Chapter Twenty-Three
Exactly two weeks ago, Kendall had thrown caution to the wind and confessed her love to Sloane. It had been one of the most gut-wrenching, heart-stopping experiences of her life.
Walking into a burning building was easier than telling a woman like Sloane that you were in love with them, especially when the chance of rejection could’ve crushed Kendall.
To her immense relief, it had all gone down exactly as she’d hoped.
Not only was Sloane in love with her but the documentary was saved and her relationship with her father was surprisingly on the mend_albeit slowly.
Even Reese had gotten her much-deserved justice when the police had made enough headway on the case to track down Mr. Fraudster.
It didn’t mean she was getting her money back, but it was something.
Everyone was happy.
Especially Kendall, who had no idea love could feel like that.
She was barely keeping her head above water.
Love was like an ocean tide, constantly sweeping her off her feet and pulling her under.
There was no fighting it. No escaping. Not that she’d want to.
All she could do was let the wave of love crash over her and carry her wherever it wanted to go.
Kendall also had no idea that it was possible to feel constantly aroused.
Sloane could just look at her, and her body started humming, and her thighs started quaking.
It probably had something to do with the fact that they had sex every day since that confession.
Kendall was hooked. Or more like whipped, as some idiot frat boys would say.
Tonight, they were having dinner at Sloane’s house, and hopefully, for dessert, Kendall could work off some of the extra steam.
She rang the front doorbell and took a step back, waiting.
The neighbor next door, Mrs. Phoebe Dixon, was tending to a bush of hydrangeas.
She waved and Kendall waved back. A week ago, when Kendall had gotten to Sloane’s early one evening, she had struck up a conversation with Phoebe, who was quite frankly a remarkable woman.
Not only had she been married to a South African woman, but they were one of the first to get married under the new law.
They had broken barriers when such things were nearly unimaginable.
Sadly, Phoebe’s wife passed away five years ago, and Phoebe had since moved back to the States.
They were both fifty-two when they got married.
She had called it the best day of her life.
It was a crime that Sloane didn’t know her own neighbor. Kendall had introduced the two the very next day.
“The door’s unlocked,” Sloane called suddenly, her voice sounding distant.
Not thinking anything of it, Kendall turned the handle and swung it open.
She wasn’t impressed. Leaving the front door unlocked was a safety hazard, even in the cushy confines of Beverly Hills.
“You really need to be more cautious,” Kendall said, stepping into the foyer and dropping her phone and keys on the table. “You never know who’s out there on the streets checking out your house.”
Sloane didn’t respond.
“Where are you?” Kendall called, wondering if she’d gotten the time wrong, but then she walked into the living room and gasped.
The entire space was glowing gold. Candles flickered everywhere_on the coffee table, next to the flowerpots, on the bookshelf, and pretty much anywhere they could find a spot.
There were plush cushions scattered around the coffee table while a fondue set gleamed in the center, surrounded by assorted bite sized foods.
On the kitchen island, beside a bouquet of roses, was a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.
Music hummed from the Bluetooth speaker.
“I hope this isn’t too much,” Sloane said, walking into the room, wearing nothing but lingerie.
She looked so good that for a second, Kendall forgot to speak. Her jaw nearly dropped to her toes. It was only when Sloane glided toward her and kissed her on the lips that she finally snapped out of it.
“No,” Kendall shook her head. “Not at all. This is… it’s perfect.”
“I wanted to be romantic,” Sloane said, flourishing an arm over the scene.
“I don’t think even Radclyffe could pull off something like this,” Kendall said. Her voice was thick with awe as her gaze swept across the room. Out of the corner of her eye, Kendall spotted soft crimson flakes on the floor leading to the bedroom. “Wait… are those rose petals?”
“Like I said,” Sloane laughed. “Romantic.”
“You really know how to sweep a woman off her feet,” Kendall said, reaching for Sloane’s hips and tugging her closer. It was physically impossible for another human being to be as hot as Sloane was right now. Not even Giselle Bündchen could compete. Nor even Reese Robbie.
“I’m just getting started.”
Kendall slid her palms up Sloane’s back. “I’m not sure if I should be scared of a concussion. Sweeping people off their feet can be dangerous.”
“Says a firefighter,” Sloane chuckled, running her hands up to Kendall’s neck before she slipped her fingers into her hair.
“By the way, I really hate the idea that you’ve gone back to work.
Not just because we still have plenty to do for the project, but because I can’t stop worrying about you running into fires. ”
“You shouldn’t worry about me,” Kendall whispered, her mouth merely a few inches from Sloane’s. “I’m an expert at what I do. Today, I had to pull a guy out of a collapsing building, with debris falling all around us.”
Sloane sucked in a breath, her hands weaving tighter into Kendall’s hair. “I don’t like the sound of that at all. Are you sure they can’t put you on light duty or something?”
She was just about to laugh when she stopped herself. The words sounded like a joke, but the serious look on Sloane’s face told Kendall otherwise. “There is no such thing as light duty.”
Sloane wrinkled her nose and was just about to say something Kendall couldn’t defend_like what if something actually did happen to her on the job_when Kendall cut the conversation short and pressed her mouth against Sloane’s.
The next minute Sloane had Kendall backed against the wall with one thigh slotted between Kendall’s legs.
“You’re very good at changing the subject,” Sloane muttered.
Her breath was hot against Kendall’s mouth.
“But this conversation isn’t over.” She pulled at Kendall’s lower lip with her teeth before dipping her tongue inside.
She then grabbed the bottom of Kendall’s shirt and bunched it over her breasts. “Far from it.”
“Noted.” Kendall chuckled and slid her hands up Sloane’s back to the strap of her bra. With an easy flick, it fell loose. She was suddenly dying to get those perfectly plump nipples in her mouth, and she would’ve moved the party to the bedroom if Sloane wasn’t keeping her pinned to the wall.
Sloane slid her hands down to Kendall’s right thigh and back up to the zipper of her jeans. With nimble fingers, she both unzipped and unbuttoned and pulled the jeans down Kendall’s legs, which she very easily kicked loose.
Kendall would’ve made quick work of Sloane’s very racy underwear if the filmmaker hadn’t suddenly pressed the heel of her hand against the seam of her panties and began moving her palm up and down and over her clit.
“I’m glad we’re not waiting for dessert,” Kendall muttered, tilting her head back into the wall. She didn’t care that her face was just inches away from a photo frame of Sloane’s Nonna, who had died at a healthy age of ninety-seven. How could she when Sloane added in her fingers?
Soon enough, Kendall was lifting and dropping her hips, meeting the woman’s touch with every thrust.
But when Sloane leaned in and pressed her mouth to Kendall’s throat, she couldn’t take it anymore. With the candles, the rose petals, and the perfectly curated playlist sounding from the speaker, the entire thing felt like a rom-com fever dream dialed up to eleven.
And Kendall was head over heels in love with rom-coms... and with Sloane.
She moaned and sunk her fingers into Sloane’s shoulders. There was no doubt in her mind that Sloane was equally hot, equally wet. A little test proved exactly that. Kendall slid her hand down and felt Sloane’s soaked underwear.
She thought again about sucking Sloane’s nipples and she most certainly wouldn’t mind tracing her tongue along Sloane’s sex. But the living room just wasn’t the place to do it.
Breathlessly, Kendall muttered, “If you don’t take me to your bedroom right now, I swear, I’m—”
But she didn’t even have to carry on with the threat. Before Kendall knew it, Sloane was leading her across the rose-petal-strewn hallway to the bedroom where, you guessed it, there were more rose petals. All over the bed.
“You’re not going to propose to me, are you?” Kendall muttered, dipping her thumbs beneath the silky fabric of Sloane’s panties and pulling her close.
Sloane laughed loudly but nervously. “Not today,” she said, stripping Kendall from the rest of her clothes.
“Good.” Kendall exhaled, though frankly, the thought of being married to Sloane was exhilarating. Her mind was already conjuring up scenes of their future—Saturday mornings wrapped up in each other, lazy afternoons watching documentaries, little routines and rituals they would build together.
But it was way too soon, and they both knew that.
Sloane slid her hands up Kendall’s bare stomach to her breasts.
Her thumbs swiped over her nipples, seeking and flicking and playing.
And then, in pure Sloane-esque style, she pushed Kendall onto the bed and climbed on top of her, straddling her hips.
Kendall couldn’t take her eyes off Sloane’s pillowy breasts, and those nipples, already hard for her.
Kendall grabbed Sloane’s hips and made quick work of getting the woman on her back.
Finally, she was about to get what she wanted. Kendall kissed her on the sternum, moving down, and then she pressed her lips against Sloane’s right nipple. She added in a lick, then a nip, then a cute little bite that had the woman arching her back.
“You really know what buttons to press,” Sloane muttered. Her eyes were closed, her head pushed back in the pillow.
“It’s a skill,” Kendall grinned, moving to the other side.
When she had finally gotten her fill, Kendall began the move down. While she palmed at Sloane’s tits with one hand, she kissed the filmmaker on the stomach, then her belly button, moving lower and lower until her head was between Sloane’s thighs.
Sloane opened herself for her, moving her knees wide.
First, Kendall started with her fingers, exploring the damp folds, and then she swapped her fingers for her tongue and did the same.
All the while, Sloane was working to press her hips further into Kendall’s face.
It was so hot. She was so hot. But for some reason, something was missing.
A feeling Kendall couldn’t explain, a satisfaction she could only get if the two of them finished together.
“You don’t perhaps have that dildo close by, do you?”
Sloane flicked her head up and frowned. “You mean you want to fuck me with it now?”
“Yes,” Kendall said matter-of-factly, and with enough confidence that the woman didn’t question her. “That’s exactly what I want to do.”
Sloane smiled and quickly leaned over to the side table while Kendall positioned herself back on the bed.
She handed Kendall a velvet bag and together they made quick work of slipping on the harness—Kendall was more than happy to wear it—adjusting the dildo into the little pocket which rested close to Kendall’s clit.
Whatever satisfaction Sloane was about to get, Kendall was, too.
When she was ready, luckily still hot and bothered, Kendall positioned the head of the dildo at Sloane’s entrance and leaned in, embracing the feel of it sliding into her.
Sloane moaned, even louder than before, her fingers clawing into Kendall’s back as she thrust it in deeper, harder.
Kendall tried to keep her weight on her forearms, but the more she rocked into the woman, pushing the dildo in deeper, the tighter Sloane’s grip became on Kendall.
She pulled her so close that their bodies were nearly flush.
While their hips bucked together, moans spilling from their lips, Kendall couldn’t believe how lucky she had gotten. It was remarkable how her world had changed in a matter of weeks. She couldn’t believe that this life was hers. Sloane was hers.
She continued thrusting her hips against Sloane’s, until the filmmaker’s entire body shuddered and tightened. Her grip on Kendall’s ass was nearing pain. But even then, Kendall continued pumping. She fucked Sloane until her own orgasm swooped in like an eagle on a mouse.
“I think we should move in together,” Kendall said, flipping back onto the bed when they finished, the dildo still sticking up from her hips, wet from Sloane’s excitement.
“You know, it’s only been two weeks, officially,” Sloane said breathlessly. Her chest heaved and sweat dripped between her breasts.
Kendall grinned, tilting her head sideways to the woman she loved. “It’s been far longer than that. You know that, right?”
Sloane laughed and grabbed Kendall’s hand, squeezing it hard. “We can talk about it some more over fondue. You like melted cheese, don’t you?”
“Love it,” Kendall giggled, feeling happier than she’d ever felt in her life.