Chapter Twenty-Seven
Outside the artificially hot air of the swimming pool, the early evening was already pitch black, the horizon backlit by the bright lights of the city. Georgia's flat was warm, lit by low lamplight, Georgia and Erin curled up together under a blanket on the sofa.
It could have been awkward. Georgia was pretty sure she still smelled of chlorine, and Erin had propped her leg up with a cushion under her knee like they were already old women, spending a quiet evening together after forty years of marriage.
It wasn’t awkward in the slightest.
Georgia turned, pulling the blanket more snugly around them. Her thigh brushed Erin’s.
“You’re warm,” Georgia mumbled, barely above a whisper.
Erin tilted her head back to look at her. “So are you.”
Georgia hesitated for a breath, then two. Then she shifted, slowly, carefully, swinging her leg over Erin’s, straddling her. She took care to keep her weight off Erin’s knee, making sure not to injure her further.
“Still okay?”
Erin’s hands came to rest at her waist, right where the blanket had fallen. Her eyes were dark with something that looked a lot like hunger. “More than okay.”
Georgia pressed her mouth against Erin’s.
Erin’s hands skimmed Georgia’s waist, slipping under the back of her gym top, tracing the warm line of her spine, scratching down her back in delicious lines.
In the nearly ten years Georgia had owned the flat, she had never fucked someone on the sofa.
She’d come close - drunken fumbling in the hallway on the way to the bedroom, more than once stood upright in the shower.
But never here in the open plan room, the curtains pulled back from its large windows, a direct line of sight into the neighbours over the street.
Anyone in the terrace opposite, if they wanted, could stand at their own bowed windows and down look across, or down, and see her straddling Erin, follow the movement of her hips.
She wasn’t thinking about other lovers or peeping toms right now. She was thinking only about Erin beneath her, the way the corded tendons of her neck begged to be kissed, bitten.
They were kissing like they were teenagers again, young and inexperienced. Naive in their enthusiasm. Desperate.
This - her on top of Erin, pressed together, is exactly how she’d imagined it. The press and pull of their bodies against each other. The way Erin’s hands tugged at the hair at the nape of her neck, keeping her steady above her.
Georgia kissed Erin like she’d never wanted to kiss anyone else. Like she wanted to own her, brand her, drive the impression of her lips onto her skin.
Georgia ground her hips, driven by instinctual need, seeking the friction between her legs, the seam of her trousers.
She fumbled with the buttons of Erin’s work shirt, yanking it over her shoulders.
Erin shook her hands free of the cuffs, and gasped, her hands trailing across the lines of Georgia’s ribs, arching up into her, matching her movements thrust for thrust. They were both breathing heavily, grinding into each other.
Georgia could feel herself coiling, driving herself higher with every movement.
Erin nibbled along her jawline, nipping at her neck, her ears.
Every touch raced through Georgia’s body, sparking along her nerves, pooling between her legs.
Her quads burned with the effort of keeping herself up, of the rising and falling motion.
The pulse at the base of Erin’s neck fluttered wildly, and Georgia wanted to press her tongue to it, feel the frantic beating.
Instead, she kissed her way back to Erin’s face, the pleasure building.
She was close. Erin pressed her mouth to Georgia’s again, swiped her tongue along Georgia’s lip.
Georgia came undone, their bodies tensing and going rigid within heartbeats of each other, Erin’s stuttering breath hot in her ear, her fingers pressing into the skin of her back.
Georgia dropped her head to Erin’s shoulder, gasping breath.
She laughed, a little machine-gun exhale, and pressed a soft kiss to the place where Erin’s shoulder met her neck.
“Shit, Georgia,” Erin gasped, her breath catching, uneven, her arms tight around Georgia’s back.
Georgia lifted her head, pulled back enough to look at Erin properly. Her face was flushed, the thick waves of her hair messy, mussed, tangled from the pull of Georgia’s hands.
She didn’t give herself time to overthink, to second guess, to pull back. Georgia stood, careful not to hurt Erin as she manoeuvred herself off her, tugged her up her to stand beside her. She didn’t let go of her hand, pulled her behind her to the bedroom and pushed back her on the bed.
Erin’s dark hair fanned across the pillows, haloing her against the white cotton sheets.
Her trousers were already unbuttoned, the grey material flapping back, revealing a hint of black lace over tanned skin.
Georgia hooked her fingers under both layers and tugged, working the material down over her hips, her thighs, down past the brace on her knee.
She pressed kisses as she went, peppering them randomly across the skin.
Outside her bedroom window, her neighbours' garden lights illuminated the higgledy backs of the Victorian terrace, a patchwork of red brick and render, not a straight roofline or parallel wall in view.
It bathed the bed in a soft, warm light.
Not bright enough to read by, but more than enough for what Georgia had planned.
Her body hummed with the twin threads of satisfaction and anticipation. She threw the discarded trousers behind her, kneeling on the mattress. She worked the velcro straps of the knee brace and peeled it away, dropping it carefully to the floor beside the bed.
Erin had shucked off her shirt too, leaving her in a black bra that obviously matched the underwear now on Georgia’s floor.
The sight of her, almost naked in Georgia’s bed, laid out in front of her was mouth-watering, head-spinning. Totally, utterly incredible.
She slid down the bed, kissing her way from the taut planes of Erin’s stomach, the sharp lines of her hip bones, the top of her inside thigh, nipping at the soft skin.
“Is that okay?”
Erin groaned. “More than okay. You can bite me harder, if you like.”
Georgia did.
Fuck, she hoped she left a mark.
She wanted everyone to know. Wanted evidence of her presence all over her thighs. Wanted them to know that it was her who’d been there, done that. Who’d made Erin unfurl, become and soft and pliant under her hands. Who’d stripped away the spiky exterior, left her quivering and gentle.
She wanted them to know. Not, hopefully, that many people would see a mark right at the join of Erin's leg and torso. Maybe the old ladies at next week’s disco swim.
Georgia bit the other thigh, sucking the skin between her teeth. She was so close she could smell that Erin wanted her just as badly.
Georgia paused, peering up at Erin’s face in the half-darkness.
“Can I?”
“I think I’d go mad if you don’t,” she panted, her hands reaching for Georgia’s shoulders.
Georgia let Erin press her down, sinking onto her elbows.
She settled on top of the covers, pushing Erin’s legs wider, then moved forward, putting her mouth exactly where she knew Erin wanted it.
She kept one hand splayed on the taut lines of Erin’s stomach, feeling the way she jumped and tensed, tracking her reactions.
Erin gasped, her hand clenching around Georgia’s hair. “Fuck.”
Georgia kept her pace, feeling the way the muscles in Erin’s stomach tightened with every pass of her tongue, the way her legs shook with the effort of controlling herself. She kept going, focused on the bundle of nerves that twitched and jumped under her touch.
As Erin’s breath hitched, became unsteady, Georgia slid her hand under her own chest, bringing it line with her chin, and pressed her thumb to Erin, circling. She kept it shallow, where the most nerves were, where Erin would be most sensitive.
Erin spluttered, her hand leaving Georgia’s hair and clenching the sheet instead. She panted hard, irregularly, as the moment overtook her, Georgia coaxing the rest of her orgasm from her until she was spent, pushing Georgia gently up and away.
Georgia pressed a kiss to the inside of Erin’s leg, right over the developing mark of her teeth, and rested her head on her thigh.
This was real.
Not just some vivid teenage fantasy. Not fevered imagination, not a quick fumble that could easily be explained away.
Neither of them were drunk. Neither of them were after a quick fuck, a chance to get their rocks off and brag about it down the pub.
When was the last time she’d wanted someone like this?
Erin didn’t take more time to recover; she sat up, twisting Georgia into the place she’d just come from. Georgia sunk into the warmth of the sheets as Erin’s hands slipped between her legs. She took in a sharp breath as her fingers hit their target. “God, Georgia, you’re so wet.”
Georgia didn’t have to touch herself to know that was true. She could feel it in the easy slide of Erin’s fingers, in the way her flesh parted easily, letting her in.
Georgia moaned. She was about to come again. She felt lightheaded, dizzy with desire. Erin twisted her fingers, curled them just right, and Georgia let herself uncoil completely.