23 Gemma
T ogether?
Even though I know Celeste is putting up a front for my sake, hearing her say those words in front of James sends a thrill down my spine.
James coughs and shifts in obvious discomfort.
“Well, good luck, then,” he says. He has the nerve to look a bit hurt. How do you like the taste of your own medicine?
I stare him down until he finally breaks eye contact to turn back to Daphne. “Come on, let’s say hi to more people.”
Celeste’s lips slide into a mischievous grin as they leave.
When they’re out of earshot, she lets go of me and asks, “Well? How’d I do? Not bad right?”
I laugh. “You’re loving this.”
“I am,” she admits. “He’s such a prick.”
And then finally, finally , we’re enjoying ourselves, having so much fun drinking and dancing that I lose track of time. Even so, I’m shocked when the DJ stops the music to announce, “All right, folks, we’re approaching the last fifteen minutes of the year. Grab a flute of champagne and your special someone before it’s too late!”
“It’s almost midnight already?” My words come out slurred, and I’m barely standing up straight on my own two feet. I may have drunk a bit too much, but so has almost everyone else in the room. “Wow, that bartender mixes some very strong drinks.”
“He does,” Celeste agrees, picking up two champagne flutes from one of the waiters. “But also, you’re a lightweight. I think you only had two or three?”
“Do you not feel it?”
“Kinda. I could drink a lot more, but one of us has to make sure we get home safely.”
Even though I’m pretty far gone, I’m sober enough to feel bad that Celeste has to be the responsible one at my office party.
“Noooo,” I say. “Have fun! We’re not even driving afterward.”
“It’s fine. Besides, who says I’m not having fun? Watching you trying to dance in this state is the best entertainment I’ve had all week.”
As if on cue, I lose my balance, nearly toppling onto the floor.
“Whoa there!” Celeste catches me just in time, pulling me back on my feet so we’re almost nose to nose.
I want to kiss her. So bad. I close my eyes, too drunk to care about anything else.
But instead of making out with me like I want her to, Celeste coughs. “Gem, your boss is watching.”
“Huh?”
I straighten up, my vision blurring from the sudden movement. As soon as I’m able, I search the dance floor. No Evelyn in sight.
“I’m kidding,” Celeste laughs. “I have no idea where she is.”
I laugh, too, but my heart squeezes with disappointment. I was clearly about to kiss her when she pulled that little trick. It makes me wonder if she hasn’t been feeling the same tension I’ve been feeling between us all night.
We are exes, after all… I remind myself. But I’d be lying if I said I still hold the same resentment and bitterness I felt toward her when we first ran into each other last month.
“Okay!” the DJ exclaims. “The time has come! Lift your champagne flutes and get ready to ring in the New Year! Ten… nine…”
Celeste gently but firmly hoists me up so I’m standing straight again.
“Eight… seven…”
I look up at Celeste, and she peers down at me, the faintest smile on her face as she hands me my champagne flute.
“Six… five… four…”
We squeeze each other’s hands.
“Three… two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Confetti explodes all around us as people raise their champagne flutes high in the air.
“Happy New Year, Gemma baby,” says Celeste.
She kisses my forehead, and fireworks explode inside my chest.
We’re getting into our Uber when I realize that I left my keys on the kitchen counter of my friends’ apartment. I’d been so distracted and nervous about the night ahead that I left for the party without them. Luckily, the front door locks automatically, so I don’t have to worry about a New Year’s home invasion. But unfortunately, that also means I’m very much locked out, and my friends aren’t coming back until this afternoon.
“Shit,” I say, leaning my head back against the car seat. My mouth is parched, and my head’s pounding already. I forgot to drink water the entire night. I’m trying to figure out what to do, when Celeste says, “Let’s go back to my place. It’s closer, anyway.”
She changes our destination on her phone before I can protest.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—I’m sobered up by the time we reach Celeste’s apartment. Unlike the last time I ended up here, I’m not blissfully asleep, so when the front door clicks closed behind us, leaving Celeste and me alone in the darkness of her apartment, I awkwardly stare at her, unsure what to do.
After we take off our shoes, Celeste stares back at me for a moment before flicking on the lights and making herself busy by bringing me a towel, toiletries, and everything else I’d need for the night. She even gets me a pair of silky soft pink pajamas.
“So you don’t have to sleep in a scratchy Christmas sweater,” she says with a slight smile.
“Thanks,” I reply, genuinely grateful for her hospitality. It’s not the kind of treatment I’d ever expect from an ex. “Sorry, can I also have a glass of water?” I ask. “I’m so dehydrated right now. I accidentally forgot to drink some all night.”
Celeste groans. “Suddenly, we’re back in college again,” she says as she pours me a glass. “Remember how I had to always remind you to drink water whenever we went out? Sorry I didn’t do that this time around. I was too focused on everything that was going on tonight.”
I wince. “It’s not your fault. Or your responsibility. I led you into a lion’s den.”
“It was fun, though,” she says. “Really. Quite a memorable way to start the New Year.”
Our fingers touch as she hands me the glass. It’s the briefest moment of physical contact, but it still makes me shudder with pleasure. Hoping the water will cool me down in more ways than one, I gulp down the entire glass. But when I finish, I catch sight of Celeste staring down at my now wet lips.
I bite my bottom lip, and she briefly closes her eyes.
“Gem,” she says, her voice low and breathless. “What are we doing?” She sounds almost pained.
“I don’t know,” I reply in an equally hushed tone. “But I can’t control how my body reacts around you. I’ve been trying since we first ran into each other at that bar.”
She moves aside the things she brought me and comes to stand beside me by the kitchen counter.
“Maybe we just need to do it once,” she murmurs, slowly leaning into me. “You know, so we can take the edge off—”
I don’t even give Celeste the chance to finish her sentence before I kiss her, softly and gently at first and then roughly when she returns my kiss. This time, she touches me, too, wrapping her arms around me in a warm, sensual embrace before she steps back. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, she places her hands on my hips and then slowly makes her way up to my chest, lightly tracing the word BABY —and my hardened nipples, through the fabric—with her thumbs before she pulls the sweater off above my head.
She settles into one of the kitchen bar stools and says, “Sit on my lap, Gemma baby.”
I straddle her, and heat builds in my core as Celeste starts kissing me again, running her hands down my spine. Wetness pools in my underwear as she cups my face, gently but firmly, so she can kiss me deeper, longer.
Back at my friends’ place, I was too desperate to touch her to think about much else. But today, I relish every single detail of her as I slowly take off her sweater, too.
“I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I first saw you in that restroom,” I say as I run my hands over the gorgeous black flowers on the left side of her body. Now that I’m actually touching her tattoos, though, I realize that just using my hands isn’t nearly enough. I take one of her hands in mine and start kissing the flowers, working my way up from her wrist, along the length of her arm, all the way to where they end below her collarbone. She arches her spine as I drag kisses up her neck and across her jaw, just the way I know she likes it.
“Gem.” She bites back a moan, and I pull on her lips with my teeth.
“I love your tattoos,” I say softly as I start kissing them again. “Is there any particular reason you got them?”
Her eyes half-closed with pleasure, Celeste replies, “I got them when I moved back to LA. I’d always wanted tattoos and, after the hell I went through, I thought, why not? My family hates them, since they’re afraid the tattoos will scare off men.”
I laugh as I start massaging her breasts. “But that’s exactly what you want.”
She moans, loudly and unmistakably this time, and even more so when I undo her bra and take one of her nipples into my mouth. She’s writhing with pleasure by the time I’ve moved on to the other one.
“Bed,” she says. “Now.”
In her bedroom, we crash into each other, kissing ravenously like we’re drowning and can’t get enough air. Back in college, Celeste was always the one to take the lead in the bedroom, the one who called all the shots. But today, when she tries to push me onto the bed, I pull her so she falls with me.
I haven’t had sex with another woman in eight years, but I want her, need her , too much to feel self-conscious about messing up. I get on top of her, grinding myself against her body.
Celeste’s eyes go wide with surprise. “Gem.”
Her voice is hushed, almost reverent, as I cup both of her breasts in my hands. “Fuck, I’m so wet for you. Touch me, please.”
With a smirk, I slide one hand down her body and into her now soaked underwear. The moment I touch the wetness between her legs, we both moan, her because of my fingers and me because of the deep satisfaction that this is how much she wants me.
I find her clit and start moving my hand side to side, slowly at first and then faster until she’s arching her back again. When she looks like she can’t take it anymore, I put my fingers inside her and curl them until…
She cries out, and I hold her tight, kissing her neck, her lips, and finally her forehead as her entire body shakes.
“God,” she says, slowly sitting up. “Where did you learn how to do that ?”
“You know, the usual. Porn, romance books… but I also had a good teacher, way back when,” I reply, pointedly meeting her gaze.
“Oh yeah? Speaking of which…” A mischievous look crosses Celeste’s face as she moves down to my waist. When she pulls down my underwear, I’m not surprised to see it’s completely soaked through. “My turn.”
That’s the last thing I remember before her tongue flicks my core.