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“Jane— Janey—” Sol breathes as her girlfriend’s lips rove over the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, no doubt leaving purple marks on her freckled skin.
A fresh breeze wafts in through the open window, cooling Sol’s sweat-sticky forehead. She watches as Jane comes up for air, lips swollen, bangs plastered to her forehead. When Sol pulls her in for a searing, open-mouthed kiss, she tastes of Sol’s sunscreen and strawberry ice cream.
Sol trails her hand up Jane’s naked side, skin hot against her fingertips. She’s sunburnt; Sol longs to rub aloe into the soft planes of her back, to press kisses to each of her beauty marks. They were going to shower when they got home from the beach, but they only made it as far as the doorway before Jane had shyly pulled Sol in by the waistband of her swim trunks, and they’d collapsed in a tumble of sandy limbs onto the couch, and, well.
When Sol’s finger questioningly tugs at the string of Jane’s bikini top, Jane utters a breathy “ mhm ,” the nod of her head causing the cool metal of her cross pendant to drag against Sol’s collarbones. Sol unties the top with practiced ease, tossing it over the arm of the couch in the vague direction of the shower.
A year ago, Jane Irving wouldn’t be caught dead in a string bikini. Now, she sits proudly astride Sol’s thighs, cross glittering in between her naked breasts, the bows on her swimsuit bottoms accentuating the curve of her hips.
“God, look at you,” Sol says, hands coming to rest on Jane’s ample hips. Her thumbs sweep down the swell of her soft belly, dipping only fractionally, teasingly into her swimsuit bottoms. The skin hidden by the triangle of fabric is warmer there still, and Sol can feel the pounding of Jane’s heartbeat against her thighs.
Jane slowly, hesitantly rolls her hips into Sol’s teasing touch which sends a rush of heat to Sol’s core. Her cheeks, already pinked by the sun, turn an even more fetching shade of red and her lips part to let out a keening whimper.
“Come on, Sol,” Jane whines, hips twitching aimlessly against Sol’s thigh, unable to find the friction she needs. The blush on her cheeks compliments the striking blue of her eyes, eyes which Sol has never been able to deny anything. Not when Jane had cast those eyes upon her a year ago, a stranger then, pleading for Sol to rescue her from conversation with a terribly chatty classmate. Not when Jane had cast those eyes upon her two months ago, pleading for Sol to kiss her because she didn’t dare.
Sol’s thumbs stroke down Jane’s hips to her inner thighs, rubbing languid circles into the sensitive, stretch-marked skin there. She’ll give Jane what she wants, but watching the frustration build and drawing those high, pitiful noises from her just makes the end so much sweeter.
“Tell me what you want, love,” Sol says. She sits up straighter against the arm of the couch, only so she can lean over and take one of Jane’s breasts into her mouth, lapping at the hardened nipple with her tongue.
Jane moans in earnest then, clapping the back of her hand to her mouth to muffle herself.
“None of that,” Sol chides, moving Jane’s hand from where it covers her mouth and taking it in her own. “No one’ll be home for hours. Let me hear you.”
“Touch— touch me then, Sol, then you’ll hear me,” Jane says, breathing the words out all at once as if she has to, before she can regret them. Her eyes are screwed shut, the blush on her cheeks spreading deep red down her throat and her chest, where her nipple glistens with Sol’s saliva.
Sol smiles, and obliges. She slides her hand down into the fabric of Jane’s swimsuit bottoms, past the downy brown curls that Jane keeps neatly trimmed, which — fuck — are soaked through. Jane buries her head in the crook of Sol’s neck, lips brushing against the sweaty skin there, wanton moans unrestrained as the tip of Sol’s finger circles her clit.
This is how far they have gotten in freeing Jane from her shackles of shame. It had gone slowly, that first month together — quick, shy kisses behind the safety of Jane’s locked bedroom door, and then all at once. As Jane had gone about casting aside a lifetime of repression, she approached sex with the enthusiasm of any old-world explorer, though blatantly, unabashedly asking for what she wants is something she hasn’t quite conquered yet.
Sol slips her finger down, crooking it into the wet heat of Jane’s core, so that she can fuck her while Jane grinds into the palm of her hand. Jane sings a chorus of yeah ’s and please ’s into the crook of Sol’s neck. Sol hasn’t been able to break her enough so that she swears, or takes the Lord’s name in vain, for that matter, but they might reach that peak some day.
“Sol,” Jane mumbles then, “Sol, I—ah—” she breaks off, hips stuttering as Sol slips a second finger into her.
“Go on, tell me,” Sol says, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Jane’s sunburnt shoulder.
“I want— Sorry, I just—” and then her hips still, painted-pink fingernails wrapping around Sol’s wrist to halt its movement. She sits up straighter, eyes screwed shut again like they always are when she’s summoning the courage to tell Sol where she wants her. Sol waits patiently, fingers still crooked inside Jane, not moving until she indicates she wants otherwise.
Jane confessionally brings her lips to Sol’s ear, warm breath tickling as she whispers, “I want— I want you to teach me, Sol, please.”
“Teach you what, doll?” Sol asks. She’s taught Jane everything she knows— bar how to touch herself, that she’d already done plenty of, the little sinner. From showing her the proper mechanics of kissing with tongue to how to crook her fingers inside Sol until she saw stars, Jane had been a top pupil, a quick study. There was much yet to be discovered, though, and Sol’s keen to know what Jane has her sights set on now.
“I’d like to know—” she begins, head ducking shyly downwards, “how to— how to use my mouth. On you.”
Sol grins then, as Jane rises up on her knees to ease herself off Sol’s fingers. Sol’s never much concerned with bringing herself off, she prefers far more to hear the sweet song of Jane’s climax — but if Jane’s in want of a learning opportunity, who is she to deny the quest for knowledge?
Jane sings in her church choir. Every week she dons her white robe, pulls her hair back in a sensible ponytail with a matching white headband. Every week Sol sits in the back-most pew, watching Jane’s pretty pink mouth move through song after holy song, thinking thoughts that might earn her a one-way ticket to Hell, had she believed in such a place.
“You’d like to use your mouth on me?” Sol repeats, watching in keen interest as Jane slides off the couch, shuffling forward until she’s kneeling in front of Sol. Then, just because she thinks Jane’s far enough along to withstand a bit of teasing, “Finally using those pretty lips for something besides worship?”
Jane’s blush spreads even further down, reddening the tops of her breasts, as she chokes out, “I’ll be doing plenty of worshiping, thank you very much.”
That’s as close to blasphemy as they’ll get today, Sol thinks, watching Jane’s nimble fingers untie the threads of her swim trunks. Jane’s usually happy to have Sol’s fingers or tongue or strap show her new ways in which she can be pleasured, but some days, she seems to want nothing more than to coax orgasm after orgasm out of Sol, watching in rapture as climaxes rip through her lover’s body.
Sol lifts her hips as Jane shimmies the damp trunks down her legs, tossing them aside in a very un-Jane-like fashion. She kneels between Sol’s spread thighs, eyes wide and pupils dilated in desire as she obediently awaits instruction.
“Okay,” Sol breathes, wondering how she’s going to keep her voice steady and coherent enough to direct Jane, when the sight of her eagerly awaiting further command is enough to muddle her thoughts and have her vision go hazy.
Sol feels how wet she is as she brings herself closer to the edge of the couch. She’d been so focused on Jane, but now, now that the attention is on her, her body is humming with electricity, heat radiating from where Jane’s soft hands rest on her knees, her clit aching, begging for Jane’s tongue.
“Okay,” Sol repeats, stretching one arm over the back of the couch, partly so that she’s got something to grab onto, mainly because she knows Jane thinks it makes her biceps look good. She spreads her thighs wider and Jane shuffles in closer, as if the smell of Sol’s arousal has some magnetic pull on her.
“Kiss the insides of my thighs, to start,” Sol says, and Jane is quick to obey. Her soft lips coast over the sensitive skin there, no doubt tasting saltiness of the sea and Sol’s sweat. One of her hands snakes underneath Sol’s leg, like Sol does when their positions are reversed, pulling it up over her shoulder and dragging herself closer.
“Yeah, that’s good, that’s good, Janey,” Sol whispers as she feels Jane’s teeth softly graze her thigh, nipping like a kitten, warm breath heightening the sensation. “You can get closer now, kiss it like you’re kissing my mouth.”
And then Jane’s diving in, approaching Sol’s cunt with all the sloppy, open-mouthed enthusiasm she did their first few kisses.
Sol laughs, bringing her hand to Jane’s jaw to halt her clumsy ministrations. “Woah, woah,” she says, tilting Jane’s face upwards. The pupils of her blue eyes are so dilated with desire they look black, sending another flood of arousal through Sol. “Go slowly, love. Make me want it.”
When Jane’s lips return, Sol feels her tongue experimentally swirl against her clit. “ Fuck ,” Sol groans, fist grabbing at the blanket draped over the couch so that she doesn’t clamp onto Jane’s hair instead. “God, you’re a natural, you are,” she says, “keep doing that, keep doing that.”
Sol can feel herself losing control of her words as Jane laps at her clit; she bites her tongue to keep good girl, just like that and dirty little angel, is this what you think of when you’re on your knees in church from spilling from her lips. Jane’s been increasingly responsive to praise, but the blasphemy might be a bit much.
“Okay, ah— okay,” Sol begins, dimly remembering she’s meant to be instructing Jane. “Use your tongue some more now. Flatten it— oh, fuck , just like that, good—” her thighs quiver with restraint, with the effort to not pull Jane in closer, to grind her clit against her nose as she tongue-fucks Sol. Another day, another day, Sol reminds herself.
“And then— mmm, God, Janey, yeah— point your tongue, and lick my clit like that—” Sol’s vision goes fuzzy as Jane sets a pace, good Lord, she’s a fast learner. She can hardly tear her eyes away from Jane’s carefully-plucked brows, now furrowed in concentration, sweat gathering on her forehead. Sol grips the blanket so hard her knuckles go white, hips moving of their own volition against Jane’s mouth.
“Christ, Janey, you’re— so good, being so good for me, sweet girl,” Sol babbles, and she feels the vibration of Jane’s moan into her cunt, and then a switch flips.
“Do you like that?” she asks, and Jane nods, fingers tightening their grip on Sol’s thigh, though her mouth remains diligently at Sol’s core. “Being praised like that— fuck , that feels good— use your finger now, like I showed you.”
Sol feels Jane’s finger slide into the wet heat of her, her tongue still reverently circling her clit. “Good girl,” Sol groans, grinding onto Jane’s finger, and Jane whimpers again, a bead of sweat running down her temple. “My sweet, sweet girl,” Sol continues, “like you were made for me— oh, shit, yeah —”
She can’t help it, her fingers find their way into Jane’s brown locks, which have come away from their neat braid. Jane looks up at her, eyes wide and pleading, and Sol grips . Jane moans, loud and high-pitched, eyes fluttering shut.
“ Oh — okay, Christ, Janey—” Sol’s hips stutter, fingers tightening in Jane’s hair, pulling her impossibly closer. This is new, unexpected, opens up possibilities Sol hadn’t even let herself think of before but she envisions now.
Jane’s whimpering, even as her tongue picks up the pace, as she slips a second finger inside Sol and hooks it. She’s a picture, saintlike on her knees before Sol, evening light casting her skin in a golden glow.
Sol’s head involuntarily tips back in pleasure, dimly registering the wanton moans springing forth from her lips— her hips buck into Jane’s mouth, and she can feel her climax building, electricity sparking in the tips of her toes, heart pounding.
“Jane, Janey—” she chants, “go on, go a little faster, you’re— ah, fuck— going to make me come—”
Jane’s obedient, fingers pumping in and out, matching the swirl of her tongue on Sol’s clit. She crooks her fingers just so, and then Sol’s climax is washing over her like a tidal wave, ocean spray roaring in her ears, and her hips are grinding, grinding against Jane’s mouth—
Sol’s own mouth is moving of its own volition, releasing a litany of, “Good, that’s it, good girl— fuck, holy fuck —”
This might be the closest Sol will ever get to feeling what Jane feels when she describes her God’s presence — giving over herself to one she loves, body and soul, has her feeling positively holy. Like the tide going out, the waves of pleasure recede, and Sol is left basking in the golden light of the afterglow. She opens one eye, then the other.
Jane’s lips retreat from Sol’s cunt, fingers sliding out of her with a slick sound. Her face is wet from nose to chin, and her lips are parted, panting.
“How was that?” she asks, her voice hoarse. “Did I do it right?”
“Janey, you—” but Sol can’t find the words in her fucked-out haze, instead, she’s tugging Jane gently upwards by her pendant, pulling her into her lap.
Sol feverishly pulls Jane in for a kiss, her lips slick and salty with Sol’s release. Jane’s legs shake, coltish, as she climbs into Sol’s lap.
“They should make medals for this sort of thing,” Sol mutters as her hand slips into Jane’s bikini bottoms. She’s even wetter than she was before, if that’s possible, and she easily takes one, then two of Sol’s fingers.
“Yeah?” Jane asks, rolling her hips onto Sol’s fingers in that fluid, snakelike manner that has Sol ready to go another round, ten more rounds. “I did well?”
“You know damn well how you did,” Sol says as she experimentally nips at Jane’s neck. Jane lets out a high, keening whimper at that.
Sol makes quick work of her— Jane’s movements turn sloppy and uncoordinated as Sol fucks in and out of her, a third finger in her now, the other hand dug into the ample flesh of her hips to help her up and down.
Jane’s reduced to a whiny mess whenever she approaches orgasm, which is exactly what she’s facing now— face buried in Sol’s neck, whimpering, cunt clenching around Sol’s fingers.
“Go on, Janey,” Sol urges, “you’ve been so good for me, you deserve it.”
Jane’s lost her words, mewling a steady chorus of ah, yeah, Sol into Sol’s sweat-slick neck.
“Good girl, Janey,” Sol croons, crooking her fingers as she bears down with her palm. “Come for me, my love,” — and then Jane’s done for. She collapses forward, hands scrabbling for holdfast as she climaxes, Sol holding her as she sings her moans, over and over. Sol swears she hears a mumbled Oh, God in there, but that might be wishful thinking. Jane’s hips stutter, and stutter, and then she slowly, gradually comes down from her crescendo.
Sol can’t see, but she feels Jane’s face soften against her shoulder. She knows well the feeling of Jane’s smile that graces her lips in the haze of post-coital bliss. She nudges Jane up to kiss that grin, sweetly, and only then does she slip her fingers out of her.
“A star pupil,” Sol whispers into Jane’s mouth, winding her arms around her lover’s waist and pulling her close. It’s too warm in the flat for this, they’re too sunburnt and sweaty, but just for a minute, they’ll manage.
They lie there, two sweat-slick women on a sandy couch, the only sounds those of their breathing, the simultaneous pounding of their slowing heartbeats, and the chatter of the street below floating in through the open window.
“We were going to shower,” Jane mumbles sleepily against Sol’s throat.
“Mm,” Sol agrees, voice rumbling in her throat. “We were.”
“We should wash this blanket.” Jane tugs at the quilt covering the couch, which is now horribly sandy and smells incriminatingly of sex.
“We should. In a second.”
That second comes later, much later, when they’ve watched the afternoon shadows crawl across the apartment floor, and the summer sun finally dips below the skyline.