Stevie dropped the shirt on the floor and stepped back a little. “I remember this,” she whispered.
“What?”
“How fucking gorgeous you are.”
Her eyes roamed over Iris’s body, pausing not only at her breasts in her pink cotton bra, but her neck and stomach and hips as well. It made Iris feel incredibly seen and vulnerable and . . . she wasn’t sure she liked it.
“Okay,” she said, forcing her head back in this game. “What’s next?”
Stevie looked down at her own tank top, her mouth pink and a little swollen from kissing. “I . . . I remember this too. That night, I wasn’t wearing a bra and I think that’s part of what made me spiral. Like, just automatic exposure.”
“Well, I’ve already seen your tits, as you pointed out earlier.”
“Yeah, but that was an accident. This is . . .”
“Not an accident.”
“Yeah.”
“So what would help you here? Or we can stop.”
Stevie shook her head. “I don’t think I want to stop.”
“Okay,” Iris said softly. “Take your time. You’re in control. You call the shots.”
Stevie looked down for a few seconds, but then stepped closer to Iris again, hand circling her waist. Iris suppressed a shiver, but her own hands went to Stevie’s forearms, pulling their bodies together even tighter. Stevie kissed her again, once . . . twice . . . before her fingers drifted to Iris’s bra’s clasp.
“Is this okay?” Stevie asked.
And goddammit, it was more than okay. Iris nodded, then said “Yes” out loud. Stevie unhooked the bra and this time, Iris couldn’t hold back a sigh as the straps slid down her arms. She dropped her hands and the garment fell to the floor, her breasts swaying freely.
“Shit,” Stevie said. She held Iris by the waist, her thumbs swiping at her hips.
“Is that a good expletive or . . .”
“It’s good,” Stevie said, lifting her eyes to Iris’s. “You’re a fucking goddess.”
Iris laughed, feeling suddenly shy. “No. I’m just me. Remember that, okay? Whoever you do this with for real is just a person, exactly like you.”
Stevie nodded then kissed her again. It was a sweet kiss this time, tender, and Iris had to resist the urge to turn it hard. Soon, though, Stevie did that for herself, her mouth going hungry, tiny moans slipping from her throat. She reached down to her tank’s hem and lifted, all in one motion, whipping it over her head as though tearing off a Band-Aid.
She stood there for a second, her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Iris reached out and touched her waist gently but went no further.
“You’re beautiful, Stevie,” she said, and she was. There was a tiny black heart tattoo at the base of her throat Iris hadn’t noticed before, delicate and understated. Her breasts were smaller than Iris’s, it was true, but they were lovely—creamy and pert, with perfect pink nipples Iris couldn’t help but visualize sucking into her mouth.
Stevie’s eyes popped open, and she pulled Iris closer . . . closer. When their breasts touched, both women let out a low moan, Iris’s breathing instantly harsh and ragged again. She was fucking soaked, and her head was getting increasingly fuzzy again. Stevie touched their foreheads together, both of their hips pressing, seeking.
Stevie slotted her leg between Iris’s and Iris moaned again. Loudly, with an oh god flowing from her mouth, because fuck, it felt good, so goddamn good, and moaning was what she would do if this were all real.
But it wasn’t.
And she felt the second Stevie remembered it. Stevie froze, then stepped back so far, the inches between them turned into feet before Iris could blink.
“Shit,” Iris said. “Stevie, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Stevie said, shaking her head. “I’m the one who took it to the next level. I should’ve asked.”
“You’re freaking out.”
Stevie closed her eyes, suddenly breathing like a struggling air-conditioning unit. “A bit. It’s not your fault, I promise. I just need a second.”
“What can I do?”
Stevie shook her head, arms crossing over her chest. “Hand me my shirt?”
Iris scooped up the tank, then looped it over Stevie’s head in the least sexy way possible. Stevie pulled it down around her hips, her breathing a little slower, but not quite back to normal. Iris grabbed her own shirt and slipped it on while Stevie’s chest continued to heave.
“Should I get a bucket?” Iris asked.
And that did it.
Stevie’s eyes went wide, then her harsh breathing stopped abruptly before it shifted into laughter. It was a deep laugh, full-mouthed and beautiful, and Iris cracked up too. Soon, the two of them were laughing so hard, Iris’s stomach hurt, and they collapsed onto the sofa, the candles still flickering all around them.
“Well,” Stevie said when they’d stopped. “I made it further than last time, at least.”
“You did.” Iris sat up and wiped her eyes. “And it didn’t end in vomit, which is always a plus.”
“Growth.” Stevie sat up too, leaning her elbows on her knees. “Thank you.”
Iris met her gaze, and they both held it for what felt like a second too long. She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how much I actually helped.”
“You helped,” Stevie said. “A lot. Just talking me through it. Reminding me of control, reminding me of, well, me.”
Iris nodded, but for some reason, she couldn’t look at Stevie anymore. “Well, thanks for the romance help.”
“You’re welcome.”
They sat there, the languid music still curling around them, and Iris suddenly needed to be alone like she needed a cold shower. This wasn’t new—every now and then, despite her raging extroverted nature, she needed silence, quiet, time to process, and hell if she didn’t need to process a bit now. Her limbs felt shaky, her heart beating a little too fast, and it didn’t help that her clit still thrummed between her legs after her and Stevie’s . . .
Lesson.
That’s all it was.
She got up and started blowing out the candles. “I think we better call it a night,” she said in between puffs.
“Yeah,” Stevie said, rising as well and helping Iris darken the room. Soon, only the twinkle lights lit the room, which still felt far too fucking romantic for Iris’s taste. She yanked the plug from the wall by the window, plunging them into momentary darkness.
HOURS AFTER STEVIE left, after they’d agreed that Iris would meet Stevie at her apartment in Portland next Friday to go to the airport for the LA trip together, Iris still couldn’t sleep.
She laid in her bed, eyes wide open on her ceiling fan, playing the night—the whole day, actually—over and over in her head. She couldn’t shake this restless feeling. She’d already gotten herself off—no way she could function properly after what she and Stevie did without some relief—and she’d reheated and eaten her Moonpies burger. She’d showered, cleaned up the popcorn, put all the candles back in their rightful spots.
And yet.
She groaned and rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut to force them into slumber. Still, when her phone buzzed on her nightstand, she leaped into action, glad for another distraction. She saw a message from Claire in the group chat, whose name had now changed to So Many Queerstions.