9. Three Weeks Later #3
Becca rolled over, and the vulnerability of the position hit her immediately. Face in the pillow, body exposed, Margot's weight settling behind her. She felt Margot's mouth on her shoulder blade first, then trailing kisses down her spine, slow and deliberate.
"I've been thinking about this for three weeks," Margot murmured against her skin. "Your back. This spot right here." She pressed her lips to the dip at the base of Becca's spine, and Becca shivered. "The way you arch when I—"
Her hand slid between Becca's legs from behind, and Becca gasped into the pillow.
"Sensitive tonight," Margot observed, her fingers exploring slowly.
"I've been thinking about you for three weeks too. Give me a break."
"No breaks." Margot draped herself along Becca's back, her mouth against Becca's ear, her fingers finding a rhythm that made Becca's toes curl. "I'm going to take my time."
The angle was different from this position. Deeper. Margot's fingers slid inside easily, and the stretch drew a moan from Becca that she didn't bother muffling. Margot's other hand slipped beneath her, finding her clit, and the dual sensation was devastating.
"Margot—" Becca was gripping the pillow with both hands, past dignity, past coherent speech. "Right there, don't—"
"I know." Margot's voice was rough against her ear. "I've got you."
She increased the pace, her body pressed along the full length of Becca's back, mouth hot against her neck.
The weight of her, the closeness, the feeling of being completely surrounded by this woman.
Becca couldn't see her face but she could feel her everywhere.
Her breath, her heartbeat, her fingers relentless and sure.
The orgasm built from somewhere low and deep, different from before, the position making everything feel more intense. When it hit, Becca cried out against the pillow, her whole body shaking, and Margot held her through it, one arm wrapped tight around her waist.
When the aftershocks faded, Margot withdrew gently and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades. Becca rolled over, boneless, and pulled Margot down beside her.
"I forgot how good you are at that," Becca said eventually.
"You forgot in three weeks?"
"Three weeks is a long time when you're used to video calls."
Margot turned her head, looking at her with that soft expression Becca had seen at the wedding. The one that made her chest hurt in the best way.
"I don't want to do that again," Margot said quietly. "Three weeks without seeing you. Touching you. It was..."
"Miserable?"
"Unbearable." Margot reached out and tucked a curl behind Becca's ear. "I'm not good at needing people. I spent so long frozen, and you—" She swallowed. "You made me want to thaw. Being apart made me realize how much I need that. How much I need you."
Becca's eyes stung. "We'll figure it out. We said we would."
"I know. I just wanted you to know—" Margot paused, seeming to search for words. "The distance isn't going to make me pull away. I'm not going to decide it's too hard and give up. I'm in this."
"Me too."
"Good." Margot's smile was small but genuine. "Now, I believe you promised me croissants in the morning?"
"I did. Best croissants you've ever had."
"That's a bold claim."
"I'm a bold person."
"You are." Margot kissed her forehead, soft and tender. "It's one of my favorite things about you."
They lay tangled together, the city glittering outside the windows. Becca traced lazy patterns on Margot's shoulder, more content than she'd been in weeks.
"Round two?" she asked eventually.
Margot laughed. "Already?"
"We have three weeks to make up for."
"That's going to take all night."
"I'm aware."
Margot rolled on top of her, grinning, and Becca felt something settle in her chest. Not certainty. That would come later, with time and work and a thousand small choices. But hope. Real, sustainable hope.
They had tonight. And tomorrow. And whatever came after.
And for now, that was enough.
Much later, when they'd exhausted themselves and the city had gone quiet outside, Margot lay in the dark with Becca curled against her side.
"I'm glad Sophie meddled," Becca murmured.
"Me too."
"I'm glad she double-booked us in that cottage."
She hummed. "Was it double-booked? Or did she plan the whole thing?"
"Does it matter?" Becca asked with a soft laugh.
Margot considered. "No. I suppose it doesn't."
"Then I'm glad for all of it. The cottage. The wedding. The croissants. You."
"Especially the croissants?"
Becca laughed against her shoulder. "Especially you."
Margot pulled her closer and let herself believe that maybe, somehow, this was going to work.
The next morning, Becca was elbow-deep in pastry dough when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and her face lit up.
"It's my parents. Do you mind?"
Margot, who had been watching Becca work from her spot at the kitchen island, shook her head. "Go ahead."
Becca wiped her hands and answered. Three faces crowded into the frame: a man with warm copper skin and high cheekbones, a blonde woman with laugh lines around her eyes, and behind them, an older woman with silver hair and the same sharp gaze Becca had.
"Mija! You made it safe?" The man's voice was warm, concerned.
"Hi Dad. Hi Mom. Hi Abuela." Becca angled the phone so they could see Margot's kitchen. "I'm already baking. The client meeting isn't until this afternoon."
"Is that her apartment?" Her mother leaned closer to the camera. "It's very... clean."
"Linda," her father said, a gentle warning.
"I'm just saying! It's beautiful."
Becca laughed. "Margot's right here, you know. You can say hi."
Three faces immediately perked up. Becca turned the phone toward Margot, who felt suddenly, absurdly nervous. She was a partner at a major law firm. She argued cases in front of judges. And yet meeting her girlfriend's family via FaceTime made her palms sweat.
"Hi," she managed. "It's nice to meet you. Virtually."
"So you're Margot." Becca's abuela squinted at the screen. "Rebecca Marisol talks about you constantly. She says you're very organized."
"I try to be."
"And that you made partner at your law firm."
"Yes. Six months ago."
"Hmm." The abuela held her gaze, weighing something, then nodded once. "Good. A woman should have her own career. Her own money. Don't ever depend on anyone for that."
"Abuela," Becca groaned.
"I'm just saying! It's good advice. Your grandfather—rest his soul—always said the same thing." She turned back to Margot. "You'll take care of her this week? Make sure she eats something besides pastry scraps?"
"I'll do my best."
"Good." Another sharp nod. "Then we approve. For now."
Becca's father laughed. "What my mother means is welcome to the family. Sort of. Provisionally. We reserve the right to revoke that if you hurt her."
"Eduardo," her mother said.
"What? I'm being honest. That's what you always say—be honest."
Margot found herself smiling. The chaos, the warmth, the way they talked over each other. It was so different from her own quiet family dinners, the polite conversations with her parents that never quite scratched the surface.
"I won't hurt her," she said. "I'll try very hard not to, anyway."
"That's all we can ask," Becca's mother said. "Now, Becca, honey, tell us about this event. What are you making?"
Becca launched into an explanation of her menu, and Margot watched her light up, gesturing with flour-covered hands. This was what she'd been missing. Not just Becca, but the fullness of her. The family that loved her. The life she'd built.
Margot wanted to be part of it. All of it.
The call ended with promises to visit soon, and Becca turned to her with a sheepish smile.
"Sorry about that. They're a lot."
"They're wonderful."
Becca's smile softened. "Yeah. They are."