As You Were (17 page)

“Thanks, Hon’,” she said, leaning forward to have a sip, the skin of her shoulders like polished ivory, inviting Tru to look further, to the way her breasts were now visible amid the bubbles.

Tru picked up the brush and ran it through her regulation short, black hair, knowing that if she left too abruptly, she’d give herself away.

“Something wrong?” Brit asked sweetly.

Tru sighed. “Not a thing. Enjoy your bath.” She escaped out of the room, seethingly angry that she had blown her cover.

Much later Brittany came out in a skimpy hotel towel...(
was it a hand towel, for chrissakes?
) and crossed in front of the bed where Tru lounged. Brittany turned her back on Tru and dropped the towel. Tru closed her eyes quickly, flatly denying herself the pleasure of watching her get dressed for bed.

Brittany sat at the foot of the bed and stared at the T V, apparently engrossed with an old episode of Dallas and rubbing her neck.

“Homesick?” Tru asked, pointing to the program.

“Aren’t we all.” She continued to massage her neck.

“What’s wrong with your neck? Is it stiff?”

“And my feet are cold...” she muttered.

“What?” Tru had heard her, and immediately checked to see if Brit was wearing socks. She was. Then she wondered if she had only wished for another meaning in her words; wished for Brittany to return her feelings.

“Nothing. Would you rub it for me, Tru?”

Put my hands on that beautiful neck in a platonic fashion?!
Glad for a quick moment that Brit had not turned to look at her; Tru was certain that the exclamation which had darted through her mind was manifested on her face. “Sure.” She endured the shame of being easily lured into the abyss of subservience. First the frosting, then the wine in the bath, then this. Somewhere in Dante’s circles of hell, there had to be a level where vixens reside, and torture the hormones of their victims. Wasn’t that the Lust Circle?

“Tru—?” Brittany turned, then, questioning Tru’s hesitancy. “Are you going to do it?”

Tru’s mind groaned,
Dear God, I hope so!
and she made a valiant effort to ignore it. Brittany gathered her hair together in the back and lifted the length of it up and around in front of her. Tru perched on her knees behind her and began to knead the muscles at her shoulders, rudely aware that they were very relaxed, as were the muscles in her neck. She knew for sure, then, that she was being baited—Brittany, the juicy, inviting worm, and Tru, the hungry, stupid fish. “Better?”

“Mmmm...” she moaned. “That feels great.”

You have no idea
, Tru wanted to say, but kept it to herself.

Eventually, Brittany decided she wanted an entire back rub, and positioned herself on the bed, without any statement of acquiescence from Tru, assuming correctly that Tru would oblige.

Astonished by the intense pleasure she received from touching Brittany’s back, Tru knew she would have performed the massage for as long as Brittany wanted. Until her fingers fell off and rolled onto the floor...But moments later, Brittany thanked her, got up, and offered to respond in kind. Tru felt like a child who’d been offered sprinkles for her favorite ice cream. Was she testing herself to see what her reaction would be upon touching a woman with romance in mind? Whatever the reason, the sensation of Brittany’s hands on her body only made the flame burn a little higher, and tonight she would simply have to take the Big Chance. But only when the time felt right, or if Brittany gave her some sort of signal. Until then, Tru could only manufacture a mental fire hose to douse the flames.

Much later, after enjoying the delivered pizza, spending some time reading and talking about home and any other subject they could cover safely, Tru sat on the edge of Brittany’s bed to refill her wine. Awkwardly, Brittany studied Tru and seemed to want to say something, but finally gave up and turned out the lamp. They both sat there in the neon-pierced shadows, drinking wine, the only sounds an occasional vehicle outside, and their breathing.

Brittany set her cup aside, and snuggled down into the blankets. Tru poured herself more wine, hoping it would help calm her wildly bouncing pulse, her mind a jumble of scenarios, each

one more steamy than the last, while Brittany watched her in the cover of darkness. She heard Brit sigh.

“Can’t you sleep?” she asked softly.

“No...
I think I need...”

Tru twisted to face her. “What do you need, Brit?”

Brittany remained quiet so long that Tru thought she might never answer; that perhaps she had even fallen asleep. But then, “I need you to hold me.”—and she turned her back to Tru.

Tru swallowed the heartbeat that vaulted into her throat, and peeled back the covers. Sliding in behind Brit, she put her arms around her and waited. Tru could almost hear their heartbeats in the silence of the room, and could not, would not ignore her ache this time. She touched Brittany’s hair, unable to resist the scintillating locks, captured in the shard of neon dancing through the slightly parted curtains; she brushed the pale, saffron strands away from her cheek as Brit lay facing the wall away from Tru. Tru moved closer, to kiss her temple softly. Brittany made a slight, indecipherable sound, but did not pull away. Tru pressed closer, feeling the silent energy passing between their bodies, aware that Brit’s pounding heart marched in cadence with her own.

Tru swept her hand slowly along Brit’s thigh, coming to rest at her hip. Brit moaned softly and moved against her, as Tru kissed her hair, temple, cheek, and moved to her neck as Brittany offered it to her. Tru pushed Brit’s shoulder down so that they faced each other. In her eyes, Tru saw fear and longing. “I care for you so much,” Tru whispered. A quick breath escaped Brittany’s lips, and she said nothing. Tru kept her eyes open as she bent slowly to touch her lips to that soft cheek. She bent back and watched as Brittany took a breath and moistened her lips, closing her eyes.

Tru dropped kisses from Brit’s cheek to the corner of her mouth, pausing a moment before she pressed her lips against Brittany’s. Tru withdrew, waiting for a signal. Brittany sighed and whispered Tru’s name almost inaudibly, and Tru kissed her again, deeper, gradually exploring her mouth as Brittany met the kiss and her arms came around Tru’s shoulders. Tru teased Brit’s mouth with her tongue, pulling back slightly when Brit tried to deepen the kiss. Tru felt fingernails press into her back, and cringed in pleasure. Releasing a bit more of her ascending passion, Tru explored the young woman’s body; first with her hands, then with her mouth.

Freeing the buttons of Brit’s nightshirt, Tru caressed the swell of Brittany’s breasts and let her lips do the same. To Tru it felt like a ceremony—a ritualistic lovemaking as homage to a goddess. Brittany breathed faster, and Tru allowed her kisses to travel down to the pink areola, drawing the nipple into her mouth and suckling gently. A line from Shakespeare appeared in her mind:
Where the bee sucks, there suck I
...Brittany moaned suddenly, digging her nails deeper into Tru’s shoulders. Tru continued, moving to the other breast for more of the same, and then eased her way down to Brit’s stomach, leaving small wet circles with her tongue.
How far will she let me go?
Tru wondered, her own breathing inconsistent, her heart frantic, bruising, against her chest. She decided to find out.

Sitting up, she grasped the sides of Brit’s bikini-briefs and waited. Brittany lay there, eyes closed, her breasts undulating with her breathing, the fabric of the pink nightshirt haloing the round fullness of her breasts, where it lay scrunched above them, the nipples erect and serving as a barrier the shirt could not pass to cover her skin; they were fresh cherries, ripe and inviting. Brittany lifted her hips, allowing Tru to remove the fabric between Tru’s passion, and Brit’s need.

Tru absorbed the sight of her, trembling and vulnerable, eyes still shut tight, and traced her fingers, feather-like, from Brittany’s neck, over her breasts, sides, hips, and down both legs. She placed her knees between the young woman’s thighs, and stroked the sensitive inside of them with the backs of her hands. A shiver tickled Brit’s body and Tru wanted badly for her to open her eyes, or speak. But she did neither.

She parted Brittany’s thighs without an objection, and settled between them. Opening her gently, Tru tasted the sweetness of her, gleaning a new and different moan from her throat. Gently, lovingly, she explored her most intimate place, taking her time with the ceremony. She

slaked Brittany’s thirst steadily; eager, yet restrained, but certainly with no thought of ceasing. Tru was overjoyed long, excruciating minutes later, when Brittany caught her breath and called out her name, her body arching off the bed, rigid in the fist of searing sweetness. She dug her nails into Tru’s skin, and shuddered...

Tru lay her cheek on Brit’s thigh, swallowing on a sigh, and then gazed up at her. “Look at me, Brit.”

Brittany pressed her lips together and shook her head, whispering, “I can’t.”

Tru captured her hand and squeezed it. “Look at me.”

Brittany opened her arms in an inviting gesture, her eyes still closed, exposed by a passion she could not understand. “Come here.”

Tru crawled up to her, wiping away the wetness from her chin with the corner of the sheet. She held her, kissed her. “Are you sorry?”

“No.”

“Why can’t you look at me?”

“I can’t.” She pulled Tru closer. “Just hold me.”

Tru held Brittany, settling in close, knowing she was hooked, and wondering if that was good or bad.

21

TRU ROLLED OVER AND OPENED HER EYES, the dream of blissful moments in Virginia still vivid in her mind. She understood why she’d dreamed about it. It had been stirred up by the kiss. The memory of last night came back to her, fully, the current vexation very nearly as potent as the first.
Brit kissed me...

The fact made her smile, but she knew that Brit would probably be waiting in the kitchen again, ready to rake her over the coals as if the kiss had been magically induced by some sorcery on Tru’s part. Tru stretched and sighed, allowing herself the enjoyment of a few private moments inside that image...the sensation of Brittany’s body pressed against hers...those sweet, full lips against her own.

The fire in Tru would burn steady, now, and there would be no turning back. It was no different than that time in the Petersburg hotel, when Brittany teased her mercilessly before giving herself over. Tru would either have to learn to live with this searing ache, or convince Brittany that it was okay to do what she had done last night. The amnesia, for whatever mystical or medical reason, had sent Brit’s mind backward, as if through a wormhole, and made her straight again, as she was before they had met.

Tru got up and started for the kitchen, bracing herself for the attack. When she came through the doorway, she saw the red light on the coffee maker, and the full pot waiting for her. She turned and retraced her steps into the hall, past the guest room to the master bedroom door. She knocked softly and pushed the door open. The bed was made and Brittany was gone. Feeling a sliver of alarm, Tru went back to the kitchen and looked out the bay window. There were fresh footprints in the snow from the back step leading to the barn. Tru hurried back to her room and got dressed.

When Tru squeezed through the half-open barn doors, she saw Brittany standing there, petting Juts and Wheezie on their noses, and she could hear her humming some mindless tune. She crept up behind her and goosed her on the sides; Brittany yelped, and lurched forward, startling both horses.

“Oh—my God, Tru. You scared the hell out of me—” She touched her palm to the bulky fabric at the front of her Army jacket and released a breath.

Tru giggled and tickled Wheezie’s nodding nose as the animal insisted on her attention. “G’mornin’, Wheez’“ She looked over at Brittany, who had wandered over to the nearby shelf to wipe off the feed she had spilled.

“You fed them all by yourself?”

Brittany lowered a brow in her direction. “I’m not stupid, just forgetful.”

Tru couldn’t tell if her response was caustic or not. “I’m fully aware of your intelligence, Brit...so, how’d you sleep last night?”

“Like a rock.” Brittany dusted her hands off and came back over to pet Juts.

“And how do rocks sleep?”

Brittany eyed her smartly. “Solid.”

“You ready for coffee?”

Brittany turned her head to look directly at Tru, her eyes darting over Tru’s face, as if she’d noticed a feature she hadn’t before. “Yeah.”

Inside the house again, Brittany poured them coffee and placed the two mugs on the table as she slid into a chair. Tru joined her, and wondered what could be going on inside Brit’s head. She waited for the argument to ensue, but Brittany merely unfolded the day’s newspaper and began to read and sip coffee. Tru noticed there were still wet patches on the newsprint. No doubt the memory of drying the paper by the fireplace had not come back to Brittany. She watched the blond siren, her chin resting on one propped fist. “Okay...let me have it.”

Brittany’s eyebrows lifted in response but she seemed too involved in her reading to look up.

“Brit—”

The woman broke away from the page and met her eyes. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to blast me?”

“Why would I blast you?”

“Because of...
you know...
last night...”

“Oh, good. Cryptograms. My favorite,” she mocked.

Tru allowed herself to smile. “Okay, touché, and all that. Are you mad at me or not?”

“Not,” she answered, turning her attention back to the paper.

“What’s changed?”

“Nothing.” She turned the page, examining the entertainment section. “It happened, and obviously it’s what I needed to do at the time, let’s not make a big thing of it.”

Tru knew if she pushed, there would be an argument after all. “Fair enough. I was thinking about putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Would you like to join me?”

“Sure,” Brit continued to read as Tru got up to get the puzzle from the hall closet.

When the pieces were all spread out on the table, Brittany began to commandeer all the border pieces, even boldly snatching a few from under Tru’s nose. Tru smacked at her hand, as if it was a traveling bug. “Don’t steal my pieces.”

“Community property, I believe,” Brittany pointed out, snatching another. “I might even own this puzzle.”

Tru leaned forward quickly, grasping Brittany’s wrist and trying to pry her fingers away from the piece. “Gimmee!”

“No!” Brit wrenched her arm away and held the piece to her chest, challenging Tru with her eyes.

Tru screeched her chair back to get up and Brittany swiftly captured another piece from Tru’s side of the table. Tru jumped up and started around the table, but Brittany was already zipping into the living room, placing the coffee table strategically between herself and a pursuing Tru. At a standoff, Tru crouched. “Gimme that,” she ordered.

Brittany wiggled her head in cocky defiance. “Take it.”

Tru rushed around the table, and Brittany escaped to the other side. “Gimme.”

Brittany’s mouth curled into an evil grin. “Nanee, nanee, boo-boo, stick your head in doo-doo,” she sang, and tried to bolt down the hallway, when Tru leaped over the table between them. Brittany never made it to the door; Tru had a handful of her shirt, and tried to pull her to the floor, but Brittany clutched the puzzle pieces and resisted, laughing. The two of them kept pulling against each other until Tru was reduced to spinning Brittany in a circle, her hands stretching Brit’s T-shirt at the back. Suddenly, Tru let go, and Brittany stumbled to the floor.

Tru leaped into the air, shouting like a banshee, and pretended to try to put both feet in Brit’s stomach, but instead landed astride the shrieking woman. She sat down over Brittany’s hips and pinned her arms. Tru growled like a predatory beast, and Brit snickered. When the moment faded back into reason, they were face to face, their eyes locked as they regained control of their breathing. Tru saw something akin to fear flutter over Brittany’s face, and rolled off her, slapping her palm on the carpet, saying, “One...
two...
three!” Then she jumped up and began to bounce on the balls of her feet like a boxer, while she hummed the theme from ‘Rocky.’

Brittany giggled, forced herself off the floor, lifting her chin up and walking snobbishly past Tru, who still bounced and waved to an imaginary stadium of fans. “I still have the pieces,” Brittany boasted, strutting back to the kitchen table.

Tru trailed along behind her with a melodramatic whine in her voice, “Does that mean I have to forfeit the championship?”

Brittany dropped into the kitchen chair. “Yes.”

Tru sat down in her own chair and smiled; Brittany looked up at her and smiled back
. Well, she hasn’t forgotten how to have fun,
Tru decided. She picked up a puzzle piece and held it out to her across the table. “Steal this one, and I’ll do better this time.”

“Not a chance, Morgan, you sick...
lesbian,” she accused half-heartedly.

Tru took a drink of her coffee and decided things were improving. “You know what your problem is, Jabot?”

She did not look up. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to clue me in.”

“Right. Your problem is, you don’t have any sense of adventure. You’re a stick-in-the-mud. You’re a spineless chicken-shit.” Tru waited for Brittany to look up from the puzzle, and was not disappointed.

“A spineless chicken-shit?” she repeated roughly.

“That’s right. You’re afraid of things that aren’t fearful at all.”

“Like?” Brittany had put the pieces in her hand down on the table to confront this new challenge.

“Like your feelings. Your reactions. You’re so afraid that you might feel a little spark for me, that you run full-throttle in the opposite direction instead of admitting it.” Tru looked down at the puzzle and began to gather the pieces she wanted, as if she had said nothing more enticing than, ‘Nice day, isn’t it?’.

Brittany put both palms on the table, and levered herself up. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the puzzle, and then came over to Tru’s chair. She seized Tru’s shirt, hauling her out of the chair and thrusting her face close, almost nose-to nose. “Chicken-shit is exactly what you’re full of.” She leaned forward to plant a very determined kiss fully on Tru’s mouth.

Tru’s eyes went wide, and she tried to laugh, but only managed short gasps from her throat, staring at Brittany as if she were a stranger. “What’s got into you?”

“Don’t play hardball with me, Tru Morgan. You’ll lose.” With that, she turned and went into the living room to stoke the fire.
The other fire,
Tru thought.

Tru swallowed her surprise and grinned, following Brittany to the fireplace. Methodically, she took the poker from her hands and replaced it in its rack. She took Brittany by her arms, spun her away from the hearth, and placing a foot behind the woman’s heels, she pushed her off balance and lowered her roughly to the carpet, falling on top of her. “Batter up,” Tru challenged evenly.

Brittany’s breathing deepened as Tru lay on her, and Tru could feel Brittany’s heart thumping in her chest.
Or is that my heart?
Swiftly, Brittany pushed Tru over onto her back, exchanging their positions. She seized Tru’s wrists and pinned them to the floor; lowering her face, she slowly pressed her lips to Tru’s and inflicted a passionate kiss, which Tru could only accept passively in her sudden sensation of weakness. When Brit got off her, Tru could only lie there and endure the pulsing that surged throughout her entire body, her face sunburn-red, her breathing ragged.

Brittany wiped her hands together as if she had completed a chore quite successfully. “Grand Slam,” she taunted, stepping over Tru on her way to the bedroom.

Tru allowed herself to lie there, basking in the feelings that paraded through her
. How long have I wanted Brit to kiss me like that?
Tru smiled and wished she had the guts to follow Brittany into the master bedroom and throw her on the bed and make love to her. But perhaps guts did not enter into it. Perhaps she knew to leave well enough alone.

Aware that she could not stay in the house until she gained control of her hormones again, Tru decided she would make a trip into town for the lumber needed to fix the barn. A snow storm threatened within the next few days, and the weak spot in the barn roof would not hold out under a few more pounds of snow. Getting out of the house, now, might not only be wise, but advisable.

She rolled over and got up. The closed bedroom door tempted her to go in, but she didn’t trust herself. “Brit—” she called through it. “I’m going into town for some lumber to fix the barn. I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”

Tru waited until Brittany finally answered, ‘okay’ and then went to gather her things for the ride.

Their sense is with their senses all mixed in,

Destroyed by subtleties these women are!

~George Meredith