“Because...because...” I close my eyes. In the dark, her hands ground me. Just feeling, not seeing, I can think. My heart steadies. I open my eyes. “Because I want you. And I think you want me, too. And whatever happens after this, we’ll be okay. We’re still partners, Amy. We’ll always be partners first.”

I hold her jaw gently, press my palm gently to her throat. She closes her eyes, sighing.

And just like that she pops the button on my pants.

Without thought, I giggle. This is happening. It’s been happening but I keep forgetting it’s real and now, I think, Amy Chambers is going to fuck me.

“Are you going to fuck me now?”

Spoilers. I need to know what’s next.

“If you want me to.”

I nod. “I do.”

She tugs at my pants and I lift my hips. “I do too.”

She drops them in a ball of fabric on the floor between us. I prepare a speech for how dowdy my underwear is. The faded black cotton. The high-waist, high-leg cut doesn’t look as sexy on me as it does on the model. I’m about to have my first sapphic experience in granny panties.

But the words die on my tongue as she holds my legs open further with her knees. She trails her knuckle, just like I imagined, down the fabric between my thighs. Lightly, just enough to feel the pressure against my clit and to feel how wet I am.

“Is this for me?” she whispers. She slips her hand into my underwear, rubbing two fingers over my lips.

I nod. “Yes.” I gasp.

Torturously slow, she slips one finger between my folds and stops with the pad of her finger on my clit. I cry out, even this light pressure pushes me to the edge. I’m wanton, hyperventilating from the lightest touch.

“Breathe,” she whispers, moving her hand from between my legs to flatten her palm against my lower abdomen.

“I’m sorry.” I laugh softly. “Everything feels like the first time again. I’m a mess.”

“It’s kind of flattering,” she assures me. “But how about we focus on just one thing.”

“What’s that?” I rest my hand low on her hip, my fingers toying with the back pocket of her slacks. She’s still completely clothed, only her blouse gapes open, teasing me with her lace bralette, the soft swell of her breasts.

She drops her hand again between my legs, slipping under my panties, and slides one finger inside me, slow and all the way to the knuckle. My eyes fall closed.

“You coming,” she says.

I nod. “Yes. Yes, let’s focus on that.”

She moves her finger inside me, over me, painting my lips with my own wetness. The pleasure has simmered below the surface of my skin for so long that her cursory touches are magnified. I grab at her, pulling her closer to me, covering her mouth with mine, feeding her my every moan and gasp. I slip my hand into the gap in her blouse. Her nipple pebbles through the lace, the softness of the fabric at total odds with the sure way she touches me. My hips move, matching the rhythm of the slow, fierce way she fucks me. The kitchen fills with the sounds of my whimpers but Amy is surprisingly quiet for a woman who has always been able to come up with a ready response to an out of line client.