Chapter 8 Greta #2
Marie: Tease. I would agree to a third time. Right now, I’ll already agree.
Lee: Not like dates, but …
Marie: Agreed. Parts of me would really like more time with you.
Lee: Are those parts wet right now?
Marie: Yes. Thinking about you does that.
Lee: Send me a picture. Good girls get rewards.
Marie: You first.
The answer was instantaneous. The image was a live picture, the sort that has just a couple of seconds of motion, and that motion was Lee with a bright blue vibrator sliding into her glistening wet pussy. All sense of hesitation in Greta vanished.
Marie: Pack that. Please.
Then she shimmied out of her bottoms and snapped a picture with her legs splayed open. She attached it to the message.
Marie: Toys. Your hands. Your mouth. I want all of it.
Lee: Tomorrow. 1pm. Meet at Penn Station.
Marie: Yes.
Lee: I need to go now. I need both hands. Be a good girl and do the same.
Then the little dot that showed she was online vanished, and Greta wasn’t sure if it was panic or actual need that made Lee run away suddenly. She was the one that brought up a third meetup, though.
Maybe she just means Monday? Two back-to-back nights?
Greta wasn’t sure. She’d take it, though, whether it was Monday or later, even if it meant that the third visit was the end.
She let her mind fill with the memory of the sight of Lee when she was approaching orgasm.
Seeing her let down her walls, knowing that Greta’s had been the touch to make that happen, felt like a victory to savor.
Ultimately, Greta wanted to make Lee feel as good as Lee had made her feel.
She thought about all the ways she could do that while her own fingers stroked faster.
The photo of the vibe thrusting into Lee’s welcoming pussy looped over and over on the screen, and Greta imagined that it was her hand fucking Lee.
That Lee was open and eager for her. That Lee had handed over the control for a moment.
When Greta reached orgasm, she was still staring at the video.
She sighed contently. While masturbating was not quite as satisfying as being with someone, this time was better than usual.
There was just something hot about knowing that in DC Lee was doing the same thing, about knowing she was just as excited by their encounter.
Greta stretched and closed the app after sending one last text.
Marie: Thank you. See you at 1. Message when you get here.
Maybe after this weekend they could try video sex or phone sex. The app had a way to do that without sharing real phone numbers. She hadn’t used it, but she’d break the rules for Lee. Try new things.
The next day, Greta woke far too early and cleaned pretty much everything in her apartment. Fresh linens were the first thing. Her old soft sheets didn’t seem like company sheets.
Her phone notifications buzzed.
Lee: Still on?
Marie: Yes.
Lee: On schedule here. Do you live in the city? Or in Jersey?
Marie: City. Do you live in the District or outside the Beltway?
Lee: Inside. Are we playing Q&A?
Marie: Can we?
Lee: NY or Chicago pizza?
Marie: NY obviously. You? And pie or cake?
Lee: All pizza is good. Dessert is different. Tart. Then cream pies, chocolate, banana, lemon. I have a whole pie rating system. Cake last.
Marie: Pie is serious stuff, huh? Key lime here. Then banoffee, then chocolate cream, then mixed berry.
Lee: Are you trying to trick me into confessions?
Marie: I’m intrigued. What if we were friends?
Lee: Would friends still have sex?
Marie: YES.
As she waited for a reply, Greta opened her closet and put everything connected to her job inside it. There were ARCs, advanced review copies, and a manuscript from Ms. Carpenter, the author Greta was meeting Monday—the one she’d been reading when Lee messaged.
She glanced at the pages now, feeling awkward.
The author wrote sex bluntly, and though it wasn’t the point of the book, only a nitwit would think that sex didn’t advance the plot.
Learning to trust someone required emotional vulnerability for most people, so a romance that showed that vulnerability was not failing.
Closed-door sex was fine, too, and Greta almost wished she could ask Ms. Carpenter to do that instead—not because the sex scenes were bad but because Greta was so keyed up already that she couldn’t edit this weekend when the sex on the page was that raw.
Lee: I will consider this.
Marie: I’m a good friend.
Lee:…
Marie: What?
Lee: I’m better at sex than friendship.
Marie: Luckily, I want both.
Lee: Thinking. Be patient.
Having a conversation about sex in the real world after she’d been reading a sexy manuscript added a weird association to the book, one she hoped never to admit to anyone.
Greta sighed at the thought. Her author, Ms. Carpenter, already seemed about as approachable as day-old warm fish at the market.
Maybe Ian will be able to charm her on Monday. Greta sighed. I certainly can’t.
Greta’s job was an odd mix of personal and removed. She loved what she did, but there was a definite awkwardness to writing notes to a stranger about their detailed sex scenes or about the emotional breakdown of fictional characters. Finding the line between helpful and harsh took practice.
No more reading that book in bed, though.
She couldn’t associate an author’s book with her own intimate life.
She’d only been editing in bed because she worked there at home sometimes—although she knew it was a terrible habit.
Last night, though, getting sexts from Lee made her associate that bed, that moment, that manuscript she’d set aside with a memory of the video clip from Lee.
I will only work on that book at the office, Greta resolved.
Keeping her work and home separate would certainly make her current prowl through the apartment easier.
For a moment, Greta was grateful that she didn’t have to tell Lee what she did for a living.
Greta was proud of her career, but she thought back to when Tasha would introduce her and how she laughed off Greta’s work.
What would Tash think if she saw the book I am editing now?
Admittedly, Tasha had her own baggage about sex, and after a lot of thinking, some therapy, and a not insignificant number of nights with strangers, Greta realized that part of the reason they fell apart was their attitudes toward sex.
Tasha still had some shame attached to being a lesbian.
The result was that she could only have sex if Greta asked for it.
Half the time, it also felt like Tasha couldn’t get off unless she had a drink or three.
The rest of the time, there was a lot of cajoling involved.
Even their post-breakup hookups had only happened after drinking.
Maybe I have a type. Beautiful women with complicated boundaries.
Greta wanted Lee to be not her type. Her baggage was already visible. Control issues of varying degrees warred with any kind of letting go. That ought to be a red flag, but if it was, Greta’s libido had decided to be a bull and charge right at it.
“I’m not looking for someone to fix,” Greta announced to her empty living room as she scanned every surface for hints of where she worked.
A flickering memory rose up of a drunk bar connection and a woman who was embarrassingly interested once she heard Greta was in publishing.
That was one of the few times she’d ever lied outright about her job.
She claimed to be a courier for editors.
Even that wasn’t enough to dissuade the aspiring writer—who honestly could have been a fabulously talented writer, but Greta had worked too hard to build a reputation.
She wasn’t going to ruin it by fucking someone who wanted to sell her a book.
After one last walk-through to verify that any incriminating evidence was tucked away, Greta was sure her apartment was tidy enough and all identifying things were hidden. It was time to shower and dress.
What do I wear for a not-date with a woman I want to fuck?
She weighed the options while she showered and shaved everywhere that needed tidying.
She wasn’t a jeans person. They were fine, but she’d yet to find a pair that didn’t make her curves look overly emphasized.
Short with great legs turned into something that made her look too inviting when she dressed that casually, at least that’s what Tasha had always said.
And despite two years apart, I still think about her criticisms … Even though I know she still wants me, she didn’t want to stay with me.
Greta made a mental note to buy jeans that made her feel confident and work on wearing them in public.
I apparently have more body positivity issues when I’m dressed than when I’m naked!
Then, she pulled out a simple wrap dress.
Dark blue with tiny little sprigs of flowers, it highlighted her trim waist, and the top dived deep between her breasts, and when she walked, flashes of leg were evident.
This wasn’t a dress she’d ever wear to work because she felt like a bit of a sexpot in it, but it was perfect for meeting Lee.
She slipped on one of her various pairs of tall black boots and added a black leather jacket she only wore outside of work. Idly she wondered if Kaelee rode a motorcycle. She certainly had the attitude for it.
Back before Tasha, when Greta was in college, she had briefly dated a woman with a motorcycle and a basketball scholarship.
Her ex was dedicated and genuinely good at her sport, but Greta was not the right match.
On the other hand, the payoff for going to all the home games, though, was that her ex was the kind of strong that made Greta’s knees weak and her panties drop.
She’d realized that athletes might not have been her match, but strong women were.
Women like Lee.
Greta kept her thoughts as mild as she could as she made her way to Penn Station.
She wasn’t looking to date, but … maybe soon.
Maybe it was time to start reconsidering the options.
Something about meeting Lee had opened up a crack in Greta’s heart and let the fear out.
Greta had known logically that she couldn’t judge all women by Tasha and her hang-ups.
Unlike Tash, Greta’s sports-loving ex had definitely been looking for forever, even back then.
Lee isn’t, though. And she’s the one I want right now.
Seeing Lee a second time might’ve stirred up thoughts of a future, but not with her. Lee was crystal clear on that front, and Greta was going to respect that boundary. Maybe they could end up friends with the occasional night together. That wasn’t a relationship. Right?
Her phone buzzed as she walked to the meeting place they’d set earlier.
Lee: Early. Lunch together? Or should I grab something before you get here?
Marie: Here already.
Lee: Willing to share a meal?
Marie: Yes
For someone adamant that she wasn’t interested in a date, Lee was certainly the one to blur lines so far. Grab a drink. Text socially. Grab lunch. Those were date adjacent. Or maybe they were headed toward being friends.
Friends do all of that … which is why Tash isn’t actually my friend. Those aren’t things I want with her. With Lee, though? Yes. Definite yes.
As Greta approached the crowd, she had a moment to take Lee in before she turned.
She had on a pair of jeans, name label but well-worn, ankle-high hiking boots that looked like they’d seen some miles, and a plain blazer.
As she turned, Greta saw that Lee had a slogan T-shirt under her jacket proclaiming “A well-read woman is a dangerous creature.”
Instead of putting her backpack on the roller bag, Lee had it on her shoulder.
“Hey.” Lee smiled, but she didn’t reach out. She shifted the bag on her shoulder, hand clenched on the strap. “Looks like there are a couple options for a place to grab a bite that might be cheaper than hotel lobby food.”
“Can I take one of those?” Greta offered. “Or do you want to put the shoulder bag on the roller bag?”
“No.” Lee’s smile was tight. “Meeting files. I’m paranoid, I guess.” She gave an awkward laugh.
“Big meeting?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. I’m starting a new job—no, I don’t want to talk about it—but I’m afraid I’ll fuck it all up.” Lee shook her head. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear any of that.”
“I do, actually. I want to hear it.” Greta took a deep breath. “So, what if we tried that whole maybe being sort of friends thing?”
Lee gave her a look. “Define ‘friends’ for you.”
“I guess just people who sometimes talk but are not dating?” Greta was about to share her actual name, but Lee looked like she had just swallowed a bug.
“Give me a day to think?” Lee shook her head. “What I need right now is a sandwich and an orgasm. Care to join me for that?”
“Let’s grab a cab. That’s faster to get both of what you want.”
“To where?” Lee asked.
“My apartment if you want. Your hotel if you prefer.” Greta shrugged like it was no big deal.
To some degree, it wasn’t. She was willing to go to a hotel as they had in DC or to go to a restaurant first. What she wanted, what she’d craved since Lee had walked out of the hotel room door a few weeks ago, was another night with her.
Gently, Greta added, “Unless you have early check-in? Or had your heart set on a restaurant? I can be flexible.”
Lee grinned. “I remember how flexible you are.”
“Name your terms, Lee. You know what I want.…”