Chapter Sixteen
“So,” Sydney said, stepping toward Morgan, letting her shoulder bump against the woman’s. “What do you think?”
“About what?” Morgan asked, throwing a quick sideways glance at Sydney. Her gray eyes seemed almost translucent, shimmering like smoke on a sunny day. It was practically hypnotic.
Sydney had lost count of how many people—both men and woman—openly gawked at Morgan. She had that rare, magnetic beauty, the kind that had people tripping over their own feet. Sydney would’ve tripped too if she weren’t so humbly balanced, thanks to all the yoga.
“The book fair, of course,” Sydney said, though if given the chance, she’d much rather ask Morgan about them and whatever it was they were doing.
Things felt like they had grown beyond just the fling from the gallery, and it didn’t even matter that Morgan only ever gave a few slivers of herself while Sydney seemed to lay her heart out on a platter.
She was certain she was starting to fall for the woman.
“Not bad,” Morgan said. “Apart from that guy that tried to haggle us into buying a five-foot statue of Gandalf, I’d say this fair is quite lovely.
” She gave another, even more magnetic glance in Sydney’s direction, this time with a slight twitch of her lip.
“I’m just surprised you’ve got a free afternoon in the middle of the week. ”
“I’m catching up on some vacation days. I barely took any last year and the chief’s been up my ass about them. He’s strict as hell, but if there’s one thing he values more than anything, it’s mental health.”
“And you’re okay with spending your vacation days with me?”
“Of course.” Sydney blurted a little too quickly.
Great. Very subtle.
Morgan lifted up the candle she had purchased earlier—a dainty pink candle in a teacup-shaped container with floral motifs on the label.
Sydney had sniffed it, a blend of Earl Grey tea, lemon zest, and rose geranium, and could only imagine Emma smelling just like that.
The fact that Morgan had chosen it over a Hobbiton Hearth was mind-blowing.
In her opinion, Tolkien topped Austen. But then again, Morgan seemed completely satisfied with the genteel scent of Emma Woodhouse.
“Well, then I’m honored.” She shifted the candle to her other hand and entwined her free fingers with Sydney’s. “And very grateful you dragged me to Monterey. I’ve always wanted an Emma-inspired candle for my spare bathroom.”
Sydney laughed. She hadn’t felt so happy in a long time.
She was so completely at ease at the moment.
It was as if someone had hit the pause button on the chaos in her life.
She had even momentarily forgotten about Vincent’s birthday party in three weeks’ time and the new list of must-have additions he was insisting on.
Top on his list were seashell-shaped chocolate shot glasses for the spiced rum.
They strolled past more stalls, peering at books neither had any interest in reading.
Books about ancient maritime lore, poetry collections, puppy training, and far too many variations of The Art of Cooking with Mushrooms. The few smutty books Sydney had managed to find were all heterosexual romances and would bore her to death after the first chapter.
Sydney had just bought them both a bubble tea and was sipping enthusiastically, the mango bubbles bursting in her mouth. Everything was going great… until those nerves began to creep up, rising higher and higher until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“I have a secret I’ve been keeping,” Sydney muttered. She hadn’t planned on bringing up the cursed thing in their conversation today, or not at all. But it was kind of important, wasn’t it? It could affect their entire relationship and their future.
“What’s the secret?” Morgan asked, seemingly unbothered by the seriousness of it.
Sydney had expected her to snap her head in Sydney’s direction, brows furrowed, lips pressed thin, but the woman looked to be floating on a cloud.
She was walking with the blissful appearance of a person drunk on honey liqueur.
“Well, it’s not entirely a secret,” Sydney said. “Liv knows about it. She’s never been supportive, which is kind of annoying because it’s a big deal.”
Morgan kept her gaze straight ahead, focusing on the throng of people moving in the opposite direction from them. “Why only tell me now if it’s such a big deal?”
“Well, you’re a neurosurgeon,” Sydney replied, a bit hesitantly.
There were plenty of other reasons she had kept the curse to herself.
Mostly because she didn’t want to scare Morgan off.
But now, for some reason, it felt like the right time to share.
“You’re extremely logical. You deal with facts and science, things that make sense. This… well, it isn’t exactly rational.”
Morgan stopped in her tracks. A middle-aged woman holding a cup of bubble tea in each hand nearly bumped right into her and then scowled when Morgan spun back around, completely oblivious to the near accident she had just caused. “So, what’s the secret, then?”
“I’m kind of cursed.”
“Cursed,” Morgan said, slowly, enunciating every letter.
There was a brief moment where the woman looked like she was going to laugh out loud.
It looked to be the kind of laugh that started up from the belly and had one’s head tilting back, collapsing to the ground. Luckily, she managed to bite it back.
Curses were real. They weren’t a laughing matter.
In fact, the whole reason Sydney was in this position was because she had laughed off Madison’s tears after kissing Billy Smith.
If she’d only taken Madison’s feelings to heart, hadn’t thought she was joking when she’d declared her love for poor Billy, she wouldn’t be in this position––alone at the age of twenty-eight after way too many unsuccessful relationships.
Not even the four-month stint with Chloe Anderson, who she had actually liked and with whom she thought things would work out, had managed to break the pattern of disappointment.
In Victorian times, she’d be considered a spinster beyond help, doomed to remain single.
She would be consigned to a life of tea parties with other sad, lonely spinsters.
“Yes.”
“I’m assuming someone cursed you?”
The question may have been applicable, but everything about Morgan’s expression showed that she didn’t quite buy into it.
Who could blame her? Even Sydney, a relatively rational person with a medical background, sometimes found it hard to believe in something so fantastical.
But here she was, still tethered to the idea of a teenage hex lingering over her life.
“A girl called Madison Hall when I was fourteen.”
Morgan coughed a laugh, her lips curling as she tried to keep it together. “So, you’ve been carrying that curse with you all these years?”
“Yes.” Sydney wasn’t going to say that it was the sole reason for all her failed relationships over the years. The less she said, the more believable she hopefully sounded.
Morgan’s amusement was practically glowing. “That’s adorable, Sydney.”
“It’s not.” Sydney pulled a face. This was serious.
Morgan ran the fingers of her free hand through her black curls, drawing the attention of a passerby.
To their right, a man with a comb-over and boat loafers stared for far too long, his jaw dropping slightly.
“For some reason—and please don’t quote me in the future—but I kind of find your unrelenting belief in a curse kind of hot.
” She bit her lip, a pink blush rising in her ivory cheeks.
“You do?” Sydney was stunned. But in a good way, of course.
Morgan smiled. “I do.” She then dropped her voice a little lower. “Do you want to go back to my place? Or yours? Whichever one is easier.”
Sydney let out a laugh, feeling both extremely relieved and very excited, especially since the heat had rushed not only to her cheeks but to her hips as well. “I thought you’d never ask.”
~~
Morgan’s eyes roamed over Sydney’s body, taking her in like a picture up on display. She paused not only at her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples, but at her hips too, at her stomach, and then at the soft strip of pubic hair that led like a sign to her clit.
Sydney, who was lying naked on the bed—a huge king-sized bed with the softest goose-feathered duvet she’d ever experienced in her life—watched Morgan walk closer to her, as if in slow motion.
Morgan dropped the bra Sydney had already unclasped before she was pulled onto the bed by a surprisingly strong Sydney and her breasts fell free.
Fuck, she has gorgeous breasts.
Sydney suppressed a shiver when Morgan climbed further onto the bed. Morgan moved over her until her leg was slotted in between Sydney’s thighs. Sydney also stopped herself from weaving her fingers through Morgan’s curls and shoving their mouths together in a frenzied kiss.
The slower the better.
And it proved right. That first pressure against Sydney’s clit was enough to bring a moan to her throat, and when Morgan settled on top of her, their breasts touching, stomachs flattening against each other’s, another moan just couldn’t wait before it slipped out.
“So, you really think my curse is adorable,” Sydney mumbled, looking straight into those lovely gray irises, imagining she could see her reflection in Morgan’s dilated pupils.
Morgan smiled. “Not your curse, but the fact that you believe you’re cursed.”
“It’s true,” Sydney claimed.
“And what makes it true?”
Sydney’s hands moved to Morgan’s lower back, fingers gliding up along the woman’s spine.
She was concentrating on the silkiness of her skin, worrying if she’d scare Morgan off with too much information before she answered.
“I haven’t had a relationship ever work out, or even extend for longer than a few weeks.
It always starts well and fizzles out. Always. ”
“That just means you’re unlucky, Sydney. Not cursed.”
“Potato. Potata.”
Morgan laughed a deep, full-mouthed laugh. Her eyes glowed gold from the exposed light bulb on the bedside table. Sydney wasn’t sure if the lamp was supposed to look like that or if Morgan hadn’t bothered with a shade covering just yet.
But she didn’t get the chance to ask.
Morgan pressed her mouth against Sydney’s, slipping her tongue in. She opened her legs a fraction, sliding herself over Sydney until Morgan’s sex was flush with Sydney’s thigh, and vice versa.
Then, the dance began.
It was nothing like that other night in the forest. It was soft, sensual, more intimate than she’d ever imagined sex could be. It wasn’t just about fingers and tongues, fucking, and waiting for that climax to come. It was so much more than that.
Sydney’s breathing became harsher, more ragged.
Her nails were digging deep into the soft flesh of Morgan’s ass as she met the woman at every thrust. Sydney lost herself in Morgan’s curls.
She kissed her neck, and trailed her tongue down to the woman’s collarbone, all while their hips collided against each other’s, each getting wetter in the process.
But the humping came to a stop when Morgan tugged at Sydney’s lower lip. She dipped her tongue inside her mouth, while her right hand made its way down Sydney’s body.
First Morgan stopped at Sydney’s breasts, two fingers flicking her nipple momentarily.
She was oblivious to how that single touch had sent a thousand volts of electricity to Sydney’s legs, how her body was humming like a power line.
Morgan then meandered down, her palm gliding over the smooth hollow of Sydney’s stomach, all the way to her hips until she pressed the heel of her hand against Sydney’s entrance.
“Fuck,” Sydney muttered under her breath. She cussed again when Morgan began the slow waltz of moving her palm up and down Sydney’s mound and gave one more fuck when Morgan involved her fingers. Two fingers dipped in and out of her heat.
“Slower,” Sydney said, her mouth now pressed up against Morgan’s shoulder. “I want this to last.” If she could slow time and stretch it out so that every minute could last its full potential, she would. But the happier she felt, the faster time sped up.
Morgan obeyed, her fingers pumping slower now, yet harder. Her thumb was pushed up against Sydney’s clit while Morgan gave her just enough space to roll her hips against her hand.
“Please. Don’t. Stop. Ever,” Sydney breathed, enunciating every word. Somehow, she became even hornier when she heard Morgan’s lighthearted chuckle.
Morgan curled those two fingers inside of her and sped up the thrust, only a fraction until that intense feeling swelled in Sydney’s belly, spread downward to her hips and she felt like she was about to explode… and then she did.
Sydney gave it no more than a second before she had Morgan on her back, her knees bent, legs spread apart. She even convinced Morgan to grab hold of her own ankles, opening herself up more, like a flower in full bloom.
The woman was fucking perfect.
It was unfair for anyone to be that perfect, yet somehow Sydney didn’t feel even a twinge of jealousy. Because somehow, maybe in another lifetime, Morgan was hers. To be loved. To be gratified. To be admired.
Sydney slid down to the edge of the bed and smoothed her palms over the woman’s thighs, massaging and spreading her fingers.
She then closed the gap until her tongue found her target and kissed Morgan’s sex, smiling briefly when the woman let out a guttural groan.
After that, Sydney kissed and licked and sucked on Morgan’s clit, gripping Morgan’s hips tighter as the woman began to move.
“You taste fucking amazing,” Sydney said. “Like lavender and sweet oranges on a hot day.”
Morgan laughed. “You’re just saying that.”
“I mean it,” Sydney said, going in for more.
She stuck her tongue into Morgan’s slick folds, and trailed upward along the seam until she added in a finger, and then another, thrusting both in and out while Morgan moaned and groaned and once even screamed so loud, Sydney was sure the neighbors had heard.
It happened far too quickly.
Morgan began to shudder and quake. She dropped her ankles and tightened her thighs against Sydney’s head. Sydney wasn’t yet letting go… not until her own orgasm was sweeping through her again.
“Curse or not, I don’t think you’re the problem, Sydney,” Morgan said, her breath raspy as she ran both hands through her messy curls.
Sydney laughed and climbed back onto the bed, flopping tiredly beside Morgan. She turned onto her side, propped herself up on her elbow, and slung her arm over Morgan’s bare stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”