Category: Lesbian Sex | Words: 1009
Lila’s apartment smelled faintly of chlorine and lavender soap, neither of which was particularly appealing to Claire on this sweltering July afternoon. She perched awkwardly on a chrome barstool, swinging her legs back and forth, watching Lila flit between the counter and the tiny kitchenette. The air hung thick and close despite the ceiling fan whirring above them. Claire had suggested ice cream after their bike ride – maybe something with fudge ripples to soothe her bruised ego – but Lila seemed intent on making cocktails.
“What exactly are you making?” Claire asked, wincing as a stray wisp of hair stuck to her damp back. She should have tied it up before they set off.
Lila grinned over the rim of a shaker she was vigorously shaking. “Something strong enough to drown your sorrows in,” she said, tilting her head towards Claire’s bright red cycling shorts that were clinging like a second skin. They had definitely chosen a route with more hills than necessary.
“Just my pride,” Claire mumbled, feeling the burn in her thighs even as Lila poured two glasses of something bright pink and frothy over ice. “I hadn’t meant to get dropped on those last three climbs.”
Lila handed her a glass that clung to condensation-slicked fingertips. The drink tasted like tart berries and something vaguely herbal – potent enough that Claire had to take a moment before she could speak again.
“You did well,” Lila insisted, taking a sip from her own glass with a delicate clink against hers. “I just know you’re not accustomed to having someone keep pace.” She leaned back on the barstool, the movement causing the white cotton of her tank top to stretch across her shoulders and give Claire a glimpse of smooth skin and tanned muscle below the hem.
The look lingered long enough that Claire could swear Lila was testing her reaction, and then she said something about the weather before she grabbed a bottle of chilled rosé from the fridge and poured them both another drink. Claire found herself watching Lila work – the way she always seemed to know just how much to give away with each gesture, each word. Her movements were efficient and fluid, like those of an athlete.
“Why did you choose this pool cleaning job anyway?” Claire asked after they’d sunk through two bottles of wine. It was starting to feel more like the sort of night where secrets spilled out over frosted glasses than a casual catch-up.
Lila set down her glass with a soft clink against the chipped enamel counter. Her gaze settled on Claire, those green eyes shimmering in the dim light filtering through the blinds. “It’s close to home,” she said finally, running a hand across the front of her tank top as if smoothing away some invisible crease.
“But you could have got anything else.” Claire leaned forward, drawn closer by Lila’s intensity. There was something in those eyes - curiosity, perhaps, or maybe just too much of that late summer heat – and Claire felt like she might unravel a little under its weight. "You know, your old manager at the bookstore would love to have you back."
"There's no room for quiet anymore,” Lila said softly. Her smile was almost melancholic. "All I need is something predictable, reliable."
The air crackled between them, charged with unspoken things. Claire took a gulp of her wine and then, impulsively, reached across the counter to touch Lila’s hand. The other woman’s fingers were long and slender, cool against hers despite the heat that pressed down on everything. Her skin was damp from chlorine, smelling faintly of salt water. A sudden urge to trace the lines of those knuckles with her thumb possessed Claire.
Lila didn't pull away. Instead, she seemed to melt slightly into Claire’s touch, her eyes closing for just a beat before snapping open again – brighter, more aware.
"What about us?" Lila murmured, her voice husky.
Claire swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Us?”
Their foreheads touched when Lila leaned forward, the space between them shrinking until Claire could smell the faint scent of chlorine and something else that was distinctly Lila: a hint of coconut sunscreen and something sweeter, almost floral.
“I thought you knew what I meant,” Lila said, her voice barely more than a breath against Claire’s lips. She grazed Claire's lower lip with hers, testing the water. It tasted like wine and sunshine, like promise on a humid night.
Then she was kissing her, not hesitant at all, pushing her hand down to cup the curve of her thigh, drawing Claire closer until there was no space left between them except for the rustle of clothes being pushed aside.
Claire lost herself in the heat of Lila’s mouth, tasting that fleeting sweetness again on her tongue as she tangled her fingers in the damp strands of hair at Lila's nape.
Lila’s hands roamed freely under Claire’s shorts, pressing through to graze over the bruised muscles of her hip and thigh. One hand brushed against the bare skin just above her waistline, warm fingertips teasing a shiver down her spine.
"So predictable," Claire whispered against Lila's kiss, meaning it as much for herself as for the other woman.
They clung together in the lingering warmth of the kiss until Claire finally broke away, breathless. “Maybe,” she murmured, "predictable is what we both need."
Lila didn’t answer right away, just watched her with those searching green eyes that were now alight with something close to fire. It made Claire think, for a moment, of flames and flickering light against the dark backdrop of the night outside, of how much hotter things felt when they came alive under the moon's indifferent gaze.
“Show me,” Lila finally said, her voice low and husky. The hand on Claire’s thigh slid slowly higher, tracing the line of her shorts and settling just above the edge of her underwear.
Claire swallowed, needing a second to gather herself before she could answer. "Then you'll have to show me yours first."
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