25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hope made herself go on the damn date with Cara’s friend. She dressed up cute, she had a sparkling fun conversation over a glass of wine, she flirted and was flirted with. They left the pub together and they paused on the street outside, the moment where something would happen or wouldn’t.
“Do you… want to come back to mine for a drink?” the friend asked. Hope looked at her. Gorgeous. Smart. Definitely interested.
“Kiss me,” she said. The friend smiled. She slipped her hand around Hope’s jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. She was a good kisser, warm and sweet. “Thank you for a great night,” Hope’s mouth said as she pulled away. “It was so nice to meet you. I had an excellent time.” She held up her hand in farewell and then turned and walked away .
She’d felt more from a kiss when Alison had simply kissed her cheek the night of their one date. Her knees had gone weak, her stomach in knots, her panties slick. When Alison had kissed her for real, the force of it had permanently altered Hope’s brain, it seemed. Because a great kiss from a beautiful stranger only made her want Alison more. The ferocious urgency of it, the clear demonstration of Alison’s latent erotic power… Hope had only tasted it once and she was already addicted to it. Nothing else could measure up.
Regret laced her as she walked the streets of Gold Hill, slowly reaching the steep incline up to her quiet home. She should have gone home with Cara’s friend. She should have lost herself in soft skin, warm curves and hot heat. She should be doing everything she could to break herself of the want for the woman she couldn’t have, but she was starting to worry that it would be futile. She could only imagine kissing Cara’s friend tonight and wanting her to be someone else, and that wasn’t how she wanted to interact with a sexual partner.
She sighed and let herself into her house. She kicked off her shoes and fell back on the couch. This was all so much harder than she’d anticipated.
“Kinky,” said Prisha and Hope’s head jerked up. The two of them had planned a day together, no extra complexities invited, just two friends who didn’t want to fuck each other, celebrating the slow return of spring with a day relaxing at the local lavender farm and cafe. The day had arrived and immediately poured down with torrential rain and so instead, here was Prisha, in Hope’s living room, Hope’s kindle in her hand .
“Give me that back!” Hope gaped.
“I was looking for some new recommendations,” Prisha protested. “And it seems I’ve found some. Bound by Her, Used for Her Pleasure, Submitting for Love, ooh Bent and Spanked? Babe, your tastes have changed.”
“Do you literally have no sense of privacy?” Hope demanded. She snatched the device out of Prisha’s hands, her cheeks flaming.
“Struggling, are we?” Prisha looked far too amused.
“What are you reading?” Hope glared at her, shoving her kindle behind her back for safety.
“Ugh,” Prisha said. “Twenty-seven versions of Lesbians in Love With Their Best Friend. My Tbr list would make you depressed, not horny.”
“I’m going to make us hot chocolates,” Hope announced, “since apparently we’re both in need of something sweet.” She paused to fling her incriminating reading material onto her bed and returned to the kitchen to heat up the oat milk.
“Is that what you’re into?” Prisha asked. “Whips and ropes and floggers? You’ve never said.”
“I don’ t know!” Hope scrunched her eyes closed and turned away. “I’m just… exploring, I guess.”
“No judgement,” Prisha said. “I got spanked once. It was kind of fun but it didn’t really do it for me.”
“Have you ever spanked anyone else?” Hope asked her. She was dying of curiosity and a way to process all of this.
“No one’s ever asked me to,” Prisha said. “I guess I don’t give off a dominant energy. But I can definitely see the appeal.” A small spark lit up her eyes and she smirked. “Hm. Maybe I’m soft in the streets and a boss in the sheets? Is that how that goes?”
Hope laughed. She handed Prisha a cup of steaming, fragrant hot chocolate, and led the way outside to sit on the front verandah, watching the rain splatter down on her pretty green garden and listening to the roar as it hit the tin roof.
“I’ve never done anything like that,” she confessed. “I don’t even know if I want to. It’s just…”
“Alison,” Prisha finished for her and Hope groaned.
“I think it’s just that she took me by such surprise,” she tried to explain her thought process. “That she was so… dominant. ” A rush of heat raced through her, the same way it did every time she remembered Alison’s grip on her hair and the force of her kiss. “ And it’s just sent me down this spiral. Because since I can’t have her, maybe that’s something I want to be exploring? Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my head?”
“Interesting theory,” said Prisha. “I suspect Gold Hill is pretty lacking in BDSM scenes. Though,” she paused thoughtfully, “you never know.”
“Oh my god,” Hope spluttered at the thought. “Secret sex parties out in some mansion in the hills?”
“You should ask Alison if she knows of any,” Prisha said. “All that energy has to go somewhere.”
“You’re really not helping,” Hope said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Alison would rather die than go to a sex party. You’ve never met anyone more private in your entire life.”
“I don’t know,” said Prisha. “Maybe if you went down on your knees and asked her nicely?”
For weeks things stayed uncomfortable between the two of them. Hope craved Alison’s presence and dreaded the distance all at once. They went to the pub with their friends, had a dinner party at Flynn’s house, even explored the lavender farm as a group. And every time the gaze between them felt fraught with tension, their conversations cautious, their bodies careful not to touch.
One evening they accidentally ended up seated next to each other in the back of Harry’s car, Camille regally claiming the front seat, Alison and Hope entering by opposite doors only to have Flynn’s leggy presence slide in next, pushing Hope to the middle seat. Harry’s Porsche was all sleek style and extremely compact, so Hope’s thigh kept pressing into Alison’s as Harry took the corners at speed. Hope was shocked by how much the gentle contact inflamed her, as if Alison had run her tongue along her throat, rather than accidentally brushed her bare arm against her own.
The way Alison had leapt from the car the second it stopped made clear she’d felt it too. Hope despaired.
And yet, slowly, normality began to sneak in. Spring slowly became summer, the days becoming long, the sky an overwhelmingly deep blue, the nights warm enough that Hope began to sleep with her French doors open to the night. She left her curtains open and gazed up at the stars, her gratitude intense because maybe things were finally all going to work out.
Three weeks ago, they’d all taken a trip to a gallery in Ballarat and she and Alison had fallen into conversation as they walked around the paintings together. Oh look, it’s us, Hope had teased, directing Alison’s attention to a painting of a statuesque blonde lassoing a rearing chocolate brown stallion and Alison had gasped in offence and elbowed her, and as if a spell had been broken they dissolved into a squabble that had them both laughing .
A week after that was Christmas. Alison had flown to Brisbane to spend it with her son and Hope had spent hers assisting her parents with their new greenhouse drama. By new years they were all back together, dancing out the back of The Barrow under the stars, everyone giddy with the heat and the feeling of yet another fresh start. When the clock struck midnight, Alison had pressed a kiss to her cheek and Hope managed not to shiver at the happy new year murmured against her earlobe under all the shouting and cheering.
Harry hosted a second party on New Years Day, because of course he did. Alison and Hope had circulated separately, at ease, with friends, even though Alison looked mouthwateringly good in a little blue summer dress, all silky limbs and her hair out. They’d eventually found each other and talked each other’s ears off, Alison full of stories about Jac’s romantic drama and Hope dying to tell her about the ancient poodle with the equally ancient owner who had both stolen her heart on an emergency call-out, ruining her business sense in an instant and prompting her to treat the elderly creature for free.
Then, as if prompted by the ease of their time together, Alison had invited Hope for some one-on-one time, just a walk around the lake. The two of them had met on the path and spent an hour walking lazily in the hazy warmth, dodging the tourists, laughing and teasing, Hope greeting every dog that passed her like an old friend until Alison grabbed her arm and dragged her past a mopey-eyed mastiff and forgot to let her go, walking arm and arm like the oldest, most comfortable of friends.
Hope could have cried with relief: they’d made it. Yes, Hope still wanted her, but it was bearable, and she’d had enough of a taste at potentially losing Alison’s friendship that she wasn’t going to risk it again. No, she couldn’t bring herself to want anyone else, but honestly who cared? The summer had arrived, the air smelled of hope and possibility and everything felt optimistic. Prisha seemed to have gained some confidence and equanimity, perusing dating apps like maybe she could try to move on, even Flynn seemed to have lost his hangdog look since Magnus had broken up with Isaac and their friendship regained its closeness. Everything, finally, looked like it was going to work out.