad I did this for me, too, of course.

Her statement is loaded, though. Has she not come because of the abuse she had in the past?

Or is there more to it? I wait for her to go into detail, but she doesn’t.

Too soon, then. Or maybe she’ll never be ready, and that’s okay, too.

I kiss the inside of her thigh, ease my hand out from my pants, and get to my feet.

I feel good. Loose, relaxed, and like I could take on the world.

Simone slides down off the counter and promptly falls against me.

We both break into laughter, because it’s clear she’s as wobbly as a newborn colt after she comes.

Her arms go around my neck and she kisses me between giggles.

Her taste is still in my mouth, but it’s clear she doesn’t care.

We kiss tenderly, and I hold her tight. She feels perfect in my arms.

“Will you come to bed with me?” she asks between kisses.

“I’d love to.” Curl up against her all night? Yes, please.

She gives me one last smacking kiss. “Fair warning, I wake up early.”

As if I didn’t know that. “I know. I can help you get your cart ready in the morning.” And if she’s done early, maybe we can do a little more kissing and touching.

Simone grabs my hand, tugging me out of the kitchen. “Let’s go shower. You can scrub my back.”

“Wow. The gifts just keep giving around here,” I tease. “First a pre-dawn wakeup, and now manual labor.”

Her chuckle is everything. Her fingers entwine with mine as we head into the tiny bathroom, and some small part of me thinks I might die, because surely no one can be this happy and not explode from the intensity of it all.