Chapter 28 Chocolate Cake #2
“No, I don’t mean right now, I mean like in a week, a month, or further down the line.” She gestured with her hand to an imagined spot in the distance. “This is my home; this building, I mean. If things were to go awry between us, it would make things very uncomfortable.”
“I see.” Jules passed Catherine her wine and collected her own before moving back to the far end of the sofa. “Well, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”
“No, unfortunately my mood-killing mind likes to calculate all the eventualities. Thus far, precisely zero percent of my romantic relationships have lasted longer than a few dates… so I don’t like our chances.”
“Huh! That’s an odd take.” Jules puffed out her lips. “Do you always put your umbrella up before it rains?”
Catherine felt ridiculous. She’d exposed herself as the nutcase she was, and she’d blown this glimmer of a chance with someone she really liked.
Her overthinking weirdness had crushed the moment, and Jules would run a mile.
She’d be mad not to — in fact, if she didn’t, Catherine would question Jules’s sanity.
Suddenly the room felt too small, her feelings too big. “I should go.”
It wasn’t a question, but Jules answered by looking back at her with a brightness in her eyes that held Catherine in place.
“It’s such a shame to deny yourself something because of what could happen. You know, like being presented with a delicious piece of chocolate cake but turning it down because you might get a stomachache.” Jules shrugged.
Catherine scoffed. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” Jules cocked her head. “What’s that saying about vulnerability?”
“Oh God, don’t you start quoting Brené Brown at me too! My friend Penny, she—”
“Probably has a point.” Jules chuckled, and her gaze drifted into the middle distance as she took a long sip of her wine.
“You know, I moved away all those years ago because of how uncomfortable it made Mum when I came out. I was hurting, too scared to push past the pain and shame of her disappointment.” She fixed her gaze back on Catherine’s.
“But I see now, if I’d given her a chance, things might’ve turned out differently. ”
“You courageously took your happiness into your own hands.”
Jules shook her head. “I rejected her before she could reject me.”
“Again, understandable.”
“But not brave!” After a beat, Jules drew a breath. “So, I’m saying, maybe you should at least try the damn cake.”
Catherine exhaled a laugh. “That’s all well and good, but what if things don’t work out? Then someone else comes along and devours the cake, and I have the misfortune of overhearing… their enjoyment.”
Jules hummed. “Okay, I can see why that would be awkward. But you realise that could happen anyway, right?”
Catherine frowned and Jules continued, “I mean, you could resist the cake now, then someone else could come along and eat the cake later, anyway. You’d still feel awkward because you almost had the cake…
” Jules’s mouth twitched. “You could taste it on your lips, and yet you didn’t let yourself enjoy it because you were worried someone else might. ”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
The sound of the door buzzer jolted them out of the moment. Jules slapped her thigh and got up. “Pizza’s here.” She bopped out of the room, and Catherine took the opportunity to compose herself, straightening her ruffled hair and crumpled clothes.
Miraculously, she hadn’t blown it. Rather than giving up, Jules had taken the time to understand and to reason with her.
And somehow she’d calmed the chaos within, talking her down from the virtual ledge — the way Catherine did for others in her day-to-day, but that very few people could do for her.
Jules returned with the pizza box stacked with plates, serviettes and a smaller box on top.
“Right, let’s eat before I start chucking more food metaphors around.” The mouth-watering pizza smell wafted out as Jules flipped the box open on the coffee table and gestured for Catherine to go first.
As they ate, Jules resumed the conversation as if she’d never left the room, taking all the awkward edges off.
“I understand your reservations, Catherine, but I want you to know I’m not a reckless person. I haven’t had many relationships, but the ones I’ve had ran their course — no dramas. I’m pretty much friends with all my exes, not that that’s an exceptional achievement by lesbian standards, but…”
Catherine finished her mouthful, surprised by the urge to weigh in with her own dating resume. “I got hurt quite badly when I was younger. Since then I’ve struggled to let people in, you know?”
Jules nodded as she bit off a long string of mozzarella.
“I have had relationships…” Catherine hesitated.
“Perhaps situationships would be a more accurate term? Just someone to enjoy a meal with, a conversation and wherever else it led.” She winced, waiting for Jules to react, but she didn’t; she just nodded along as she finished her pizza slice and grabbed another.
“But beyond that, I haven’t been very brave with my heart.
I’ve just never really let anyone in, and also by that I mean…
” she widened her eyes, “I’ve literally never invited anyone into my home before. ”
Jules raised her eyebrows. “What, really… no one? Ever?”
“No. I didn’t want anyone else’s mess in my space. Emotional or physical. And so, I’ve always dated on neutral territory, or gone back to theirs, where I could leave if things became… uncomfortable.”
“Well, you haven’t left yet, so…” Jules sat back and patted her stomach. “I hope you saved room for dessert!”
“Dessert?”
A devilish grin crossed Jules’s lips, and she jutted her chin toward the coffee table. “Open the little box.”
Catherine untucked the lid of the small container and peered inside. She wouldn’t have been able to stop the smile rising on her lips even if she’d wanted to.
Two sumptuous slices of chocolate cake sat nestled in the box, adorned with a glossy frosting that she had to resist the urge to dip her finger into. The cake looked delicious but stoked her hunger for something else.
Jules edged closer and almost purred in her ear, “Still want to resist?”
Catherine responded by placing the box down and capturing Jules’s lips with her own.
At the top of the stairs, they tangled together in a slow kiss that tasted of red wine and chocolate buttercream.
How easily Jules had dismantled Catherine’s barriers, and how quickly they’d melted into one another.
And yet, there seemed to be a mutual desire to take things slow.
Neither of them wanted this thing between them to burn too bright and too fast; better to kindle it and let the embers slowly ignite, so they prised their lips apart, and drew an invisible line — boundaries were not yet discussed, but there was an unspoken understanding that they would be.
Jules gently pushed Catherine away before gripping her shirt and pulling her back for one more kiss until all that remained was the sweet torture of anticipation. They hadn’t made any further plans, but they had swapped phone numbers, and that last kiss felt like a promise.
Safely stowed in her own apartment, Catherine slipped into bed and turned off the light.
She tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around her legs, each movement a fresh reminder of Jules’s touch.
The delicious pressure of Jules's mouth on hers, the heat of Jules’s body as she pressed into her, and the lingering scent of her perfume.
Sleep seemed impossible as she lay there replaying the evening, tallying all the times they’d kissed, her lips still tingling as if Jules had left an imprint.
Her body ached with want as she tried and failed not to think about Jules undressing above her.
Her brain unhelpfully supplied images of Jules in a swimsuit with droplets of water beading on her alabaster skin. Fuck.
This was going to be okay; she was going to be okay.
And if things didn’t work out, then that would also be fine.
Romantically, things hadn’t worked out with Penny, and they’d quickly moved past the awkwardness.
Granted, Penny didn’t literally live above her, but she remained a big part of Catherine’s life, and Jules was as outgoing and easy to get along with as Penny. It’s going to be fine.
Her phone pinged, the screen lighting up with Jules’s name. Catherine’s stomach twisted as she read the text; her mind instantly leaped to the worst.
Jules:
This feels weird…
She replied quickly, giving her mind minimal runway to take flight with its usual catastrophising.
Sorry, what does?
Jules:
Having you so close, but also way too far away x
Catherine exhaled a laugh at the thought of Jules lying above her right now. They were only metres apart; she was sure that if she listened hard enough, she’d be able to hear the other woman breathing.
It’s like we have fancy bunk beds x
Jules:
Ha! Yeah! Shame I can’t hang my arm over the edge and hold your hand :(
As if Jules could see her, Catherine smiled at the ceiling like an idiot. At the very least, she imagined Jules might feel her vibes radiating through the rafters.
Another text pinged through.
Jules:
So, Dr.T… I know you’re off the clock, but I need a little help
Sure
Jules:
What advice would you give to someone too worked up to sleep?
It would really depend on why the individual is so worked up
Jules:
Let’s just say the person in question just shared the most incredible kiss with a really hot woman and, for some reason, sent her home before letting her finish what she’d started. So, worked up in a good way.
Catherine’s pulse quickened. Should she reply with her therapist hat on?
She could advise on calming down the nervous system with progressive relaxation and breath work…
or she could flirt back, because Jules was definitely flirting, and the subtext had heat surging through Catherine.
Before she could overthink it, her thumb made quick work of typing a sufficiently flirtatious response, then hovered over the send icon.
Fuck it. She hit the button, and the message swished off into cyberspace; split seconds later, it showed as read.
The ceiling creaked, summoning the mental image of Jules shifting with rising arousal; the mere thought had Catherine pulsing with want.
The three dots bouncing on her screen suddenly felt like foreplay.
Jules:
And how might one achieve this ‘afterglow effect’ you speak of?
As if she needed any more encouragement, Catherine pictured the sparkle flashing in Jules’s eyes and that mischievous twitch at the corner of her gorgeous lips.
Well, if you want to find out, you’ll need to reach between your legs and touch yourself.
Slowly!
Jules:
Fuck yes!
Okay, I’m doing it. I’m touching myself.
Good, now tell me how it feels.
Jules:
Mmm, it feels good. I’m imagining it’s your hand, not mine.
Not that I wouldn’t like it to be my hand, but try to focus on the feeling, not the fantasy.
Describe exactly what you can feel.
The ceiling creaked again as if the joists were groaning with the weight of their want, bracing against the strain of their desire as it crackled through the wall cavities.
For a long minute, Catherine thought Jules wasn’t going to reply; perhaps she’d surrendered to the self-pleasure Catherine had instigated. But then her phone pinged.
Jules:
I feel soft and hot…
…And?
Jules replied in fragmented words, as if that was all she could muster the concentration for.
Jules:
Smooth… swollen, wet and…
Ready
Fuck. Catherine slipped a hand between her legs, where her fingers met the heat Jules had just described. She brushed a fingertip over her swollen clit and almost vaulted off the bed with the charge of it.
Jules:
Are you touching yourself too?
Catherine had never sexted with anyone before. It was obscene, yet overwhelmingly erotic, and she didn’t want it to end.
I am. Just the thought of what you’re doing has me so close.
Jules:
Oi! Feelings, not fantasies, remember? :)
I want to know what you feel like. Tell me.
God, it’s like I’ve been live-wired. I can barely touch myself.
Jules:
Fuck, this is so hot!
God, I want to come down there and… fuuuuuck!
The creaking intensified and grew rhythmic.
Catherine had been right before when she’d assumed she’d be able to hear the bed above her rocking with sex, but she’d never imagined it would be her lying beneath and making it happen.
It took all her restraint not to press the dial button so she could hear Jules panting as she climaxed.
She squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to her own pleasure, rubbing the flat of her hand against herself with slow, rhythmic pressure until her orgasm peaked and broke in gentle waves.
The whoosh of her pulse in her ears replaced the creaking from above.
And then there was silence; a soft, profound calm.
Even with the entire floor of a building separating them, the moment felt as intimate as it would if Jules had been lying spent beside her.
Catherine’s phone pinged, and she untangled it from the sheets. The sight of Jules’s name on the screen lit her up like luminescence.
Jules:
Sexting counts as taking it slow, right?