chapter nineteen Queer Enough #2
Lex’s nose brushes against mine as she nods. “A lot has changed in a short amount of time.”
The reality of this quick flip in my life hasn’t sunk in at all; I’m still basking in the glow of it.
“How are you feeling after everything that happened yesterday?” Lex whispers.
“I’m the one who should be asking that question. I ruined your date and made you break up with your girlfriend.” I grimace,
guilt-ridden.
“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Lex says. “We’d only been on a few dates.”
“You left, and Lynn was in your car . . . what did you say to her?”
“I didn’t have to say anything. The moment I got back in the car she knew. I said I was sorry. She said it was alright, and
that she could tell there was something between us. Then she wished us her best.”
She could tell? How am I the only one who didn’t see it?
“I drove her home, sort of in a daze, and then I watched her walk into her place and shut the door. And then I just sat there,
in my car, thinking. For a long time.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Thinking I was potentially about to break my own heart. When you told me you loved me it was as if my whole world tilted and shifted. I’d had feelings for friends before and they’d gone unreciprocated, and over time those feelings had faded into nothing.
So had our friendships, eventually. I thought this would be another one of those situations.
” The pain in her voice is evident. “You never told me you were queer. We didn’t go on any dates with women. ”
My cheeks warm. “I guess I never thought about it before.”
“How have you never thought about it before? I’ve been wrestling with my identity since I was a little kid.” Her question
doesn’t hold any judgment, just curiosity.
I feel myself wither beside her. “Is that a problem? Like, am I not . . . queer enough for you?”
“No!” Lex’s brows pinch in concern. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
“I’ve never been with a woman,” I admit, almost defensively. “But I’m not worried about it. Are you?”
“No.” She begins shaking her head, then slows, her mouth twisting to the side. “I mean, sort of?”
I try to pull away, but Lex stops me.
“Aubrey, listen. Your identity is valid—it’s just, I’m worried you’ll regret this. Regret us. And change your mind. And . . .” She sighs. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I begin to understand. Her uncertainty isn’t about me, or my identity; her concern is the same as mine: that we’ll realize
what we have isn’t right and we’ll lose not just a lover, but a best friend. It’s the same way I felt last night before I
told her I had feelings for her.
I tell her the same thing I told myself. “Sure, we may crash and burn, but I’d rather take the risk and know for sure than
be too scared to try.”
Lex’s eyes shimmer. She nods.
“And, okay, so no, I haven’t really considered dating women before,” I try to explain. “I’ve always found women attractive.
I’ve found people attractive—I don’t necessarily think gender plays a role in whether someone is hot or not.
But when it comes to dating, I guess I’ve just always been more comfortable with men.
I can tell when they’re flirting. I can tell when they’re interested.
I know what’s expected of me, I understand the power dynamics.
And it’s been drilled into me, culturally, my whole life, that this is what I want, this is what I should do, this is what my life should look like.
But with you . . .” I cup her face in my hand, caressing my thumb over her cheek.
“I didn’t think about any of that. I just
wanted to be with you, in any way you’d have me. Being with you feels right. It feels like this is the way things are supposed to be.”
Lex nuzzles against my hand. “I know what you mean.”
“Holding you feels right,” I say, tucking myself closer under the blankets. “Touching you feels right.” I trace my hand from
her face, down her neck, my fingertips skimming her collarbone before trailing a line down her arm. I look into her eyes,
watching the effect I have on her, intoxicated by it. “Kissing you feels right,” I whisper into the space between us.
Lex wastes no more time, drawing me close, bringing our lips together in a slow, tantalizing embrace. Instead of locking together
she graces me with soft kisses—teasing, tasting, savouring. I want more. So much more. My entire body aches for her in a way
I’ve never experienced. It’s more than a physical need, more than carnal desire; I need her in a sense bordering on spiritual,
as if connecting with her is the key I need to unlock something deep inside me that I never knew existed until I realized
I’d fallen in love with her.
“I want you,” I breathe against her lips.
“Will you still want me after?” Lex’s voice is so quiet I barely hear her, her question riddled with so much uncertainty it
makes my heart ache.
“I will want you after,” I say, kissing her jaw.
“I will want you tomorrow.” I kiss her cheek, where her dimple likes to hide.
“I will want you the next day and the next day and the next.” I pepper her soft skin with more kisses, taking my time, going slow, infusing every single one of them with all the care and love I feel at the centre of my soul. God, why does she feel so fucking good?
I bring my lips to hers, closing my eyes, relishing the minutia of each sensation she brings with the flick of her tongue,
the slide of her lips, the warmth of her mouth.
Lex grinds her hips against mine, drawing our centres together, and my god it’s the most delicious sensation I’ve ever felt.
I have to pause our kissing for a moment to savour it, to appreciate it fully, before continuing. The next time she moves
her hips I move with her, against her, and a zing of sharp electricity jumps from my centre deep into my belly. Lex runs her
hand down my back to my hip where she squeezes the soft flesh of my waist, fingers digging into my skin and pulling me taut
against her as she rocks again, and again, and again, finding a steady pace, in rhythm with the throbbing need in my core,
pulsing in time with my heart.
Just as I’m getting used to this Lex grabs me and rolls me over until she’s on top of me, our legs threaded between each other’s,
her thigh still pressed against me where I need it most. I can feel how slick I am against her, just a narrow strip of damp
cotton separating us. She parts her lips from mine long enough to look down at me, her blue eyes darkened by wide, black pupils,
plump lips parted, chest rising and falling with her breath.
I tug at her shirt and Lex helps me peel it off her, revealing an inch at a time her pale creamy skin, her rounded belly, and then her breasts—god, they’re perfect.
Small, but wide, fallen slightly with age and having cared for her son, her nipples eager and looking like they need to be pinched and sucked and nipped.
I bring my hands to her body, over the soft skin of her abdomen, my fingers delicately tracing the stretch marks she’s earned, then up to her breasts.
I knead and squeeze, exploring her body, relishing how her back arches with my touch, how her eyes flutter closed, the way her lips part and she gasps when I give her a little pinch.
Then she takes one of my hands in hers and guides it to her lips, drawing a finger into her mouth. Her tongue is warm and
wet, flicking over my fingertip, which sends a shocking jolt right to my clit. I watch in reverence as she sucks my finger
into her mouth, then begins rolling her hips against mine in time to the movements of her lips and tongue. My eyes flutter
closed, almost overwhelmed by this new stimulus. She adds another finger, sucks harder, slides my fingertips to the back of
her throat. I squeeze my thighs over hers and grab hold of her body as if she’s an anchor.
God, I could . . . Can I come from this? I . . . I think I might be able to. If she just keeps grinding on me like this, putting pressure against
me like that, tantalizing my sensitive fingertips with her tongue, I might.
Lex draws my fingers from her mouth, slick and wet. I look up at her, sad it’s ended, to find a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Holding my hand in hers, she guides it down to my own body, lifts the elastic of my panties, and slides my hand between my