Jules grinned, her confidence back and waving little victory flags. “You don’t like talking about it?” She lowered herself until she was tucked up against Vivian, rubbing her own bare breasts against Vivian’s silk top. She sighed at how good it felt and watched Vivian’s eyelids flutter. “I like talking about it sometimes.” Their nipples brushed.

Vivian gasped and dug her fingers into Jules’s hair again, tugging her in for another kiss. She was shivering when they pulled apart. “I don’t like talking about—” she began, then gave up and kissed Jules again.

Jules slid her hands between them and began unbuttoning Vivian’s top as she kissed her throat, already eager to see again what she’d seen last night.

Vivian arched her head back accommodatingly.

“Maybe you could just give me feedback as I go, then,” Jules said. “The constructive kind.”

As it turned out, Vivian had simple tastes for once. She loved being kissed anywhere: mouth, throat, shoulders, breasts. And she liked being treated and pampered, which surprised Jules not at all.

So Jules pampered her with lots of long, slow kisses, trying to do things all in a rhythm that would please her. Vivian smelled good, felt better, and tasted best of all, and eventually Jules forgot about nerves and just lost herself in doing to Vivian what she’d wanted to do for ages.

She got feedback, all right. Little moans and whimpers that gave Jules goosebumps, pleas that came out like commands (“do that again”), excited squirming and wriggling. She tried to touch Jules too, but then Jules would lick the side of her neck and she’d lose her concentration, or touch her breasts and she would forget how to breathe, let alone kiss.

Finally, when Vivian was starting to tremble and pant, Jules got her courage together and tugged at the waistband of Vivian’s pajama bottoms. Into the breach.

Vivian went still.

Jules froze. “Do you want—?”

“Yes.” Vivian might have needed a second to decide, but now she lifted her hips eagerly enough and helped Jules shimmy the pants down her legs.

Jules touched the inside of her thigh, and she shivered.

Vivian was wearing plain black cotton panties, bikini cut, that clung to her hips. They might not have been expensive lingerie, chosen more for comfort than style, but Jules fought not to drool nevertheless.

It seemed rude to yank them down, though. Vivian wanted finesse. Jules cleared her throat, placed her hands on Vivian’s waist, and said, “Tell me what you like.”

She hadn’t meant to say it like that, to command, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she winced. Talk about lack of finesse.

But Vivian’s breath caught and her hips arched slightly.

Huh. How about that.

“You’re talented.” Vivian’s voice was a throaty murmur. “Figure it out. Or do you need a demonstration?”