“Oh Jane.” Annie wasn’t even sure she said the words out loud or just in her head. But she repeated them as a mantra, as the words guided her to undeniable climax. Until all else ceased and Annie was purely her body at the mercy of her wife. She drifted up to that cloud of pure pleasure, where nothing else existed in the world but utter joy. An all-encompassing warmth overtook her, cleared her mind of all the clutter, and smoothed any bumps in the road of her life. It was a release of tension and lust and ballast all at once.

Annie breathed out deeply as Jane’s finger withdrew. She wanted to reach for the tissue box on the night stand so Jane could wipe her hand, but Annie didn’t have the strength to move. Not for a while. And she wanted to tell Jane that everything would become better again. That this phase she was in was just that—a phase that would pass. She would, one day, have the best orgasms again—perhaps even better than ever before. But Annie was tongue-tied by satisfaction, silenced by the sheer pleasure of having come at her wife’s finger and tongue —because there was no greater delight in the world.

What had she been thinking lusting after another woman, anyway? Could anything with Kristin ever have been better than this? Annie drew the swift conclusion that it was impossible. What Jane had just bestowed upon her wasn’t just any old orgasm, it was love and a display of knowledge gained after so many years together. She knew what Annie liked and knew how to give it to her. What could possibly ever replace that?

“Come here,” Annie said when she regained the power of speech.

Jane crawled up to her and nestled herself in the crook of Annie’s arm.

“That was amazing.” Annie lay basking in the afterglow of her orgasm with her wife in her arms.

“No lube required,” Jane said.

“That leaves all the more for you,” Annie joked, because after an orgasm like that, a joke was definitely allowed.

Chapter Thirty

A flicker of pride glowed deep inside of Jane. It always did when Annie lay spent next to her like that. For a brief moment, she thought this was enough. She’d made Annie happy—she’d made her come. Why, just for now, when she was going through this transition—Jane refused to use the word change—couldn’t they just leave it at that, and spare themselves a potential issue? But it was a cowardly way of thinking. Besides, going down on Annie had got Jane’s juices flowing. And whereas insecurity surely had a place in the bedroom at times, Jane couldn’t keep on clinging to it. She couldn’t keep on using it as a shield, because, in the end, it was only herself she was punishing.