Chapter 3
Taylor takes a deep breath as she looks at the door to room number five in Harold's house.
Her hands tremble a little as she smooths her fitted black T-shirt, then combs them through her wavy hair.
She isn't nervous about sex—she never is about that—it's the woman.
There's something about her that throws Taylor off in a way she doesn't know how to handle.
The chill in those gray-green eyes, the way she looked at her as if Taylor were something she wanted to devour and control at the same time—it's something she's never run into before, but it won't stop her either.
Even though she tried to play it cool, she knew she'd be heading to her room the moment the woman told her where she was staying.
She smiles to herself and knocks twice, sharp and sure.
"Come in," the silky voice calls from inside, almost at once.
Taylor opens the door and sees the woman by the window, her back to her as she looks out at the hills surrounding that part of town. She's wearing the same pants as an hour ago at the restaurant, but a different shirt—this one isn't white, it's cream.
"Close the door," Abigail orders without turning. She knows it's her without having to look; the waitress radiates a hurricane-force energy she can feel from yards away.
Her commanding tone brooks no argument, and Taylor obeys, flipping the latch too, which clicks with a little sound like a confirmation of what's about to happen in here.
Then Abigail turns, and Taylor feels the air thicken between them when those eyes sweep over her from head to toe with the same intensity as in the restaurant, only now there's a predatory glint in them.
"Come here," Abigail says, curt and demanding.
Taylor walks toward her with that self-assurance that never leaves her when it comes to women, but something about this woman's presence sends her pulse racing faster than it should. She stops about a yard from her and crooks that provocative smile that always works for her.
"Is it your habit to roll into town and fuck the waitresses?" Taylor asks, her smile widening.
Abigail arches a brow in a gesture Taylor finds as elegant as it is threatening.
"Who says I'm going to fuck you?" Abigail asks.
The answer catches Taylor off guard. She's used to women—every last one—melting in her presence, but this one stays cool, calculating, as if Taylor weren't someone to have a good time with but an investment whose viability she's assessing.
"Because otherwise you wouldn't have given me your room number," Taylor replies, taking a couple of steps toward her with a confidence Abigail isn't used to either.
No woman stays this calm around her; they're all submissive, skittish even. She studies her in silence for a few seconds that feel like forever to Taylor, then moves toward her very slowly, like a predator about to strike.
"You're right," Abigail admits, her voice somehow both caress and blade, "but this happens the way I say."
Taylor is about to say she doesn't care how it's done, but the woman is so close her gaze has fixed on the tiny golden flecks in her irises.
"You have such eyes..." Taylor starts, but before she can finish, Abigail grabs her by the nape and kisses her.
It's not a soft, delicate, exploratory kiss.
It's pure possession, Abigail Stone in all her glory.
Her lips are demanding, and when Taylor tries to take some control, Abigail bites her lower lip in warning to make it clear who's in charge.
Taylor moans into her mouth, surprised by how much that dominance turns her on.
She's used to setting the pace in bed, but there's something about this woman that makes her not mind surrendering to whatever she wants.
"Mmmm," Taylor murmurs when Abigail breaks away for air, "hell of a mouth you've got."
The words slip out—it's just who she is to say what she thinks while fucking—but she sees something like surprise flicker in the woman's eyes, as if she'd never been with anyone who dared talk to her like that in an intimate moment.
"Take off your clothes," Abigail orders, stepping back a couple of paces so she can watch.
Taylor doesn't even think about it. She strips off her T-shirt, revealing her black lace bra. Then she slides her pants down very slowly, acutely aware of the way the woman is devouring her with her eyes.
"All of it," Abigail demands when Taylor is down to her underwear.
The waitress unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor. Then she slips off her panties just as slowly as the pants and stands naked under the implacable gaze of Abigail, who is still fully dressed.
"You're gorgeous," Abigail admits out loud.
She isn't in the habit of making comments like that, but the girl is gorgeous as a whole, even if her breasts are too small for her taste. She doesn't care. The waitress is a kind of wild beauty that throws her off balance.
"You've got way too many clothes on," Taylor replies, moving toward her, ready to undo her shirt buttons.
Abigail stops her with a single movement.
"I told you we do this my way," she says with a chill that would freeze anybody else, but has the opposite effect on Taylor.
She's soaked, and at this rate, her thighs will be dripping soon.
Abigail nudges Taylor toward the bed gently until she feels the mattress behind her legs and sits, looking up—her eyes wide and her pulse racing—while Abigail takes off her shirt.
Her body is exactly what Taylor imagined on her way to the room: slender but with curves in all the right places, pale skin dusted with freckles she longs to trace with her tongue, and generous breasts rising over a lace bra.
"Lie down," Abigail orders.
Taylor grins shamelessly and obeys.
"I like it when you give me orders," she rasps. "Let's see what else you can do with that mouth."
Abigail is taking off her pants when Taylor says that. She goes still, staring at her, jaw tight—but Taylor doesn't read anger in her expression, more something primal.
"Don't talk," Abigail says, finishing undressing.
"I like to talk while I fuck," Taylor blurts without a filter, propping herself up on her elbows. "I want to tell you how hot you are, how much you turn me on..."
"I said don't talk."
Abigail climbs onto the bed and straddles Taylor, pinning her to the mattress. The contact sends an immediate jolt through the waitress's body and makes her arch her back involuntarily, seeking more pressure.
"Fuck, yes," Taylor moans, "you're so damn sexy..."
A desperate kiss is enough for Abigail to silence her, then her mouth moves down to her neck and Taylor feels the woman's teeth press against the skin of her throat—too sensitive by now—and she can't stop talking.
"Bite," she pants, "I like it to hurt a little."
Abigail stops and looks her dead in the eye.
"Do you always talk this much?"
"Only when I'm really horny," she fires back. "Don't you like hearing how much you turn me on?"
For one brief moment, Abigail seems disoriented. She's definitely never been with a woman as brazen and direct as this, and Taylor can see her pupils dilate as she thinks.
"Aren't you going to answer?" Taylor asks, feeling the woman tense when she runs her hands down her bare back.
Instead of answering, Abigail lowers her head and takes the waitress's left nipple into her mouth. The sensation sends a shock straight to Taylor's sex, dragging a moan from her, then a long sigh.
"Oh, fuck, yes," she pants. "Suck, do whatever you want to me."
Abigail can't quite understand why that filthy vocabulary turns her on so much, but she isn't going to analyze it now. Every time the girl opens her mouth, she feels hungrier, more demanding, and her hands start roaming Taylor's body everywhere, losing control.
"That's it, let go a little," Taylor murmurs.
"Stop talking," Abigail demands against her skin, but she doesn't stop; now she has the other nipple in her mouth, licking it greedily as she feels the press of the girl's thigh against her sex, driving her crazy.
"I can't," Taylor replies, lightly scratching Abigail's back. "You get me so damn hot."
Abigail lifts her gaze to meet hers as she slides a hand between her legs. Taylor thinks she's going to lose her mind when she feels the brush of her fingers.
"You're soaked," Abigail says with a frown, as if she's only touching her to check that Taylor wasn't lying.
"Told you, baby, you really turn me on."
"Don't call me that," Abigail snaps.
"Then tell me your name. Mine's Taylor," she says, her thighs trembling with excitement even though Abigail is just holding her hand between her legs, not moving.
"My name isn't necessary for this, and I don't need to know yours either."
Taylor bites her lip, amused by the woman's furious expression.
"Suit yourself. Can you finger me? I'll die if you don't touch me."
This girl is very hard to figure out, but Abigail obeys because she feels the same need to touch her that Taylor has to be touched, though she does it slowly, torturing her as she studies and memorizes every reaction from the waitress.
"Fuck, don't stop," Taylor begs, writhing.
Abigail's fingers move inside her with sure knowledge, pressing and curving at just the right moments as they slide in and out faster and faster.
"Don't stop," Taylor keeps gasping, "I'm going to come..."
"Not yet," Abigail says, pulling her fingers out abruptly.
Taylor lets out a ragged growl and lifts her head.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she asks, looking at Abigail with those big brown eyes shining with pure desperation.
"I told you we do this the way I want," she replies in her usual icy tone.
Before Taylor can protest, Abigail moves down, leaving a trail of saliva over Taylor's body, punctuated by little bites that drive her insane. When she reaches her hips, she pauses and looks up, provocative.
"Want to know what I can do with my mouth?" Abigail asks.
Taylor has to work hard not to come just from hearing her.