Chapter 3 Paloma, Polar Bears/Golden Retrievers & Harebrained Plans （of said bears/puppies） #4
“Should that not be Nicole Kidman, then?” Paloma looked at the redhead who was now mobbed by what looked like a crowd of teenagers. Prudence gasped.
“Oh my god, I see what you mean. In her Far and Away and Moulin Rouge days? All crazy red hair and sass? Oh, yes. Cut it short, add a streak of pink and army boots, and there you have it. You’re so right. Just as ridiculously attractive.”
Paloma wanted to nod in agreement, but then her brain caught up with what Prudence was saying.
“I don’t know about that last part, but I agree with the ridiculousness. Nobody needs to be high-fiving, or whatever it is that woman is doing with all those kids.”
“Well, my dad wouldn’t because they don’t vote.
So, they didn’t matter to him, but Deryn isn’t running for mayor, so all that engagement from her?
It’s real. She genuinely likes people and connects with them honestly.
I am quite envious that it comes so easily to her.
Connecting. All the talking to people with no self-serving reason to sell them something or win their votes. ”
Paloma felt the sting of the reprimand come through loud and clear, but then Prudence reached out again, though this time she stopped an inch or so from touching her.
“I didn’t mean to offend. And you are not my father. I think you’re amazing, and what you’re doing on the island has been nothing short of phenomenal. Forgive me?”
Once more, Paloma wondered at the ovarian strength of this woman.
“I take no offense, Ms. Fowler, and I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
“Oh, you have that and my actual vote, Ms. Allende. Rhiannon’s too. If Patches and Boleyn could vote, they’d be the first to cast theirs for you.”
By the hearth, the black cat resembling a small panther was lounging on what looked like a bed of…garbage?
Prudence followed her gaze and laughed out loud.
“That’s Boleyn, and that is her nest. She and Patches are a mated couple. Recently, we’ve run into a curious development with them. You see, despite both being female, they’ve decided it’s time for babies. Whether they think they’re having kittens or joeys is debatable.”
For a beat, Paloma just looked at Prudence, and then they both dissolved into giggles. When she finally found her breath, Deryn Crowhart had blessedly moved on and was nowhere to be seen. The cat was glaring at her. Prudence was smiling as she waved her out.
Still embarrassed to have to dodge Deryn, and how she went about said dodging, Paloma closed her eyes and prayed for sleep to claim her quickly.
Yet everything in the suite—despite her having had maintenance replace every AC filter and housekeeping change every sheet, every towel, even the duvet—everything still smelled like Crowhart.
Vanilla. It should be cloying—it was certainly predictable—and yet it was sweet and sensual, and damn it, it had done things to her that night when she was full of adrenaline and reckless energy and allowed herself that one mistake.
Just one mistake.
Paloma felt her heartbeat speed up as the scent evoked memories. Hot, scorching memories. Her own hand, dropping the book to the side of the bed, moved downward, lifting the silky chemise as she went. The skin felt too tight, too warm, too hungry… For a touch, for a caress, for a lick…
She could see herself coming down from the height of her first orgasm, Deryn holding her up, whispering nonsense in her ear as her long, deft fingers moved slowly in and out of her, bringing her gently down.
“You were amazing.” Deryn’s lips caressed her earlobe, soft aftershocks traveling up her spine from the words, from the touch. “So so good. Do you know how good you are?”
Paloma could not quite believe the words—the simple, everyday words—were doing so much to her.
She had just come, brilliantly, strongly.
Her thighs were shaking, she was sure she was dripping…
What was happening? She opened her eyes to watch Deryn bring her fingers to her mouth and lick them up and down before sucking two of them, and Paloma fought for oxygen.
“Mm-hmmm…” Deryn’s tongue delved between her fingers, leaving no drop.
“So so good. Do you know? Do you want to try?” And then that wicked mouth that still tasted of her came within a breath of hers, giving her the choice to do just that.
Try. Taste. Paloma didn’t know what was sexier: the move or the seeking of consent.
But it was. All of it was, really, and so she closed the distance, smelling and tasting herself on the sinful lips that immediately devoured, given permission.
As the breath was being drunk from her lungs, Paloma felt the fingers at her opening and wanted to gasp, to say something, to…
Nothing. She tilted her hips, three fingers spearing her, thrusting fast and deep, hooking in the front, drawing her very essence from her.
Who needed air anyway? Deryn’s mouth took and took, lips and tongue and teeth. Paloma’s vision grayed as her thighs began trembling again.
Surely not this fast, not this fast…
“Yes, yes, yes… Give it to me. Give me everything.” Deryn’s lips left hers abruptly to whisper in her ear, caressing the shell with every word.
“Can you feel how open you are for me? How easily you take me? I think you can take four, what do you say? Four fingers?” Paloma wanted to shake her head, wanted to say no.
She had never taken four in her life, and Deryn must’ve sensed the hesitation because she didn’t follow through, didn’t change anything, just kept thrusting, the obscene sounds of wet flesh, of her cunt being fucked and fucked and fucked…
So fucking good. Paloma bit her lip to not say it. To say nothing at all…
“I know you can do it. The way you are taking me now. So beautiful. Taking me so well. Maybe later you can take four… Now… Just take me now, like this, exactly like this, so hot and so full of me. Such a good girl.” Paloma felt something akin to a bubble of laughter in her chest. Nobody ever did this.
Nobody ever asked and took even the subtlest “no” for an answer.
Goddess… And yet Deryn heard her, understood her hesitation, her discomfort and respected it.
It was just one more turn on, perhaps the hottest one yet.
Why this woman? Why now?
Her walls were convulsing in seconds, and Deryn’s voice carried her through the climax and held her up as she spasmed around those fingers, coaxing more and more from her as the lips kissed everything they could reach—her hair, her ear, her neck, her cheekbone.
“So good, so gorgeous. Coming too well for me. I think we can try for more. Don’t you think so?”
Paloma remembered laughing then. Weak and bleary-eyed, she remembered laughing and Deryn smiling at her before kneeling again.
In the darkness of the room, Paloma pulled her wet fingers out of her silk sleeping shorts, her legs still shaking.
She tugged the chemise back down, a gesture so furtive she had to bite her lip in embarrassment.
. Weeks later, and the mere thought of Deryn made her come. Yes, it was a damned mistake.
Except, it wasn’t just one. The mistakes were legion.
One after another. The hallway. The wall.
The couch. The grand piano. The bedroom was debauched in several ways, and she could see all of them when she closed her eyes.
They had spent one night together, but it felt like a week, a month maybe.
They fucked in so many places in so many ways, it made Paloma weak.
It made her wet still. Just the memory of all those mistakes.
Mistakes that could prove costly still, in the big scheme of things, because the Caw was right.
As was Prudence Fowler. Deryn Crowhart was the beloved daughter of the little town, as well as a ridiculously attractive and approachable individual who was popular and adored.
And Paloma could use her. After all, didn’t Deryn say that was what she was there for?