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She walked into the living room and saw a figure standing in the window bay. The room was dark. It was winter. New York dusk. Panes gleaming like slabs of deepest violet behind the solitary silhouette.
The figure was a woman, with her back to the room. As Bette approached her, she realised she was naked. They both were. And now she knew it was Tina. The narrow shoulders, the flare of her hips. Bette watched as she shifted her weight, one foot to the other, and lifted up her hair, twisting it into a knot and pressing it to the back of her head.
‘Turn around,’ Bette said.
Nothing happened. Bette laid her forehead against the nape of Tina’s neck. She could smell her, all of her. ‘Turn around,’ she said again, but again nothing, and then she moved her mouth close to Tina’s ear, ‘Turn around,’ and Tina instead leaned forward, placing her hands wide apart on the window frame. Bette looked down. Tina’s legs were parted, her ass moving slowly from side to side a matter of inches from Bette’s right hand.
A thought was nagging at Bette, like a phone ringing in a far away room. Tina let her head drop. Bette ran her left hand all the way up Tina’s back to her neck, caressed her, held her firmly but gently, feeling her silken hair, then reached out and cupped her between the legs . . . so much heat, so wet already . . . Tina moaned and pushed back. Bette tightened her grip, closed the gap between them and slid two fingers inside. Tina gasped. Bette covered her body, pulling her hair aside and licking her neck, sucking, feeling the muscle twitch and then something else . . . Yes! A thin rope of silver metallic under her tongue . . . and they were moving together, Bette’s clit against the back of her own wrist as she fucked Tina, back and forth—
Her eyes snapped open.
Tina’s voice carried along the hallway as Bette sat on the sofa, her heart pounding at being wrenched from sleep. She raised her hand to her neck and felt the chain of her ‘A’ necklace. Looked around at her study, warm yellow sun outside, and down at the printout that had slid halfway off her lap, her red pen on the floor.