Chapter Eighteen
Yeah, it’s cold. It’s really fucking cold. Cold enough that I have to release Maeve to regain circulation.
“Oh, fuck!” I say as I dart across the water.
When I surface, Maeve’s hair is wet, plastered to her neck, and she’s hanging on to the side of the pool.
“How are you not reacting to this?” I ask, my voice quite a bit higher than usual.
Maeve laughs. “I’m from Ohio, remember? This water doesn’t even have ice!”
She’s gotta be kidding me. And yet the idea of having someone in my pool who’s eons tougher than me is, uh, appealing. I push the stray pieces of my hair off my face. Once I can see, I swim over to Maeve.
“Is ice swimming your only vice or are you a more complicated rural daredevil?”
“You say that as if there are things to do in rural Ohio that are dangerous for a white person.” She turns her body toward me. Her leg brushes against mine as she treads water. “But my first kiss with a girl was in this secluded little swimming hole about an hour outside of town. It felt like I was in a queer coming-of-age film—a quiet build-up of anticipation sitting alone in the car with a girl for the first time, just chatting about school and the movies we liked—nothing important.” She puts her fingers on my tricep. “I looked away as we stripped down, but I glanced back a couple of times, and certain images seared their way into my mind—the curve of her calf, the shape of her hip bone, a mole on her back.”
“The way skin feels slicker in the water,” I say. I lean in. Just a hair. One of her eyebrows got a little messy during our swim, and I have to stop myself from smoothing it out.
“Yeah,” she says. Then she pulls back. “I miss the seasons and Midwestern kindness, sometimes, despite how wrong the Midwest was for me in general.”
As much as I’m tempted to veer back to flirtation, curiosity overtakes me.
“Are you close with your family?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. She pulls a bra strap that’s fallen down her shoulder back up. “It’s just a huge hassle to go home. It’s one of those airport, airport, long drive on either end type places. All my siblings stayed in Ohio but moved to major cities, so they prefer having family reunions back there.”
“Do they…?” I don’t know how to ask if they’re Republicans. I doubt it considering her professor parents, but…“Mesh well with you?”
She nods. “Oh, yeah, I mean, they’re all liberal and feminist and well educated, but I’m definitely at the extreme end, being queer and in academia, y’know?”
Oh boy do I. “Yeah, for sure.”
“You have a sister, right?” she asks. It occurs to me that I don’t know if she knows that from reading about me or if I told her and forgot.
“Yeah. She’s a gastroenterologist and married to a guy who works admin at Cedars, so they’re very…bougie. A little less Pasadena-white-people version of left-of-center than my parents, but I definitely had to convert her.”
Maeve’s shoulders seem to relax. “So she’s a good ally?”
“Gwyn? Oh, yeah, the best. She’s been advocating against my parents’ microaggressions and reading books and going to ally support groups for years. She’s the only reason I’m not up at night sweating over my little nephew who wants long hair.” I give her a weak smile. “Always worried we share the gay gene, you know?”
Maeve nods. “I think my brothers would step up to the plate, but yeah. It’s hard being in a family if there’s only one other queer person and the straight people just want to play ‘I accept you but please don’t make me live and breathe gay issues.’?”
“Any of your siblings have kids yet?”
“Yeah, my older brother has a preschooler and an infant. My other two siblings are under twenty-six and barely have their lives together.”
Barely have their lives together. Such a weird phrase. On paper, I seem like someone who does have their life together. Financially, career-wise, maybe in the eyes of my niblings. But for me, it feels like my life is this whirlpool of mental health cycles and aching for companionship and stability in a chaotic career. I tell people I thrive on that shit, but being in the moment with Maeve right now, learning about her family and her own niblings—I’m yearning for a future where I get to be present when one of her younger brothers gets married and has kids. The feeling settles warmly and gently under my skin.
“Do you feel like you have your life together?” I ask, my voice quieter than before.
She shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll be able to say I do until long after I’m granted tenure, and I’m grateful to even potentially have that opportunity.”
I hold eye contact with her, despite how difficult it is. “What about when it comes to love?”
There’s a searing moment where I realize I said the l-word on the first official fucking date.
Then another searing moment.
And another.
Until Maeve smiles. “Something about that doesn’t feel so scary when I’m with you.”
When we come together to kiss this time, it feels like a promise.
There’s something about gay people talking about the future that gets them unreasonably horny. I’ve learned to just accept it at this point. Before I know it, we’re climbing out of the pool in each other’s arms, barely toweling off on our way into the house because we just want to make each other feel really damn good. No babies, no consequences, not even a love that I’m afraid to say out loud. I manage to come up for air long enough to say, “My wood floors are fragile.”
We climb up the stairs, holding on to the railing and each other with white knuckles to keep from slipping. We giggle as we swipe pool water off each other’s faces and bodies, as it drips from our wet hair. We drop the towel and stumble into the shower.
But it’s not exactly like the movies. Worth noting. As Maeve slips off her bra and panties, she does this half-gasp, half-laugh thing. “Oh my god, you’re bidet rich?”
I had no idea that was a type of rich. I laugh as I turn on the water in the shower. It’s steaming already. “Do you need to use that right now, or…?”
Maeve blushes, presumably from my comment and not because I’ve thrown my own panties and underwear into a sopping pile on the floor. “No, just…” She grabs my hand. “I can’t believe you’re you but also a real-life rich person.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I kiss her and lead her into the shower, shut us inside the steam. It’s almost choking hot, though, so I turn on some cold.
“I’m clean, by the way,” Maeve says.
I grab a bottle of bodywash, put a liberal glob of it in my hand, and turn to Maeve to give her some.
“STD-wise. I get checked after every new partner, and I was clean as of mid-August.”
“Oh.” Oh, she’s a responsible adult. Not to mention she, what, has spent the entire time we’ve known each other not fucking other people? It’s embarrassing to say how much that turns me on. “Yeah, I was clean as of a year ago.” I’m blushing now too. “I haven’t been with anyone since then. I swear I’m not skipping out or anything.”
Maeve smiles, grabbing some of the bodywash off my hands. Her touch sends a jolt of energy through me. Hot energy. “I trust you. You seem starved enough for this, anyway.” That ignites me.
I smash our lips together, bodies together. The bodywash is still on my hands, though, so I rub it up and down her skin. Her soft fucking skin. Her hands move to my hair, dig into it, tug as the kiss deepens. A moan escapes my lips, into her mouth. I swear she smiles. She holds me tighter.
She holds me tighter, and I can’t take it anymore. Cradling her head, I pin her to the side of the shower, pressing us together lips, tits, and hips. Grind up against her, coaxing the most beautiful little yelp out of her.
“You hungry for this too?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“This?” she chuckles. “I’ve been dreaming about this for years.” She leans in, her breath brushing against my ear. “Specifically you since I saw Needlepoint.”
Fuck.
Holy fucking shit, she just—
All this time shaming myself for enjoying the idea that she might find me attractive. All this time and she actually was fantasizing about me after seeing Needlepoint? It swells in my heart, makes me even prouder of that movie. A bro high five to Past Me—Thanks for doing such a good job pretending to get nailed by a dude because now we’re going to have sex with the most wonderful lady we’ve ever met.
God, Maeve liked me. Maeve likes me. Maeve is right in front of me, and we’re both naked and want each other.
I can’t play around anymore. I shut the water off. As it dribbles to a stop, I pull us out of the shower, wrap a towel around us both. Still kissing Maeve, I walk my way back to the bedroom using nothing but tactile memory. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to experience but her lips, her skin, her sighs, her body.
Dropping onto the bed feels like the drop on a roller coaster. Butterflies flap viciously in my stomach, but I’m loving it. I want the extreme sensation, the extreme pressure in my chest, my gut, between my legs. That ache for something that’s suddenly possible. That’s suddenly so goddamn possible I could cry.
I push her down to the bed, and she looks up at me as I straddle her. “Let me know if there’s anything you like or don’t like,” I say. “Or anything you want to try. I’m open.”
Well, open relatively speaking. Still a top, but Maeve isn’t protesting about being under me. So…fingers crossed.
She grabs me by the hips, pulling me down so our pelvises rub. I bite my lip to hold back the moan as we meet. It’s so simple. It’s so fucking simple, but as we grind against each other, my body fully on top of her, my weight supported with strength I’m proud to have, my heart is hammering and I’ve never felt this good. She squirms under me, her breath getting faster. So fast, like this is a quick release for her. It’s amazing the way that connection tugs at my own body, makes my mouth moisten with each movement. I forgot how good it feels to make these motions, to feel that skin, to have my lips on her neck as her back arches. If she lets me, I can’t wait to fuck her.
These sensations are familiar, yet what I’m tasting—Maeve’s breath, the salt of the sweat on her skin, the flowery scent of my bodywash—is in its own league. A custom-made flavor only I can experience in this exact moment. I memorize the topography of freckles, moles, and scars on Maeve’s body as I explore her neck, her shoulders, her back as we move against each other. Every partner I have is a thrill—I’m always eager to learn every fact, every trick, every twitch and sound the person in my arms makes.
The first thing I learn about Maeve: god does she shudder when I kiss the nape of her neck as we come one after another. It’s a trick I learned from a torrid one-night stand with an Oxford grad student (not my department) back before Emily, and it’s like it was made for Maeve. When she goes so far as to bury her face in my chest as the pleasure is still rippling through me, I feel so much joy at making this woman happy. She drapes herself over me, like she can’t get enough of our skin touching. It’s the kind of affection I had to beg for when I was with Emily.
“So I require performance reviews after every go,” I say. “Out of five stars…?”
Maeve chuckles, her chest knocking softly against my stomach. “Leave it to a gay girl to make grinding that hot.”
I run a hand through her hair. “Wait until I fuck you.”
Maeve takes my hand, sliding my fingers slowly down the length of her torso. My own breath catches as her stomach muscles contract under my fingers. “You sure those fingers can do more than look pretty?”
She lets go of my hand as I reach between her legs. It’s one of those questions that doesn’t need a verbal response. I just put on my best smirk and rub a couple circles around her clit. She doesn’t make a sound, but the crunching of her abs speaks volumes.
“I dunno, babe,” I say. “It’d be a shame if they’re just for show, though.” I slide my finger around her opening, lubing up. “This okay?”
“Yeah.”
I slip it inside her. She’s soaked.
I slip another finger in. It’s such a deep, primal feeling, a breathlessness that washes over me as I explore her. I never thought I’d miss the feeling of being inside someone so badly. My fingers curl around, pressing against that sweet G-spot. The little buck I get makes me smile.
“You good?” I ask. “Can I go deeper?”
“Yes.” It comes out as a sigh.
My heart races.
Am I showing off? Okay, a little. But hey, it’s to get that squeak of pleasure as I feel my knuckles knocking against her pelvis, pulsing to the quickening of her breath. And with all my attention on her, I can gauge her every reaction. The way her cheeks get pink, the way she holds me as I rub circles around her nipple. For a while, I just soak it all in. Memorize the feeling inside her, how hot her breath comes on my skin, how hard she slams her hips against my hand as I pulse.
“Up to your standards?” I tease.
“Absolutely,” she replies. She lets out a breath. “But one request?”
I stop. “What?”
She grins. “Can I ride you?”
My stomach gives a little flip. Fuck, no one has asked me for that before. Back in my baby gay days, Emily would just ride me, but there were no questions. She also wasn’t too good at checking in about fingering either, but—
No. Focus. Maeve wants me under her. Which is fine. She still needs my fingers. I’ll give it a shot.
I pull out and drop back onto the sheets. The spot is hot from Maeve’s body. I rest my right arm by my chest as Maeve straddles me. Shit, I have to just sit with that a moment—Maeve straddling me. She smirks a little as she eyes my hand. Honestly, I should’ve seen this coming once she yanked my belt off in her office, but here we go. My heart is slamming in my chest as I slide back inside her. Same come-hither, same up the knuckles. But she’s the one pulsing. Fucking me? I don’t even know what to call it. But it’s thrilling in a way I never expected. And with this view, I have Maeve on full display. I may think of myself as an actress, but she’s putting on a little cheeky show for me too. Chewing on her lip, throwing her head back to expose her neck, reaching down and teasing my breasts.
By the end of her performance I go back to pulsing as eagerly as she rides me. We’re in perfect synchronization, and I can see that it knocks her to the bone. And for all that the ease in her posture and face are fucking killing me, she collapses into me as she comes, and the way she says “God, Val” is music to my ears.
“Let’s make you come too,” Maeve says as we hold each other. “What do you like?”
“Anything but penetration,” I say. “Not my style.”
She kisses my neck. “I can work with that.”
“Great. Gimme a minute to catch my breath, though,” I reply.
I kiss her forehead and wash my hands off. My forearm aches, my fingers are settling into that characteristic stiffness that comes after a good fuck, but it’s an ache I strive for. I’m aching because I made the woman in my bed happy. No better reason to hurt.
I flop back into bed. Maeve’s turned to me, but her desire seems to have cooled a bit. She’s looking at my crotch, though, so what do I know?
“Does this scar have a story too?” she asks, reaching down and—
And, well, running her finger along the scar on my upper thigh. My chest twinges.
So she wasn’t looking at my crotch. She’s also the first partner I’ve ever had who even noticed the scar. (Not that Luna or the others really had the chance; I kept all the focus on them.)
But looking into her eyes, as much as I don’t want the pain to flow back in, there’s a different kind of pressure building inside me to the one I had moments ago. Sex is great. Sex with Maeve is already like a dream. But the tugging in my heart can’t be solved by coming.
It might make the coming better, though.
“It’s not a fun story.” I laugh.
She takes my hand. It electrifies me more than if her hand was between my legs. “That’s okay. I’m here to learn about more than just what your body can do.”
I sigh. “It was…maybe five years ago? Charlie and I went cliff diving, and I hit a rock. The real twist, though, was that my old manager, Steven, came to visit me in the hospital. He said I needed to have a scar revision. Couldn’t let it risk my appeal for future roles.”
Maeve runs her finger along the scar. “What the fuck? Why would anyone—?”
“That’s Hollywood.”
“That’s bullshit. It’s just a scar.” She sighs, long and hard. She plants a soft kiss on my lips. “I just…I need you to know how much I want you to feel okay.” She kisses the spot between my throat and collarbone. “To feel respected.” Between my breasts. “Seen.” Right on my leg scar. “Loved.”
My stomach’s back to fluttering under her touch.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
She kisses between my hip bones. “Is this okay?”
I take a deep breath and nod. If Maeve wants to see me, I owe it to myself to let her see me. I let the tears fall. Wipe them away as Maeve continues to work her way down.
And when her mouth touches me, lord above, this woman was made to be gay.