She tried to imagine making slow, sweet love with Hæra in bed, and the image faded away like mist in sunlight. No, Madeleine couldn’t make Hæra sweet. She could, perhaps, make her something else.

Upright on her knees, Hæra tugged Madeleine’s hand between her naked, pale thighs. There was black hair there, softer and sparser than the hair on Hæra’s head. It covered soft lips, and when Madeleine’s fingertips brushed them, Hæra gasped. “In me!”

With Hæra’s urging, she slid not one finger, but two, up into soft heat she’d never dared imagine. Soft, tight, wet heat.

Because of her. Hæra was wet because of Madeleine. Here was the proof, clenching on Madeleine’s fingers as Hæra tossed her head back and groaned.

To the end of her days, Madeleine would never forget what it felt like to be inside another woman for the first time.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, looking up at Hæra, stunned. “Oh mercy.”

“No mercy.” Hæra rolled her hips, her head still tilted back as she began to move on Madeleine’s fingers. She thrust her hips back and forth. “Oh—your fingers are smaller—but they feel so good.” She began to move faster.

Hæra was so wet that Madeleine’s fingers made noises going in and out. She was buried inside Hæra, and white liquid was starting to drip on her knuckles. What did it taste like?

She had to know. She couldn’t wait.

Gasping and greedy, Madeleine stroked Hæra with her other hand as well, swiping her thumb between those lips and seeking moisture. She found it, slick, and licked it off her thumb. Salty and sharp.

Hæra cried, “Do that again!”

Madeleine did. She moved her fingers in Hæra. She kept her gaze fixed on Hæra’s own as she stroked with her thumb again, brought it to her mouth, and sucked.

And with that, Hæra came. It couldn’t be anything else. She clenched inside, throbbing around Madeleine’s fingers. Her hips arched forward and she cried out, never looking away from Madeleine.

“Taste me,” she gasped, “taste me,” and then clenched again, cried out, and folded forward until she crouched over Madeleine on all fours.

Madeleine kept moving her fingers and licking her thumb, savoring a flavor so good it could only be called divine. She only stopped when Hæra finally grabbed her wrist again and groaned. When she slid her fingers out, they were coated. Now there was even more to taste.

It might have horrified her once, might have struck her as dirty, but this had happened because Madeleine had pleased Hæra. Because they’d come together to please each other. Because for the first time, Madeleine had dared to reach for happiness instead of shame.