Page 7 of Strap In

They’re barely through the door before Ava’s lips crash against hers and they’re peeling off each other’s coats. Jean knots her fingers in Ava’s curls, pulling her closer. And they stumble towards the bedroom, bumping into the couch.

Then Ava’s pulling away, eyes bright with mischief. ‘Wait right here,’ she says.

Ordinarily Jean would bristle at such a command, but the words flip something low in her belly. She remains in place as Ava retreats into the bedroom, heart hammering at the unmistakable opening of a plastic crate.

Sure enough, when Ava reappears, she’s fitted in the harness. And Jean marvels at her body, lean and yet round in all the right places. She goes to kick off her shoes, pull off her dress, but Ava shakes her head.

‘Oh no. I want you exactly like this.’ Ava circles behind Jean, the dildo pressing into her back while Ava licks at her ear, nuzzles into her neck. ‘You put this outfit on just for me, didn’t you? You were thinking of me when you got dressed up; how it would feel when I stripped you.’

‘Yes.’ Just like in the bathroom, Jean can’t get over it, how vulnerable that one word makes her.

Ava hums in pleasure at the admission, vibrations passing from her mouth to Jean’s throat. But she doesn’t push any further, always mindful of Jean’s limits. ‘Good. Then I should show you some appreciation.’

Jean loses all coherent thought as Ava reaches into the scoop of her neckline and catches her nipple, rolling and teasing until Jean slackens against her.

Then Ava’s kissing the hollow of her throat, whispering: ‘More?’

Jean can only nod. She bends, pliant, as Ava guides her hands to rest on the back of the couch.

She’d never let Henry fuck her like this.

Nor any of the unremarkable men that followed.

But – while Ava would certainly stop if she asked – Jean’s powerless to resist the temptation of giving herself over to it.

Her want sharpens to an ache as Ava rucks the dress up around her thighs; tugs Jean’s tights and underwear down just far enough.

Then Ava’s hand slips between her legs, testing.

But Jean’s more than ready for her, thighs slippery.

Her breath hitches as Ava’s fingers skate over her sex.

Jean had wondered if it was a fluke the first time, the intensity of her body’s response to Ava.

Or maybe the product of pent-up frustration after years of unsatisfying one-night stands.

Dr Byrne had said it could take time for her desire to resurface, and Jean had been too ashamed to admit never feeling the passion she described for any man – before or after.

But here and now, bent over Ava’s couch, every atom of Jean longing for her, she’s forced to admit there’s an irresistible magnetism between them.

Ava takes her, slowly at first, breath ragged as Jean’s while she eases inside.

Inch by glorious inch. She’s still for several moments – stroking Jean’s back, her hair – until Jean has time to adjust to the dildo’s girth at this angle.

There’s no room for such gentleness in the realm of casual, yet it’s what enables Jean to let go, to tilt back and meet Ava’s hips.

Even when Ava begins to move, she rocks gently. Jean bites her lip to keep from crying out as the length of it fills her, again and again. But there’s no holding back when Ava reaches between them, circling Jean’s clit in perfect time with each stroke.

White hot pleasure burns through the last of Jean’s modesty, and she’s breathing ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ and ‘harder’ in a frantic voice she doesn’t recognise.

And Ava, it turns out, is excellent at following instructions.

She picks up the pace, driving into Jean until her legs tremble.

And every thrust brings such an exquisite pleasure that Jean can’t bring herself to care about the slick sound of Ava driving into her sex, or the unmistakable scent of her own arousal.

There’s only Ava slamming into some sweet spot Jean had never guessed at possessing; Ava’s deft fingers catching at Jean until she breaks apart.

The force of Jean’s orgasm leaves her limp as a ragdoll.

Only Ava’s strength keeps her upright. But Ava doesn’t stop, though she slows.

She eases back, sliding just the tip in and out until another uncontrollable shudder runs through Jean, gentler this time, but almost unbearable this close to the last.

Jean reaches back, words beyond her, and Ava seems to understand. Ever so careful, she withdraws the dildo, dropping a kiss against the nape of Jean’s neck. Together they slide down onto the floor, flushed and sweaty, slumped against the back of the sofa.

‘Fuck,’ Ava says, still panting. ‘That was amazing.’

Her limbs have the uncoordinated twitch of orgasm, though Jean had been unaware of her coming, too lost in the intensity of her own pleasure.

And an earlier question surfaces in her mind, though Jean’s too dazed to phrase it elegantly.

She gestures towards the dildo, glistening in the glow of the fairy lights. ‘How does that… work for you?’

Ava gives a breathless laugh. ‘You know, an orgasm’s mostly about what happens in the brain. And using this is like catnip to me. Also…’ She pauses to unbuckle herself, wriggling free. ‘The way the base sits against me really hits the spot.’

Jean shifts, pulling her ruined tights and underwear free. ‘So, I don’t have to worry about being a selfish lover.’

‘No. I’m good.’

‘I’m glad.’ Jean hesitates. Considers Ava’s body. The expanse of tanned skin, glowing with exertion. ‘But would you mind? If I touched you?’

Ava shakes her head. ‘No. I’m not stone.’

Jean reaches out then, laughing. ‘Of course not. You’re so warm.’ She shifts closer, skimming fingertips along the outer contour of Ava’s ankle to her thigh. ‘And soft in all the right places.’

Ava laughs again, properly this time. ‘I meant stone butch. There are some lesbians who only like to fuck their partners, but not be touched in return.’

‘Oh.’ Jean’s hand stills on the swell of Ava’s waist, uncertain.

There are so many things she doesn’t know.

If Ava’s not stone and enjoys being touched, no doubt she can find a woman capable of doing it more skilfully than Jean.

It had been na?ve to think she could successfully explore the secret dips and curves of another woman.

‘You don’t have to do that. Not if you don’t want to.’

‘I do want to.’ Jean sits up, freshly conscious of the slickness between her legs.

Her dress will be coated in it, the nature and location of the stain making its origins unmistakable to the dry cleaner.

But, drinking in the sight of Ava’s body, Jean finds it impossible to care.

‘I wanted to touch you last time as well. It’s just… ’

‘What?’ Ava tucks a strand of hair behind Jean’s ear to better look at her.

‘You made it so good for me, and I’m not sure how well I’ll manage to return the favour.’ It’s ridiculous, carrying on like a nervous virgin halfway into her fifties.

Ava shrugs. ‘That’s not a big deal. We all have to start somewhere. Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this good. And I’m not expecting you to be some kind of vagina virtuoso.’

Jean laughs in spite of herself. Shifts so that they’re sitting closer. ‘Okay. But how do I… Any advice?’

Ava’s smile widens, devilish. ‘What feels good when you touch yourself?’

Jean’s cheeks burn. She can’t meet Ava’s gaze. But she does have an answer. She takes her time, stroking Ava’s cheeks, her throat, her arms, all so smooth. Jean doesn’t miss it, the scratch of stubble or the thick pelt of body hair.

Careful not to catch Ava’s curls, Jean pulls the t-shirt up over her head, eager for more of that peachy soft skin. And realises Ava isn’t wearing a bra. Jean’s gaze flits to her lap, the ceiling, her cast off shoes. Until Ava smirks, says: ‘I know you want to look. You can even touch.’

Jean doesn’t need telling twice. Her fingertips trail the dip of Ava’s clavicle, the hollow of her sternum still slick with sweat, the perfect swell of Ava’s breasts.

They’re smaller, perkier than her own. They fit comfortably in Jean’s hands, a pleasant weight.

And beneath Jean’s palm is the hammering of a heart through the thin wall of her chest, the stiffening of both nipples into tight little buds.

They’re darker than Jean had expected, a pretty nut-brown shade.

And – before Jean can overthink it – she lowers her head.

Ava stills as Jean sucks at her nipple, gasping as Jean’s tongue flicks the tip. And knowing firsthand the silvery pleasure she’s inflicting brings an unexpected satisfaction to the act. With a free hand she reaches for the bud’s neglected twin, plucking and suckling ‘til Ava’s arching against her.

Jean pulls away to survey her handiwork, Ava flushed and panting, her mouth a moue of disappointment.

But as Jean’s hand trails down her belly, her expression morphs to surprise – then delight as Jean reaches her goal.

Jean cups Ava’s mound, short curls bristling against her palm.

She feels as much as sees the sharp intake of breath when she makes contact.

And Ava parts to the touch, already slick from their earlier coupling.

Jean traces her labia, astonished by the molten heat of Ava. Instantly her fingers are coated in desire – and the silken texture is surprisingly pleasant. She probes deeper, seeking more of it. Feels the subtle clench of Ava’s walls as she sucks in a breath.

‘Gentler,’ she says. ‘Y-you have to build up to that.’

And Jean does as she’s bid, pulling back and using all that slickness to circle the nub of Ava’s clit.

Soft and slow – just the way Jean herself would like it.

Only when Ava’s rocking against her murmuring incoherent praise does Jean slide a finger back inside.

This position is hell on her knees, but she could no more pull her hand free now than cut it off.

All around her, hot and pulsing, is Ava.

She’s literally inside Ava. No wonder men get drunk off the sexual power play of penetration, the animal part of her thinks – it’s an incredible feeling. An almost unbearable intimacy.

Jean has known power in her life – at a young age she learned that, with the right combination of words, she could engineer all manner of outcomes.

At university her razor-sharp wit and the grit of determination allowed her to pull ahead, graduate into a job with a top firm.

Then she went further still, climbing over every obstacle and rival to reach the very top floor of DDH.

A single step from managing partner, absolute control so close she can taste it.

But Jean’s never known power quite like this.

Never revelled in the pulse jumping at the base of her lover’s throat, the eyes so dark with desire that pupil is indistinguishable from iris.

Every shiver and gasp running through Ava can be traced back to the tips of her fingers.

In turn Ava’s urgency, her need, transfers itself to Jean.

‘More,’ Ava breathes. ‘I need more.’

Jean slips another digit inside, Ava’s walls tight around her. She is rewarded with a low noise of pleasure – and Jean can actually feel the vibrations of it in her fingers. Fresh slickness coats her own thighs, but there’s no room in Jean’s mind for anything save Ava’s lust.

Then Ava covers Jean’s hand with her own, pressing it firm against her sex.

With every stroke the heel of Jean’s hand rubs against her clit.

And this pressure must be exactly what Ava’s craving, because she clenches tight around Jean’s fingers, shuddering hard.

And pride warms Jean as the orgasm ripples through her.

Just as Ava had done, Jean keeps going until her trembling stills. And Ava pushes Jean’s hand away.

The air is cool on her fingers, pruned a little and coated in Ava’s wetness. Jean wipes the excess off on her dress, which is surely beyond salvaging. Better to order another than no longer be able to meet her dry cleaner’s eyes.

‘Congratulations, Jean,’ Ava says when she’s recovered herself. ‘You’ve passed Introduction to Fingering with flying colours. A natural.’

‘Ah… thank you,’ Jean says. Even now she knows there are people who’d say what she and Ava have done to one another is anything but natural.

Yet Jean can’t bring herself to regret touching Ava, nor being touched by her.

And what Jean gets up to in the privacy of her fuck buddy’s home is nobody else’s concern.

‘There’s a sink over there, if you want.’

Grateful, Jean clambers to her feet and pads through to the kitchenette. She washes her hands thoroughly. And as she dries Ava takes her place at the sink. She’s watching Jean strangely, amusement quirking her lips.

‘What?’

Ava looks her up and down as she rinses. ‘You’re so small without your heels on. It’s adorable.’

For a moment Jean can only stare, incredulous.

She’s been called plenty of things over the years.

Imposing , is how the junior associates describe her.

Code Red when she’s out of earshot – and Jean rather likes it, the panic she inspires in her underlings.

But adorable has never entered into it. ‘I am not small. You’re just abnormally tall. ’

Ava smirks as she pours a glass of water. ‘Both of those things can be true at once.’

‘I’m five foot four. That’s average height.’

‘Maybe on tiptoe.’

‘Fuck you,’ Jean says, wishing not for the first time that she could stretch her height as easily as the truth. It’s been a long time since anyone caught her in a lie, or had the courage to call her out on one.

‘You already did.’ Ava waggles her eyebrows. ‘But I’m game for round two if you are?’

Jean hesitates. She’d been planning on covering up with her coat and catching an Uber home.

If Jean stays, she’ll need to be up at four to get home in time to shower before work.

Sleeping over isn’t exactly casual. But then, Ava’s not suggesting sleep.

And fucking is, by definition, what fuck buddies do.

‘Alright,’ she says. And right away Ava’s smile grows. ‘But you’re fucking me in bed this time – I want an orgasm and decent back support.’