Experienced

Chapter Fifteen

There were a few more women in her phone that week. There was a quiet weekend on the horizon, and less than a month of the whole dating gambit left. It felt good to know she was close to the end. But she couldn’t finish on sex and voice notes with Evie or beach Amaretto with Steph. It was far too tragic.

Bette had options. Fine options. There was Esther, who captained a netball team (and who unfortunately reminded Bette vividly of the PE teacher who had once forced her to finish the cross-country after she threw up halfway round). Lily seemed great; bright and clever, if a little too interested in yoga, right up until she went full conspiracy-theory mad with a string of links about 5G. Sonya had seemed like a real possibility until she started working her dog into every message, and then casually mentioned she was going out of town and needed someone to “hang out” with Pickle.

Bette didn’t want any of them. She wanted to know it was going to be good, wanted a safe pair of hands. Wanted, ideally, another Charlie. She didn’t want fine.

And then, late on Wednesday night, Netta messaged. Ephron-loving, sparky-texting, 176-miles-away Netta.

Already in bed, Bette pulled her phone as close to her face as the charger would allow.

Netta:Hey, I’m back in Bristol tomorrow

Netta:Late notice, I know

Netta:But let me know if you’d still be up for hanging out?

Her photos were the same: braids twisted on her head, Disney-huge eyes, a smooth expanse of shoulder and collarbone. They hadn’t messaged since that first night, but Bette’s response was instant, instinctual.

Bette:yes

Bette:need a tour guide?

Bette:happy to show you around?

Netta:Yeah, take me to your favorite pub

Netta:Or I’m staying near the Cabot Circus shopping bit?

Netta:You could come and have a drink?

It was unambiguous. Netta was looking for something casual. She’d been so clear about it. She was exactly what Bette had been hoping for.

“We didn’t talk last night about what you’d like. What we’d want. So I brought a bunch of stuff with me, just in case,” Netta said, throwing a large overnight bag onto the low seat at the end of the bed. She was in half a suit, her jacket slung over the back of the chair behind her, her shirt more unbuttoned than Bette assumed it had been at work that day. She was even more striking than her profile pictures, and just as clever and as funny as her messages. Bette had worried before the date that she might feel like she had with Evie; like she was performing a role. But it had felt right and easy from the first moment she’d seen Netta. They’d met for a couple of drinks in the hotel bar, which was even fancier than Bette had prepared herself for. They’d talked about late-’90s romantic comedies, and about Netta’s work as a construction lawyer; about plans for a new development near the wharf she had been drawing up contracts for. And then they had taken the lift straight up to the third floor.

“What do you like?” Bette said, sitting up on her knees on the bed, her wrap skirt falling open to expose her thighs. She followed Netta’s gaze down to the lace-topped hold-up that was now entirely visible and decided not to readjust it. She felt sexy, high on the fact that she could tell that Netta thought she was fit. That she had, in fact, told her exactly that downstairs. She had a sense too that any honesty might be rewarded; Netta seemed unflappable, easy. She could say it here. “Maybe we could start with you. I—I’m still working out what I want.”

“Oh?” Netta replied, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Not, like—I mean, I like women. This isn’t an experiment. Not in that way, anyway. I’m just—I guess I’m still figuring out what I really like. You know. Specifically.”

“I do know,” Netta said, a smile spreading across her face. “Okay, so this is going to be fun. We can just…play.”

Bette let Netta undress her slowly, surrendering herself to it and trying not to take over. They kissed for a long time before Netta moved her hands from Bette’s face and hair, blazing a path slowly along her body. It had taken so long that by the time she did, Bette was already desperately turned on, wanting Netta to touch her everywhere, wanting to touch her in return.

She reached over to unbutton Netta’s shirt, taking in every inch of revealed skin as she did. She was gorgeous, each part of her round and curved—the perfect crescent of her cheek when she smiled, the swell of her breast above her bra, her hip once she lay on her side.

“I want to take a bath,” Netta said, her fingers tracing gently down Bette’s spine, her mouth on her throat.

“Okay,” Bette said, pulling back, suddenly tense and aware of being naked. “I can just…”

She caught Netta’s eye and saw the perfectly raised brow above it.

“Oh,” Bette said, on a relaxed breath out. “You mean together.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Bette clambered out of bed and followed her, trying to ignore the impulse to hold her boobs in place as she walked across the hotel room. Netta certainly wasn’t holding anything down. Or covering anything up.

It was darker in the bathroom, the only illumination the light from the bedside lamps in the other room. Netta filled the bath with water so hot that it sent clouds of steam into the cool of the air conditioning. Bette wished for a moment that she’d lingered on the bed a little longer; it was awkward to be naked in the bathroom, with the admin of filling a bath. But then Netta moved to sit on the edge of the tub, as the bubbles rose behind her, and reached for Bette.

As Netta kissed her, Bette felt a hand on the inside of her knee, felt it rise impossibly slowly up her thigh. She dipped her fingertips into Netta’s collarbone, ran them back and forth across the skin. And then, just as Netta reached the top of Bette’s thigh, right where the skin was softest, she pulled her hand away and turned off the tap.

“Oh come on,” Bette groaned. “You’re a tease.”

“Mm-hmm,” Netta agreed, her smile wide as she stepped into the water. “You coming in?”

Bette sat across from Netta, the bubbles up to their chins. There was maneuvering to be done: the bath was big enough for two, but only just, and placement of feet and knees had to be negotiated. But once they’d relaxed into it, it was a pleasure to sit in the dim light and admire Netta’s kiss-swollen mouth, the braids twisted on her head, her insanely long eyelashes. It was a thrill to try and perv on her through the bubbles, to know that Netta was doing the same, her eyes tracking up and down Bette’s body. It felt incredibly intimate, not at all what she’d expected. It was difficult to reconcile this moment with the knowledge that, theoretically, she’d never see Netta again. But the water was hot, and the bath was deep, and it felt good to be sleek and clean and still turned on.

“After we get out,” Netta said, her foot pressing into Bette’s thigh, “I want to eat you out.”

“Okay,” Bette said, certain that she’d have said yes to anything Netta suggested. It helped that this particular plan was exactly what she’d hoped for. Netta was still looking at her, hungry, and Bette shivered, struggling to remember being so nakedly wanted. It was intoxicating. “Okay but like…now? Can we get out now?”

The water was still hot, and at home she wouldn’t have wasted it. But it was a hotel. There’d be more hot water later, if they wanted to get back in. And so Bette pushed herself up, felt Netta’s eyes on her as she climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel from the pile. There were robes hanging from hooks on the door and, once Bette had rubbed haphazardly at her body, she pulled one on.

Bette leaned against the edge of the sink and watched Netta climb out of the bath, watched her rub her dimpled thighs, the swell of her belly underneath her breasts. It was only when Netta put a foot up on the side of the bath and started drying between her toes that Bette lost hold of the last threads of her patience.

“Um, I think you said something about…”

“I did, didn’t I,” Netta said, her body utterly lacking in urgency. She pulled the other robe over her shoulders and left it hanging open before stepping closer to Bette. “Come on then,” she said, her mouth so close to Bette’s that she was sure they were going to kiss. Instead, she trailed after Netta, let herself be handled and positioned, let Netta push her to sit on the edge of the bed. Let her undo Bette’s robe, spreading it wide. Let her push Bette back against the sheets and kneel on the carpet in front of her.

And then there was a distinct lack of teasing, only Netta’s tongue, relentlessly present. Netta sucked and stroked, slow and soft and perfect, and Bette couldn’t do a thing but lie back on the bed, one hand over her face, one grazing teasingly over her own puckered nipples. She was aware of her thigh trembling, of her toes clenched against the carpet, of the groan she couldn’t control deep in her chest.

Netta’s fingers were technically inside Bette, she realized, but only imperceptibly so, teasing the sensitive skin at the entrance to her cunt. She’d never been fingered so tenderly. Never by someone who touched her not as though they were seeking something deep inside her but had found it already. Was marveling at it, just at the edge. The feeling of Netta’s fingertips and the wet warmth of her tongue were an overwhelming combination. Bette’s whole body tightened and she gasped, coming before she even realized she was close.

“Oh my god,” she panted, Netta’s mouth still relentless. “Oh my god you’re really good at that. You know that, right? That can’t be news. Like, people must tell you that all the time.”

Netta pulled back, her cheek resting against Bette’s thigh. She was shaking with laughter.

“They do,” she confirmed. “Yeah. But it’s always nice to hear.”

Bette hauled her up the bed, pulled her down to blanket her and kissed the taste of herself from Netta’s mouth.

“What do you want,” Bette asked, a hand resting where Netta’s arse met her thigh, the other pushing the toweling robe from her body.

“Can you fuck me?”

Bette nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I kind of assumed that was a given. But with my fingers or…”

“No, I’ve brought a strap. Can you fuck me with it?”

In hindsight, she probably should have thought more about the bag, the one still at the foot of the bed. But it had been so easy to get swept up in the nakedness and the bath and the frankly outstanding orgasm. And in that state, body still quivering a little, it was hard to get worked up and nervous. Netta was good at this. Great at this. She’d tell Bette what worked for her.

The harness fitted better than Mei’s had; it didn’t dig in distractingly around the top of Bette’s thighs. Bette thought of Mei telling her she should wear it around the house, to do the washing up, just to get used to it.

Netta was sitting at the edge of the bed, her knees spread wide. Bette looked down at her from where she stood between her legs.

“I wondered if…” Bette started and then paused. Netta didn’t try to fill in the gap. She waited, patiently, her hand on Bette’s chest, above her breast. “I wondered if—would you ride me?”

Netta smiled wide and nodded, the hand on Bette’s chest grounding and warm. “Love to. Lie back.”

When Bette did, her back against the cool sheet, she was struck by the sight of Netta high up on her knees, a bottle of lube in her hand. She swung a leg over Bette and sat down on her thighs.

Bette pulled Netta’s mouth to hers. For long minutes she kissed her, eventually encouraging Netta back up to her knees before slowly pressing two fingers inside her. Groaning into Bette’s mouth, Netta rocked her hips forward.

“Come here,” Bette directed, taking care of the lube, of positioning Netta where she needed her. They kissed as Netta sank down onto the dildo, as Bette relished the whine that built up at the back of Netta’s throat. Bette lay back, hands squeezing Netta’s thighs, watching Netta rock back and forth, and pushed up beneath her. She was gorgeous: breasts heavy, face screwed up in pleasure, the incredible expanse of neck as she let her head drop back.

“Don’t stop,” she said, as if Bette had any intention of it. Instead, Bette trailed her hands higher, her thumb delicate against the soft skin between Netta’s legs. She rubbed gently back and forth, and Netta’s head dropped forward with a gasp. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t; kept thrusting, and touching, keeping up with the pace Netta had set, determined not to fuck it up. The pressure felt good against her too, sparking around her body, but it was somehow less important that the sweat beading on Netta’s chest, than the way her breath kept catching. Bette thrust up more firmly, and then Netta was crying out and falling forward.

“That was perfect,” she said a minute or two later, working her fingers into Bette’s hair and tugging, still straddling her. “Perfect.”

Bette glowed, warm beneath Netta, warm with all of it.

At midnight they ordered room-service chips and ice cream and ate them in the laughably huge bed, swigging bottles of beer from the minibar. Smiling, her eyes alight, Netta dipped a finger into the melted remains of her ice cream and brought it to Bette’s mouth. Bette sucked, her teeth scraping at the skin. And then there was ice cream on Bette’s collarbone, on her left nipple, down the joints of her spine, in the dimples that sat at the lowest point of her back, in the ticklish crevice behind one of her knees. Netta’s mouth followed the sweetness down her body, lingering whenever Bette squirmed or cried out.

Bette forgot to worry about whether or not it was working for Netta. It was, it so clearly was, and she could lose herself to the sensation of it. Of her mouth, of her expert fingers, of the sparks within her own body that traveled the length of it.

“What do you want?” Netta said, biting into the meat of Bette’s thigh, soothing the sting with her tongue.

It felt easy to answer, this time. She wanted Netta to pin her down, wanted not to be able to take over and get on top, wanted the firm pressure of Netta’s fingers deep inside her. She wanted to feel the pain of teeth on tender skin. She wanted to be pushed and teased. Wanted Netta in control.

Afterward, she turned to Netta, who was grinning at the ceiling, her chest still heaving. “You’re amazing.”

“Oh, I know,” Netta said, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Bette put her hands over her face and laughed, deep and long, pure joy filling her lungs. It had been good. Really, really good. She could have great sex with someone who wasn’t Mei. “Can I—” she started, looking over at Netta again.

“Do you want to?” Netta said deliberately, asking her to consider. And Bette felt a rush of affection for her so strong that it threatened to drown every other feeling in her body.

Bette nodded and rolled over, ran her lips along Netta’s collarbone, and then kissed her way up to her ear. “I really really do.”

The next morning, Bette couldn’t stop smiling. She watched Netta reassemble the suit over her body and felt a pang that she’d never see the skin beneath her shirt again. But that was, she reasoned with herself, the whole point. She’d nailed it, this time. This was exactly what the break should have been about. No strings attached, entirely fuss-free fucking. Mutual attraction, mutual satisfaction, clarity between them. A hotel room so nice that she still couldn’t believe her luck. This was it, probably the last woman before she and Mei were back together. It had been perfect. Netta had been the perfect woman for it.

“I’m on a train back to London tonight,” Netta said, zipping up her bag and placing it by the door before stepping into her heels. “But checkout isn’t until ten, so if you want to take a shower or something before you leave, you can.”

She walked back over to the bed and kissed Bette softly, cupping her jaw. Bette surged up toward her, her hand finding a home again at the base of Netta’s ribs. Netta grinned but shook her head against Bette’s.

“No time for that,” she said. “But this was fun. I’m really glad I messaged.”

“Me too,” Bette said. “Thank you—for everything.”

“We probably don’t need to go that far,” Netta said, and Bette laughed.

“Okay, that’s fair. Thanks for last night then. Thanks for the sex. It was really good.”

“I’ll take that,” she said, halfway toward the door. “Look after yourself, Bette.”