The show in DC was a clusterfuck.
Sawyer’s violin threw a string, which sucked, and the crowd was sparse and talkative during their set, which was annoying—people were asked to leave the symphony performances at Juilliard if they were coughing—and the venue was new and had terrible acoustics. It’d been a last-minute addition to the touring schedule, and clearly, they’d never marketed the show or done any promotion because there was barely anyone there. The place smelled strongly of paint.
“We were supposed to play at the Metro,” Kit told Sawyer, as they packed up to leave. “But they had some booking nightmare and so we found this place instead.” He made a face. “The Music Factory . . . they should call it the Paint Factory. Ugh.”
“Seriously,” Sawyer grumbled, storing her violin after fixing the errant string. “Also, why do people come to a show and talk? I think a guy was watching something on YouTube during our performance.”
“Because, my dear Sawyer,” Jeff breezed, slinging an arm around her shoulders, “sometimes this is the most thankless job in the world. And that’s because people are douchebags.”
“It’s DC,” Connor reminded them. “It’s, like, douchebag heaven. They can’t help themselves.”
“They should try harder,” Sawyer mumbled, pushing her hair back. She glanced over at Vix, who was smoking a cigarette simply because they weren’t supposed to. Sawyer knew Vix was annoyed by how poorly attended the show had been and how the audience hadn’t connected with the band at all.
Eventually Vix had stopped trying and sung, her face tilted up to the lights and her eyes closed. Her fingers had been rough on the guitar, the sounds harsher than usual as she played along. Sawyer had probably broken her string because she’d been playing a little too hard herself, annoyed at everyone for ignoring Vix. Her songs were clearly personal, and she was laying herself bare out there on the stage. How could anyone ignore that?
For the first time, they hadn’t done an encore, and Sawyer was glad. She was ready to leave DC, and definitely ready for that promised night in the hotel.
The thought of it made Sawyer flush hot, and she bit her bottom lip lightly between her teeth, remembering how it’d felt when Vix had done that. She’d been insanely turned on by it—hell, she’d been insanely turned on by everything—the kiss, Vix’s smile, the scent of cigarette smoke, Vix’s body against her own, the promise of what they could do together if Sawyer wanted . . .
Oh, Sawyer wanted. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that somehow, despite all the odds against it happening, she had what she’d wanted seven years ago when she’d met Vix under that tree. She had Vix Vincent as a friend—a good one, someone she felt comfortable telling her secrets to, someone she could confide that thing about Scarlett Johansson to (hell, Sawyer had barely admitted to herself that was why she’d gotten off with Patrick that night)—and what would happen if she lost that? What if sex made everything weird? Hadn’t Vix told her that was what happened with Jeff?
No, she told you that them having a relationship made it weird. This was only sex, and Sawyer knew that. She also knew that Vix would be her friend if Sawyer didn’t bring it up again, but how was she supposed to ignore this thing between them if she did that? When they’d gotten back to the van after their walk, Sawyer had changed into her usual pajama pants for bed, sliding them on under her dress as she usually did. Her panties had been wet, and she knew it wasn’t from the performance or walking in the summer night. She wanted Vix, but she had no idea what that meant . . . well, she had some idea. But not enough to know what to expect.
Sawyer had surreptitiously looked up Temple Keats on her phone during their drive to DC. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—would she look like Sawyer? What was Vix’s type when it came to women? The second she saw Temple Keats, Sawyer was convinced she herself wasn’t hot enough for Vix. Temple looked like a fifties pinup girl, with her black hair in victory rolls, bright-red lipstick, heavy dark eye makeup. She wore dresses and boots like Sawyer, but the dress had birds on the hem—swallows, probably, given her band’s name—and her cowboy boots were bright red. She was gorgeous, and Sawyer could not get the thought of her and Vix in bed together out of her head. She edited Brad out of the equation and put herself in there, and . . . yeah.
“So, she’s gorgeous,” Sawyer’d said, showing the phone to Vix.
“I know, right?” Vix had grinned and looked deservedly smug. “It was worth Brad for that, let me tell you.”
That was as close as they’d come to the subject of the two of them hooking up. She believed Vix knew what she was doing, that wasn’t the problem. Even Sawyer’s own inexperience wasn’t the problem. It was the possibility of what might happen, how it could fuck everything up if . . . well, if they fucked.
She thought about it as they packed up the van, changing into her PJ pants and a tank top and climbing in the front seat next to where Vix would be sitting. Vix was splitting the drive to their hotel in Lexington with Connor, so Connor could get some sleep. Vix was unusually quiet, smoking a cigarette next to the van (she never smoked inside) and staring off into space, boot tapping a rhythm only she could hear on the pavement. Sawyer thought about going over to her, remembered the show and Vix singing with her eyes closed, and decided to wait it out.
They stopped for coffee and snacks at a travel center outside of DC, and once they were settled in the van again, Vix said, “That show sucked.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer said. “It did.”
“Does that happen in, like, orchestra land?” Vix took a drink of her Coke Zero. She really was addicted to the stuff. Sawyer had to force her to drink a bottle of water occasionally so she wouldn’t lose her voice.
Sawyer nodded, propping her socked feet up on the console. She couldn’t say she was a huge fan of being in this van all the time, but she loved the late-night drives, the highway stretched out and endless. “Yeah. We made our conductor cry once, after a performance of this ensemble I was in my sophomore year.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Sawyer tilted her head. “It’s like . . . you can play all the right notes, everything is technically on point, but there’s something missing.” She ducked her head, thinking about their conversation in Virginia about sex and how it was sort of the same thing. “A lack of passion, I guess? If that doesn’t sound too corny.”
“It doesn’t sound corny at all,” Vix assured her. She drove with one foot propped up next to her, leg torqued in a way that looked painful. “And it makes perfect sense. That’s how tonight felt, you know? Flat.”
Sawyer nodded. She’d been playing music long enough to know how to detachedly observe her own performances. “Yeah. I mean, you sounded great. It wasn’t that.”
“No, things were . . . That started off on a sour note. That whole thing with the venue not being open when we got there, the acoustics, the sound . . .” She made a face. “That fight Kit and Connor got into ten minutes before showtime didn’t help.”
“Was his fault,” Kit murmured sleepily, from the wayback.
“Go to sleep or I’m leaving you at the next Love’s Travel Stop,” Connor retorted. They didn’t sound angry anymore. Sawyer had learned temper flare-ups between those two were common, including everything from sports to politics to brands of soda. She couldn’t remember what had gotten them going this time, but as usual, they were over it before the venue had vanished in the van’s taillights.
“That’s not what Love’s Travel Stops are for,” said Kit on a yawn, and they went quiet again.
“I kind of ship them,” Vix said in a low whisper, with the first genuine smile Sawyer had seen on her face since they’d arrived in DC.
Sawyer giggled and wrapped her arms around her knees. “It’s strange how much I never thought about the crowd before. I mean, in the symphony you have to be silent, but there’s still energy. It’s a different kind. And, like, I think if it’d been a good crowd, we would have forgotten all that stuff about the parking.” She made a face, toes tapping against the console. “Maybe not that paint smell, though. Ugh.”
“Right? Putrid. And what the hell was that color supposed to be? Smokey-Pit Gray?” Vix drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah, that crowd sucked. And I hate to say that, since the crowds keep us in business, but ugh. I can’t stand all that chatter, but usually if there are enough people into it, I can sort of tune it out. Not this time.”
“It didn’t help that no one was looking at the stage,” Sawyer added. “No one wants to be background music.”
Vix was silent, and then she started wiggling around on the seat. Before Sawyer could ask if she should pull over, Vix triumphantly came up with her notebook and tossed it at Sawyer. “Can you write that down? The bit about no one wanting to be background music. I liked it.”
“Sure.” Sawyer had done this many times, so she knew there was a huge stash of cheap pens in the glove box. Well, the stash had been huge when they’d left Memphis. It was steadily getting smaller, since Vix couldn’t keep track of pens to save her life. She could find a Coke Zero blind in a snowstorm, but the pens went somewhere all alone to die. “I’ll add it to the highway lyrics section.”
“Highway lyrics,” Vix said, in her this is me thinking about lyrics, not asking for a conversation voice.
Sawyer wrote the bit about background music in the notebook, drew a little picture of a cranky-faced stick figure with a microphone and wrote The Music Factory Sucks underneath it. She flipped back to the song Vix had shown her, which was written in the very front of the notebook, copied from a thousand old ones so it’d be the first thing Vix saw when she opened it.
Sawyer knew it was frustrating the hell out of Vix that she couldn’t hear the song that was supposed to go with the words, which were about finding yourself, being comfortable with who you were when you couldn’t stop fighting. She ran her fingers over the word “untitled” scrawled on the top line of the first page of the notebook. Vix’s handwriting started out neat but got progressively sloppier as she wrote. It was the only complete song in the notebook—the rest were just snippets, phrases she liked, quotes. Sawyer was as confounded by writers as other people were with musicians. She had no idea how they made words up out of the air and gave them such meaning.
“So, basically, we’re never playing there again,” Vix said, her voice firm. She sounded like her old self, which Sawyer was glad about. They all knew one bad show wasn’t enough to ruin a career, but that didn’t make it any less of a downer. “And if the crowd talks that much in St. Louis, I’ll pull a Noah Greer and stop playing until they shut up. Yes, I know I say that all the time.” Vix threw a smile over at Sawyer. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You were thinking it. You huffed it.” Vix tossed her Coke Zero cap at Sawyer. “Give me back my notebook.”
Sawyer flipped to the section she’d labeled highway lyrics and added, “You do say that all the time” in quotation marks, with a hyphen and then her name. She flipped it shut and handed it back. The ink from the pen had run out halfway through her name. Maybe that was the real reason Vix used so many of them.
“Hey, Vix?” Sawyer thought about the lyrics Vix couldn’t find the music for, heard an echo that sounded like music in the back of her mind. She thought about rebelling, about the panic attack at school. About standing under the lights and playing her violin, angry at the crowd. Playing that first show when it was new and beautiful. The show in Philadelphia that was still her favorite. The kiss on the street in Virginia that was better than all of it.
“Yeah?”
“I’m in.” She knew she didn’t need to say anything else.
“Yeah?” Vix didn’t look away from the road, and Sawyer didn’t look away from Vix.
“Yeah,” Sawyer said, softly.
Vix smiled. Beneath them, the lines on the road vanished in the dark.
The hotel wasn’t exactly the sort of place Sawyer had imagined when she thought about the first place she’d have sex with a woman. Okay, that wasn’t necessarily true—there was a bed, and that was pretty much the only thing in her mind when she thought about this. Which was a little pedestrian, maybe, but she was learning. Still, the hotel wasn’t the sort of place she’d stay if she were, say, in a chamber ensemble for Juilliard.
It was more of a motel. But, whatever, it had a room, a bed, and a Vix. And Sawyer was so nervous she could barely stand it, but she was absolutely going to do this. Yes. She wanted to, could hardly think of anything else in the back of the van while she’d tried to sleep after Vix’s driving shift ended.
But it was still making her nervous, and she’d braided and rebraided one side of her hair so much she’d nearly given herself a headache.
Sawyer was also convinced everyone in the band knew what they were going to do, though no one blinked an eye that they were sharing a room. Of course they were, why wouldn’t they? Still, Sawyer couldn’t help the nerves that everyone would find out and . . . what? Hate her? Want to watch? It didn’t make any sense, but anxiety rarely did. Plus, maybe it was easier to worry about that than going to bed with Vix and being so terrible at sex that Vix never wanted to do it again. Or maybe they weren’t going to do it again, even if it wasn’t terrible.
“Stop worrying,” Vix said, as soon as the door closed. She crowded Sawyer until Sawyer’s back hit the closet, and leaned up to kiss her. “And usually I’d be all for a shared shower, but my God, I have been dreaming about this shower right along with how you’re going to look when I make you come.”
Sawyer’s entire body flushed with heat. Her breath caught in both surprise and desire. “That was . . . What if I . . .” She didn’t know how to say it. What if you can’t get me off, either? What if she was defective?
“Hey,” Vix said, her voice low. She backed away to give Sawyer some room. “This is going to be fun, okay? I promise.”
“Fun,” said Sawyer. “I’m not usually this nervous before I have fun.”
“You don’t get stage fright?” Vix moved to put her bag on her bed and rummaged through it. “I used to, but I don’t anymore.”
“Nope. Performing’s easy. It’s not about me, it’s about the music. The violin. The fiddle, now, I guess.” Sawyer followed and put her own bag on the other bed. She sat down and pressed her hands to her face. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m so awkward, Vix.”
“I know. And you’re hot. And yes, I really want to do this.” Vix paused, her fingers at the hem of her shirt. Then she shrugged and pulled it off, tossing it carelessly on the bed. She was wearing a bright-pink bra, which somehow was not at all what Sawyer expected. She’d seen Vix change before, obviously, they all had—communal living in a van meant she’d seen more dick than she’d ever like to see again, thanks—and that bra was new.
“Yes, fine, I thought you’d think it was cute, sue me.” Vix stepped out of her jeans, revealing a pair of plain black hipster panties. She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t have matching ones, sorry.”
“It’s hard to match that shade of pink,” Sawyer said, straight-faced.
Vix broke into a grin. “You’re ridiculous. I’m showering first, then you’re showering, then we’re having sex, and then we’re ordering something to eat that isn’t a burger wrapped in paper, got it?”
“Got it,” said Sawyer, staring at Vix’s breasts, cupped by the—very violently pink—fabric. Her mouth twitched. “Where did you get that?”
“It was on sale for ten dollars at Target.” Vix grabbed her toiletries bag and some clothes, then turned around.
Sawyer gave a low whistle at the sight of Vix’s ass in them. “Those panties are great, though. Good choices.”
“Also on sale at Target,” said Vix, as she and her cute panties vanished into the bathroom. Sawyer heard the water start and realized she was sitting on the bed, staring at the spot where Vix had been standing.
She pressed her hands to her face again and took a deep breath, then immediately wondered if she had anything cute to wear. She jumped up and hurriedly tore through her bag, shoving aside dresses and wondering if plain white underwear was hot or stupid. She pulled out a thin-strapped tank top that was also white, and then bit her lip as she examined the two items of clothing on the bed. Would that be hot, or would she look like she was in a cult?
Still, mostly everything else needed to be washed, so hopefully Vix would be distracted by the see-through-ness of the tank top or else, hey, be into girls in cults? Maybe not that. Sawyer snorted with laughter. She was nervous and excited, both anticipating and dreading the sound of the shower switching off.
At least, she was until it’d been twenty minutes and Vix was still in there. Sawyer had taken her dress off and was in her bra (a plain, boring tan color) and panties (leopard print, also on sale from Target)—and it was getting a little chilly. The air conditioner unit was set to sixty-three with the fan on high, so that was probably why. She adjusted it to a normal-person temperature and sat on the bed again, arms wrapped around herself, and waited.
At twenty-five minutes, she stomped over and banged on the door. “Seriously?”
“I told you I was dreaming about this shower,” Vix called back. “No time limit.”
The ones they used at the truck stops often had a time limit, so Sawyer understood that. Still. “This is not helping my confidence, Victoria.”
There was silence, and then, “Maybe I’m getting off in here thinking about you.”
Sawyer crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re totally not, though. You’re using up all the hot water and shaving your legs, come on.” That’s exactly what Sawyer would be doing.
“Girls, man,” Vix called back, and then the shower turned off. Sawyer went back and gathered up her things from the bed.
Vix finally opened the door, and she was wearing a pair of little pajama shorts and a plain black tank top—almost identical to Sawyer’s, but sadly not see-through. “Okay, Miss Impatient.” Vix’s hair was a mess even when it was wet. Sawyer wondered if combing through the tangles would count as foreplay.
“At this point, it’s more about the shower.” Sawyer raised her chin and marched like a general to the bathroom. It was filled with steam and smelled like shampoo and body products. There was some lotion open on the counter and a razor on the side of the tub. Sawyer smiled, but all she said was, “If you used all the hot water, you’re not getting laid.”
“Take a shower, Bell,” Vix said cheerfully, and Sawyer closed the door and set about doing that.
The banter—and her desperate longing for it to be her turn in the shower—had eased Sawyer’s nerves somewhat, but they all came back tenfold as she stood beneath the spray. Her hands on her own body made her shiver pleasantly, skin oversensitive to everything from the mesh of her bath poof to the hot water, the slick slide of body wash and the drag of the razor. Sawyer had been nervous plenty of times, despite her lack of stage fright—auditioning for Juilliard, for one—but this was an entirely different kind of nervous.
After her shower, she combed out her hair and applied a generous amount of lotion, brushed her teeth and tried not to think how she was doing all of this to have sex with a girl for the first time. Not any girl. Vix.
Well, she was also doing this because she was practically living in a van. But whatever.
Sawyer stood naked in front of the mirror, but it was too fogged with steam to see her reflection. She wondered how she looked as she pulled on the panties and the tank top, and gave her hair one last squeeze with the towel. Dripping water all over the place was not sexy. At least being a bit wet made the tank top see-through and cut down on the cult associations.
Sawyer put her hand on the knob, then took it off and sat on the closed lid of the toilet. She couldn’t do this. She was going to be awful at it, she was—
“We can eat and watch bad television,” Vix called, as if she somehow knew Sawyer was nervous and uncertain.
Sawyer wished she could respond with “Maybe I’m getting off in here thinking about you,” but the words weren’t easy anymore, and she knew that sort of banter would feel forced instead of funny. Sawyer stood up, ran her hands over her hair and down her sides. She could hear herself breathing. After a few seconds, she opened the door and walked out of the bathroom.
Vix was lounging on her bed, playing with her phone, which was connected to the charger on the wall. She nodded over at the other bed—Sawyer’s bed? Did she want it to be?—and Sawyer saw her own phone was also plugged in and charging. “I thought you might want me to do that.”
It was a sweet gesture, but it didn’t make her any less nervous. Sawyer just stood there, and Vix put her phone down as if she’d finally realized how nervous Sawyer really was.
“You look—”
“Like I’m in a cult?” Sawyer interrupted, then closed her eyes in mortification. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I do. You’ve never done this before.” Vix didn’t sound mean, but she was definitely amused. “And I wasn’t thinking cult member, but now that you said it . . .”
Sawyer opened her eyes and tried to stop shaking. “I really want to do this, Vix, but I’m . . . yeah. Nervous.”
“I know. You’re also standing up there like you’re on stage. This isn’t a performance, Sawyer.” Vix scooted over and patted the mattress. “I mean, if you want to play violin to get in the mood, go ahead.”
Sawyer’s hands were shaking too hard to do anything with her violin but drop it, but Sawyer didn’t say that. She moved onto the bottom edge of the bed and sat, cross-legged, hands folded primly in her lap. Cult member at prayer. Great.
“Well, that’s a start.” Vix mimicked her. Her purple hair had faded to a mix of light violet and natural blonde. “And I was going to say you looked hot, not like you were in Heaven’s Gate.”
Sawyer trembled a smile and then buried her face in her hands for what had to be the thousandth time. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.”
“Sitting cross-legged and being awkward and cute? You’re doing great.”
Sawyer lifted her head from her hands. She let herself look at Vix, her tattooed skin very fair against the black of her tank top and the little shorts she was wearing. “You, um. You look . . . also really hot.”
“Maybe talking isn’t your best move,” Vix suggested. She reached out her hand. “You can always, always change your mind, okay? I promise this is going to be fun, but I’m your friend, Sawyer. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. But if you want to do this, then get over here and let me at that hot body of yours.”
Both the reassurance and the compliment made Sawyer feel better. She put her hand in Vix’s and let out a little shriek when Vix pulled her close. “Hot body? You’re spending too much time around boys.”
“You don’t like hearing I think you’re hot?” Vix tugged her so they were side by side, then draped a leg over Sawyer’s. “Should I tell you how much I appreciate your mind?”
Sawyer couldn’t say anything, because they were tangled together, all smooth, freshly showered skin and oh. It was amazing, wonderful, and if she had any doubts she was into girls, well, there they went. “You— Actually, yeah, telling me I’m hot is great, thanks.”
“You’re also ridiculous,” Vix said, and kissed her before she could respond.
Kissing made Sawyer forget just about everything—her nerves included—and she responded on instinct, kissing Vix as Vix eased her onto her back. Vix’s hands drifted over her breasts, and Sawyer made a noise, shuddering a little beneath the caress.
Vix whispered in her ear, “I’m gonna play you like a violin, Bell.”
Sawyer snorted. Then she laughed. “Are you kidding with that?”
“No, but I told you. This is gonna be fun.” Vix swung a leg over her and then climbed right on top of Sawyer.
Sawyer pushed up on her elbows, unsure what to do. “As long as you stop with the cheesy come-ons.”
“Who said I didn’t mean that?” Vix leaned down to kiss her, all smooth skin and her messy hair now in Sawyer’s face too, which somehow made this perfect.
They kissed, and Sawyer enjoyed the way Vix felt on top of her, weight straddling her stomach. She could feel Vix’s cunt warm against her stomach. Vix pulled away from their kiss and tugged at the tank top. “Does your great leader mind if you take this off so I can play with your tits?”
“The great leader does not,” Sawyer intoned, half sitting and raising her arms as Vix tugged the tank over her head and tossed it aside. She fell back onto the mattress, teasing forgotten as Vix’s mouth moved down her neck and lower, kissing the valley between her breasts before sucking one of Sawyer’s nipples into her mouth.
Sawyer moaned, shivering at how good it felt—Vix’s hair tickling her skin while Vix’s mouth did wicked things to her nipple. Vix played with Sawyer’s other nipple with her fingers, tweaking lightly and rolling it between her fingers.
“Do you like that harder?” Vix asked, pinching a little. “Sometimes I get a little pinchy.”
“Um.” Sawyer had no idea how to respond to that. It had never felt like this before, with Patrick. He’d never made jokes about cults, either. In fact, she didn’t think Patrick had ever made a joke, in or out of bed. “Just . . . you know, whatever you want.”
“What do you want?” Vix looked up at her.
“Fewer questions?”
“You’re aware you made that sound like a question, right?”
Sawyer went to say something about that, but then Vix returned to sucking on her nipples, one after the other, shifting so she could press her thigh between Sawyer’s legs. Sawyer gave a little moan. “All of this is great.”
Vix huffed a laugh, kissing down her stomach. Sawyer could hear her own breathing as Vix shifted again, settling between her legs and running her hands up and down Sawyer’s inner thighs.
“So Mr. Patrick Juilliard wasn’t very good at this, was he?” Vix smiled up at Sawyer, drawing little patterns over Sawyer’s inner thighs, fingers skirting close to the edges of her panties.
This felt completely different than anything she’d felt before. The few times she’d gotten off with another person, Sawyer had been so far into her head she might as well have been doing it to herself. But she couldn’t answer, shivering and shaking her head in response.
“So hot,” Vix breathed, running her fingers lightly over Sawyer’s cunt through her panties. “You’re already wet. Damn, girl. You’re going to give me an ego.”
“I think someone did that already.” Sawyer gasped up at the ceiling. “Temple Keats, maybe.”
Vix laughed and rubbed Sawyer’s clit with her thumb through the damp material. “Well, it doesn’t sound like I’ll need much of an ego to do better than Patrick.”
“All you’d need was six minutes,” Sawyer pointed out. She should maybe feel bad about making fun of her ex in bed with another woman, but then again, Patrick had cheated on her. Fair game for mockery.
“That’s how long he lasted when he fucked you? Well, you are really hot, so I guess that’s not entirely his fault.” Vix kissed Sawyer’s inner thigh, then sucked lightly on the skin . . . and then not so lightly, biting hard enough to have Sawyer’s body spasm in surprise.
“That’s how long he’d go down on me for. I caught him watching the clock once,” she panted, pushing up on her elbows.
“Pathetic.” Vix grinned up at her. “I can do it for a lot longer than five minutes.”
Sawyer didn’t doubt that. “Can you—” She paused, uncertain.
“What?” Vix rubbed her clit again, a little harder. “Come on, I literally never want anyone to tell me what to do, so take advantage of it.”
“Take your shirt off,” Sawyer said, to the ceiling.
“Nope. But you can.” Vix sat up expectantly.
Sawyer pushed herself into a seated position as best she could, trembling fingers reaching for Vix’s tank top. She pulled it off with Vix’s help, eyes immediately drifting to Vix’s breasts. Vix was small and her breasts were proportional, but Sawyer thought they were as gorgeous as the rest of her.
She drifted her fingers over a swell, almost giggling as she touched Vix’s nipples. She couldn’t stop smiling.
“You’re being really cute right now,” Vix told her. “Also, I love how the second my shirt came off your eyes went right to my boobs.”
“Hmm?” Sawyer cupped Vix’s breasts in her palms and rubbed her thumbs over the nipples. “I’m sorry, are you talking?”
“Ha ha.”
Sawyer did raise her eyes, happy that Vix was smiling and her dark-brown eyes were bright. “Sorry, you were doing something, and then I got distracted by boobs.” She giggled. “I guess I really am a lesbian.”
“I get distracted by boobs sometimes.”
“Half the time?” Sawyer teased.
“This is not the time for me to explain how bisexuality works, or how gender isn’t binary for that matter. Later, after round one. But, look, there’s no set schedule.”
“I know. I want you to make me come,” Sawyer said, and maybe her face turned red when she said it, but hey, she was learning. Also she was having fun. Who knew sex could be like this?
“Sweet. I want to do that too.” Vix waggled her eyebrows and leaned in to give Sawyer a quick kiss, then went back to lie between her legs. She tugged at the waistband of Sawyer’s underwear, pulling them down and off her hips. “Aww. You have a cute cunt.” She looked up at Sawyer. “Do you have a problem with that word? Some people do.”
Sawyer had only ever heard it as a derogatory term—not sexy. But the same was true for pussy, wasn’t it? “I’m pretty good with you calling it whatever you want right now.”
Vix grinned again. “I knew this was going to be fun. Okay. Remember, you can tell me if something isn’t working.” She slid her thumb up and down Sawyer’s slit, spreading the wetness there over her clit and the edges of her labia. “It really is cute.” She leaned forward, licking slowly up and down.
Sawyer realized she wasn’t breathing and forced herself to exhale. She couldn’t look away from Vix lying between her legs, all messy-haired and wearing nothing but those shorts, mouthing at her cunt. Sure, cunt worked great. It was fabulous. Sawyer’s head went back, and she moaned loudly. She threaded her fingers through Vix’s hair, hips pushing up slightly as Vix licked her.
Vix switched from a light touch to using the flat of her tongue, rubbing it up and down and making Sawyer feel the familiar tightening that meant she was building toward orgasm. “It might not take you five minutes,” she panted, “but it’s not because you’re doing a bad job.”
“I said I’d get you off, not how soon I’d do it,” Vix murmured, replacing her wonderful, wonderful mouth with her fingers. Which were also great. She pressed the pad of her thumb on Sawyer’s clit and gently slid two fingers inside. “I love this. I love the way cunts feel inside, when they—yeah, tighten like that.”
Sawyer hadn’t been aware she was tensing her muscles around Vix’s fingers, but she did it again as Vix slowly started fucking in and out of her, thumb keeping a steady rhythm on her clit.
“See? That’s good right there, yeah?” Vix didn’t ease up, fucking her faster with her fingers, the pressure of her thumb perfect. “I could get you off like this and it’s only been . . . hell, I have no idea.” She pulled her hand away, then grinned at the glare Sawyer gave her. “Lie there and enjoy it, and you’ll come when I’m ready to make you come.”
Sawyer put her head back on the pillow, and gave it all up. She had a habit of losing herself in her mind—both in her limited sexual experience and the times it was herself—and this was different. She went from grabbing the sheets to Vix’s hair, arching up and moaning, saying things like “Yeah,” and “Oh God,” and feeling the climb to orgasm start up and fall, start up and fall. Part of it was Vix, deliberately teasing her, and part of it was Sawyer.
Eventually Vix’s mouth was back between Sawyer’s legs, and all the stimulation had her so close that she knew she would come if Vix kept up the pressure and speed of that wicked, wonderful tongue.
“Please,” she gasped, sweat dampening her forehead, climbing and climbing and chasing the fall.
Vix didn’t stop sucking and licking her clit, but she did press two fingers inside of Sawyer, and then, instead of fucking her in and out like before, she crooked them upward. The sensation was strange, but the pressure was perfect, and Sawyer was grinding her cunt into Vix’s mouth, breath held and limbs shaking as the fall finally came and she tumbled over into orgasm. She felt it everywhere—inside her cunt, her clit, tingling in the nerves of her labia. Gasping for breath, she weakly pushed Vix’s head away because the sensitivity was inching toward painful.
She was barely aware of Vix crawling up to lie next to her, gently stroking her arm, her stomach, her hair. Sawyer’s eyes blinked open, and she looked over at Vix, dazed. “That was amazing.”
Vix’s mouth was wet, and when she kissed Sawyer, she could taste herself on Vix’s lips.
“Now take off those shorts and let me have my way with you,” Sawyer said, when she’d finally caught her breath. “The great leader demands it.”
The intensity of that first orgasm had pretty much taken away any nerves and embarrassment, and Sawyer spent a lot of time touching Vix, kissing her and leaving a few love-bites of her own. Vix was as bossy when she was the one on her back, which Sawyer didn’t mind at all. She taught Sawyer how to do that amazing thing with her fingers, and when Sawyer went down on her, Vix wasn’t shy about instructing her with what she wanted. She liked a lot of pressure, and told Sawyer that while she liked having someone go down on her, she preferred to come by penetration and clitoral stimulation.
So Sawyer indulged herself by exploring Vix’s cunt with her tongue and her fingers, learning the shape and taste, and rubbed Vix off with the flat of two fingers. “This isn’t too hard?”
“Do I . . . seem like . . . it’s too hard?” Vix asked. She sprawled on the messy, rumpled bed and dug her heels into the mattress, feet flexing and pointing as Sawyer rubbed her. “It’s great, goddamn it, I guess that’s . . . violinists—”
“You don’t get into Juilliard playing a violin like this,” Sawyer informed her, grinning as Vix laughed. The noises she was getting out of Vix were as beautiful as music, but Sawyer didn’t say that. Too cheesy, even if it was true. Her arm was getting a little tired, but the way her fingers slid through the slick wetness of Vix’s slit, back and forth, faster and faster . . . she didn’t care. She’d do it all night.
Vix grabbed Sawyer’s wrist and pushed the palm down, grinding it hard on her cunt, and then she came. She was loud—very loud—and unlike Sawyer, didn’t hold her breath through the whole thing. She moaned with increasing fervor and her whole body trembled and shook, her eyes closed, mouth open, face twisted almost as if she were in pain.
It was beautiful. Vix was beautiful. Sawyer watched until Vix opened her eyes, and she went to move her hand, but Vix shook her head. “I can do that again really fast after the first one. If you want to get me off with your mouth now, it will totally work.”
It totally did.
It was late by the time they got into bed together—under the sheets—dressed in only their panties, cuddling up and watching HGTV. There wasn’t anything sexual about it—well, maybe a little; Sawyer liked the part where they were both topless, and she couldn’t quite stop touching Vix—but it was fun, and it was easy. It’d never been like this with Patrick, which Sawyer finally understood was because it couldn’t have been this way. And not just because Patrick wasn’t a girl. Or because they hadn’t really been friends. It wasn’t really about Patrick at all. It was about Sawyer not being true to herself and what she wanted.
“I kind of hate the thought of getting back in that van,” Vix said with a yawn. She snuggled up closer to Sawyer. “This was fun. I hope you liked it.”
“Um, duh. Of course I did.” Sawyer had liked it the second time Vix went down on her, and she’d also liked it when they’d gotten themselves off lying next to each other on the bed. She’d liked watching Vix make herself come a lot. “I feel like I should say thank you, but is that insulting?”
“Thanking me for great sex is never insulting.” Vix leaned in and kissed her. “I’m really glad you liked it.”
Sawyer wondered if they’d do it again, and how to ask that. “I did. And not only the part where I got off. Like . . . you’re right. It was fun.” She made a face. “I wish I could play my violin and have it say with music what I’m butchering with words right now.”
Vix’s eyes gleamed.
Sawyer sighed. “If you want the notebook, you get up and get it.”
Vix laughed and bit her lightly on the shoulder. “I know what you mean, though. Sometimes sex . . . People think it can’t be fun. Like, it always has to be so serious.”
The chords of some dark, ominous music played in the reaches of Sawyer’s mind, though she was too tired and satisfied to figure out why she was hearing it. “I know. Who knew cult jokes and making fun of boys and their oral sex techniques would be so enjoyable?”
“Honestly?” Vix laughed and reached for the remote. “Do you want to watch any more? I’m tired. Introducing you to the joys of girl sex was a lot of work.”
“Oh, be quiet.” Sawyer shook her head and scooted down on the bed, pulling the covers up. “They’ll pick the house they can’t afford because the paint color didn’t offend that lady’s dog or whatever their problem was.”
“I can’t imagine having my own apartment, much less an entire house.” Vix switched off the remote, then snuggled right up to Sawyer. “Night, Sawyer. Which, there’s literally no good nickname for that. Saw? Soy?”
“My mom said that’s why she gave me the name. She didn’t like nicknames.” She rolled onto her side, Vix pressed up behind her, spooning her though Vix was smaller. It made perfect sense somehow, and Sawyer liked how Vix’s breasts felt against her naked back. She was definitely not going to tell Vix that her father had always called her See-Saw, because how utterly unsexy was that?
“You called me Victoria, earlier,” said Vix.
“I know. I like it. Did you mind?” Sawyer turned her head, but it was too dark to see Vix in the room.
“I minded when Brad called me that, but you? Nope.”
“There we go. If I don’t have a nickname, then you won’t have one, either.” Sawyer closed her eyes and found Vix’s hand in the dark.