Chapter 1

Bliss has a great job as an accountant with a major publishing house. She has a very attractive boyfriend and life seemingly could not be any better. However, for Bliss something is missing. She craves more, but she just doesn't have a clue to what it is. When Bliss thinks she has found the missing link, she finds herself in situations so carnal and taboo that she is unprepared when things come crashing down. Bliss returns to her childhood home in Jamaica at the invitation of her father to lick her wounds and rediscover herself. Not only does she reconnect with her father, she finds out she has a sister who introduces her to Hunter Willoughby. Bliss is immediately drawn to Hunter; in fact, the sparks appear immediately. The couple takes their relationship slow, but there is no denying their chemistry. From their innocent sightseeing adventures, subtle brushes against one another and lingering looks, there is no way the two can stay away from each other. Yet, they must be prepared to deal with the conflicts involved in their unconventional relationship.

Chapter 1

Bliss Sinclair walked in from the rain, brushing sparkling (raindrops from the sleeve of her gray suit. She stopped and shook herself like a cat. More droplets scattered, flying from her large haloing Afro to the carpet that lined the main lobby of the Volk Publishing building. People walked around her, some watching her display with something like amusement. Others were too focused on the clock, already beginning to chime nine A.M., to pay her any attention. She shrugged again, to better settle the jacket on her back and shoulders, and headed for the bank of elevators at the rear of the lobby. The gray carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps as she stepped into the chrome elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-third floor.

Just as the door began to close, a woman slid quickly between them. She brought with her the light, mossy scent of Chanel No. 19 and nodded briefly at Sinclair before staring ahead at the mirrored wall of the elevator.

Despite her coolness, the woman immediately drew Sinclair's attention. She was a clever mixture of elements. Her hair was tamed Africa, thick and permed to tumble to her shoulders in shiny waves that framed her square-jawed, Anglo-Saxon face. Freckles sprinkled like brown sugar over her nose and cheeks. As Sinclair watched, a hint of a smile pulled at the woman's full mouth. She was beautiful, Sinclair decided. And her creamy milk and coffee skin looked delicious in silk.

"Hello." The woman's voice was a velvety southern drawl.

Sinclair slid her gaze to the elevator doors, embarrassed to be caught staring. "Hi."

The woman took Sinclair's reply as an invitation and looked fully at her travel companion, her mouth still curled in that almost-smile. "Do you work here?" she asked.

Realizing that the woman wasn't offended by her blatant ogling, Sinclair relaxed. "Yes, on the twenty-third floor."

"You must do some pretty expensive work for Volk to be that high up in the building."

"Not really, just a little accounting." Sinclair turned to look at the woman. "What are you doing here?"

A real smile captured her mouth. "I don't look like I work here?"

Sinclair figured that honesty was best in this case. "Not really."

"Then I must be a writer. Coming to meet with my editor."

"Ah. What have you written for us?"

"A couple of books. Essays."

"Hmm." Sinclair sized the woman up again. She didn't seem at all like the intellectual type. Rather like one of those hardedged businesswomen, in her tailored silk pantsuit. "I don't read much nonfiction, although I've been meaning to start."

"That's funny that you say that. I could never really get into fiction." The woman's mouth twitched. "I'm Regina, by the way."

"Sinclair."

Regina nodded just as the elevator door slid open. "I guess I'll see you around."

"Sure." Sinclair watched the woman walk toward an unfamiliar cloister of offices. She blinked when the gunmetal gray doors closed, cutting off her view of the silk-clad backside gliding down the hallway.

"Baby got back." Sinclair coughed when she realized she'd said that out loud. Still, she chuckled to herself as she stepped out of the elevator and down the carpeted hall to her office. Shelly Romero, her secretary, was already at her desk when Sinclair walked in. Shelly looked like a child who'd come in for "bring your daughter to work" day and just stayed. Dark hair in two ponytails, glitter eye shadow from the kids' section and barely business attire. She was a liberal arts college graduate still safely ensconced in her twenties and with ambitions of being a published poet. That ambition was what drew her to Volk Publishing three years ago and the belief that as long as she had some link with the publishing house she had a chance of having her first book published by them. As far as Sinclair knew, Shelly was still unpublished.

"Good morning, Shelly."

"Don't you look cheerful this morning?" Shelly grinned and handed over a large stack of mail. "Did you get lucky?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" A smile shadowed Sinclair's mouth.

"Only if it involved at least one other woman. Otherwise save it for the boys in the break room."

Sinclair rolled her eyes then stepped away as Shelly's phone rang and the secretary turned to answer it. Ever since she had "accidentally" walked into a lesbian bar uptown and ran into the younger woman over a year ago, they'd become more than open with each other. Shelly was the closest thing she had to a friend in this city. In her office she put her briefcase and purse away, humming a light tune under her breath. When she found herself tapping her feet to the same song as she opened the mail, Sinclair laughed softly, wondering at her sudden good mood. An image of the woman in the elevator immediately came to her. So what? Regina was an attractive woman. It wasn't like anything was likely to happen between them. Though a girl could dream ...

That night, Sinclair's boyfriend, Yuen, coaxed her out for a book release party, an event that she had offhandedly mentioned to him weeks ago and where his favorite author was launching her latest book. When they walked into the hotel ballroom it was chaos of flashbulbs, megawatt smiles, towering displays of food, and free-flowing alcohol.

"This is great," he whispered, tilting his head to kiss her cheek. "If I'd known you were this well connected I'd have asked you out years ago." His thick black hair fell over his eyes. He seemed nothing like the thirty-five-year-old lawyer he was. His full lips were more prone to smile than not, and his slim youthful body could have easily belonged to a teenaged underwear model. There were days when Sinclair wondered what he was doing with her.

She lightly pinched his wrist. "It wasn't that big a deal. Everybody in the office gets an invitation."

When they walked through a mirrored archway, Sinclair gave her hair a discreet fluff and threaded her arm through Yuen's. Today, like most days, she wore her hair in a large Afro to rival Angela Davis's. The makeup she'd brushed on thankfully didn't look out of place. It was just enough to emphasize her full mouth and wide, slightly tilted eyes. Yuen once said that she looked like a hungry fox, beautiful but inclined to bite a hand off and swallow it whole if someone was stupid enough to try and get too close. It didn't help that there was a reddish cast to her skin. Sinclair acknowledged that she looked a bit too thin, but could think of no immediate remedy for the situation. Sometimes she just didn't feel like eating.

"Linnet's over there." Yuen drew Sinclair's attention to the author and her entourage who had set up a display on a large dais at the front of the room. The walls of the ballroom were lit with artfully done track lighting that brought the eye straight to the life-sized mock-up of Linnet Costa's book jacket. Naughty nubile angels were her latest obsession. Apparently they photographed well.

"And the best part is that the food and drinks are on the house," Sinclair teased.

"Nice." He sounded like a college kid let out for his first spring break.

The guest of honor worked the room well, looking wicked in head to toe fire-engine red. The latex and metal dress sparked as much conversation as her book. Sinclair hoped that she looked half as good when she turned fifty.

"Go on and introduce yourself, Yuen. I'll be back here getting a bite to eat." He looked at Sinclair as if he thought she was joking. "Go ahead," she said. "I won't leave without you."

"Funny. Since I drove."

Her smile faded as he walked away. She glanced at her watch. Two hours should be a reasonable amount of time to stay, she thought.

"Hello, Sinclair."

It was the woman from the elevator. Tonight she wore black slacks that sat low on her hips, emphasizing their soft curve and her flat belly. The blouse was a sheer white and showed off the lift of her slight breasts under a white camisole. Her upswept hair made her seem taller than before. Still, she had to be at least three inches shorter than Sinclair's five feet ten. Her scent, Chanel Coco if Sinclair's nose was correct, invited her a closer inspection.

"Good to see you again," Sinclair said.

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual." Regina's glance traveled quickly down Sinclair's body, taking in the loosely draped burgundy dress and high heels. "I never figured you for a Costa fan."

"I'm sure there are lots of things you figured about me that were wrong," Sinclair smiled to lessen the sting of her words. From the corner of her eye she saw Yuen pause and clear his throat, preparing to approach his idol.

"Touché." The corner of Regina's mouth lifted. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure."

They walked to the bar together where Regina ordered a tequila sunrise for herself and a gin and tonic for Sinclair. With their drinks in hand, they left the bar for the cozy comfort of the attached lounge with its overstuffed love seats and thick rugs, all in shades of red and copper. They found an empty sofa in the midst of the shifting crowd and sat down.

"So what other things would I have figured wrong about you?"

"I don't know." Sinclair eyed the smaller woman over the rim of her glass. "You haven't told me what other conclusions you've jumped to."

Regina laughed. "I'll keep those to myself for now." She sipped her drink and nodded toward the guest of honor. "So, do you know Linnet?"

"No, not really. I've seen her in the building a few times, but that's about it."

"You must run into a lot of women in that elevator." A smile settled on Regina's coral mouth.

"Not many interesting ones."

Regina smiled at the implied compliment. She leaned closer, draping her arm along the back of the sofa, tickling the other woman's nose with her lightly floral perfume. Sinclair's breath caught. She could've counted the freckles on Regina's nose if she'd wanted to.

"This is her, right here." Yuen's voice made Sinclair look away. He stood a few feet away with a smiling Linnet Costa next to him.

Regina leaned back from Sinclair as they drew closer.

"Linnet Costa, this is my girlfriend, Bliss Sinclair. She was the one who invited me here tonight."

"Ms. Costa." Sinclair stood up and extended her hand to the handsome woman. Still seated on the couch, Regina watched the introductions with a curious smile.

"Please call me Lin." Then the writer turned to Regina. "Nice to see you, Regina. I thought you were on tour."

"Not until the end of next month." Regina stood up, too, and gathered Linnet in a surprisingly intimate embrace. "Your book is terrific, by the way. When is the next one coming out?"

"Spoken like a true fan." She turned to the man at her side. "Yuen here was just telling me about his pro bono work with the Delancy witches three years ago. That case gave me a great idea for a book."

Regina shuddered theatrically. "You're right. Madness, group sex, witchcraft, and murder. Sounds right up your alley, Lin."

The others laughed, but Sinclair wrinkled her nose. Of course, Yuen noticed.

"What?" he asked.

"Should you even be talking about that case? Client confidentiality and all that?"

"It's been-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lin said with a smile that wasn't the least bit apologetic. "You're very right, Sinclair. I was just so fascinated with the whole story. I was the one who brought it up.

Yuen's smile held a trace of embarrassment. "I was just helpless to Lin's charms." They shared a guilty laugh.

"You wouldn't be the first," Regina said. She and Linnet smiled at each other.

"Linnet! Linnet!" A man loaded down with camera equipment waved frantically to get her attention. He was having issues pushing both his bulk and his equipment through the crowd.

"Pardon me, everyone." Lin excused herself and started to make her way to his side.

They watched her graceful back disappear into the crowd.

Sinclair was the first to speak. "She's a very nice woman."

"And gorgeous too." Yuen tilted his head close to his girlfriend's. "Though nowhere near as beautiful as you, of course."

"No need to be diplomatic, my lovely boy toy. She's definitely gorgeous and any man would be a fool to kick her out of bed."

"Or woman."

Sinclair turned to Regina. "Why would you say that?"

"She's bi. It's pretty common knowledge." Her eyes flicked over Sinclair.

"Yup." Yuen gave his best leer. "Maybe you and Lin could hook up while I-"

Sinclair poked him in the belly before he could finish. "Don't be a pig."

He oinked. Regina laughed. "By the way, we were never really introduced earlier, but I'm Regina Velasquez. Lin and I are old friends."

"A pleasure." They shook hands then started laughing again. Sinclair rolled her eyes.

"I had a good time tonight. Thanks." Yuen held Sinclair's hand as they walked through the gilt-edged revolving doors and emerged onto the street.

"I'm glad you liked it."

A scent of rot rose up from the gutters, mingling with the smells of old fruit and spilled alcohol that poured from the doorway of the market they quickly walked past. On the wind, the acidic tang of piss floated from the alley near where Yuen's car was parked. They hurried to the black Lexus convertible and drove off.

"Want to come back to my place for a drink and a little sex?" Yuen asked as they drove uptown. He wasn't joking.

Sinclair shook her head and manufactured a smile of regret. "No. Not really. I'm tired. That party wore me out."

"I forgot that it's only Wednesday and you have work tomorrow."

"Yes." Sinclair didn't need reminding. She already had her suit pressed and laid out for the next day.

At her apartment, Yuen kissed her goodbye, touching her with a possession that seemed odd for him. "I'll call you later." His hardness pressed against her belly.

"OK."

As soon as Sinclair crossed the threshold of the apartment, she shrugged off her coat along with any lingering traces of tiredness. It wasn't deliberate. She wanted to be tired. But even with a long soak in the bathtub and a luxurious cuddle in her grandmother's old cotton robe, she still had too much energy to sleep.

After almost five years the insomnia still caught her off guard, as if there was something she could do on one particular night that would put her right to sleep. Instead of sleeping, she read. Thousands of books filled her neatly arranged shelves, every genre, every author she'd found even mildly interesting from all her years of working at Volk. She turned on the bedside light and curled up under the covers to read.

Morning. Sinclair stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry, and put on her robe. The apartment was quiet. No music. No noise of someone else stirring in the bed. And up this high on the fifteenth floor, not even the noise of traffic intruded. Sometimes she thought that could be part of the problem. She was so separate from everyone, no real friends, no family. Now, as the days passed, an unfamiliar sense of loneliness was beginning to invade her life.

Her only real pleasure came from being in her apartment, sheltered by its sand-colored walls, comfortable earth-toned furnishings, and memories of her grandmother. Photographs that she had taken a long time ago hung in their expensive, oversized frames all over the apartment. Bare-limbed trees weighed down by snow, boulders framed by magnificent blue skies and tinted gold by the sun. An old photo of her and her grandmother on a faraway beach, laughing. All images from the happier and well-traveled life she had before her grandmother died.

Her Gram had had a fascination with America and its landscape. She took endless pictures of it, mostly crooked, underexposed, or unrecognizable shots that keenly disappointed her and eventually drove Sinclair to take photography classes in high school. She and Gram saved for months to buy the camera that ended up documenting their last few years together. Sinclair put that camera away years ago, stuck it in the back of a storage closet along with a few other things that she didn't want to see anymore.

Even though Gram had been long past her youth, her death still took Sinclair by surprise. The elderly woman had left the apartment to indulge in one of her favorite things nocturnal shopping-but hadn't gotten very far. A stroke laid her out in the middle of the sidewalk while Sinclair slept. Less than an hour later she was dead. There was so much more that Sinclair had to share with her, so much that they still had to do together. Mavis's granddaughter hadn't been able to sleep through the night since.

Her robe whispered against her legs in the dim morning quiet as she moved by habit from room to room. A morning ritual. With all the lights still off and the glow of approaching dawn stretching equal parts light and shadow across her apartment, she could feel the night's change to day, and welcomed it. If she closed her eyes long enough, she could imagine being home again, standing in the kitchen of her father's old house in Jamaica, the one where she'd spent her first thirteen years, waiting for her mother to come down the hall and begin making breakfast. She opened her eyes and resumed her walk through the apartment.

Sinclair took pride in the order of her space, in the certainty that she knew where everything was and why. It was the way her Gram raised her. Even her habits now were still influenced by the fifteen years she'd lived with her grandmother. Gram loved tea. She used to drink it all the time. They'd shared countless mornings with their heads bent over the first cup of Darjeeling-lots of milk, lots of sugar-just talking.

"What are you going to study?" Gram had asked a fifteen-year-old Sinclair, smiling but perfectly serious.

"Accounting," Sinclair had answered. Not because that was what she wanted for herself, but because that was what she overheard her grandmother say was best.

With a sigh that no one else heard, Sinclair slipped into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea before getting ready for work.

At five o' clock that afternoon she closed her office door behind her and prepared to leave. "Miss Sinclair," Shelly stopped her. "A woman came by and dropped these off for you earlier. She was a cutie."

Shelly handed her two neatly bound hardcover books. Between the crisp white pages of the top one lay a card. Regina Velasquez. Writer. Her phone number and uptown address were neatly written below that. Sinclair's eyebrow rose.

"Thanks, Shelly." She ignored her secretary's curious look and slid the books into her briefcase. "See you tomorrow."

At home, Sinclair propped the card up on the edge of the tub while she took her bath. Earlier, she'd sniffed the card, brushed it under her nose, and found the light scent of mint that clung to it. She stretched out under the bubbles and leaned back against the inflatable pillow propped up against the back of the tub. Irresistibly, her eyes wandered to the card again. Regina Velasquez. At the book release party, Regina had been polite yet mischievous, especially after Yuen came back with Linnet. She flirted shamelessly with Sinclair as if putting on a show for Yuen, touching the small of his girlfriend's back, refilling her drinks, even kissing her lingeringly on the cheek when they said their goodbyes. At first Yuen seemed titillated, then annoyed. By the end of the evening he and Regina both seemed to be in competition over who could be the most solicitous to Sinclair's needs. Sinclair had been content to sit back and enjoy their attentions. She hoped that neither of them had known just how much Regina had intrigued her.

Fresh from her bath, her body still steaming from its heat, Sinclair slid naked into bed to read Regina's first book. It was a collection of essays on sex and love. Making Sex, Having Love. Nice title.

The first time someone else touched me with the intent to pleasure, I fell in love. Not with that person, but with the act itself. Such intimacy and accord. Even with the awkwardness of first time lovers there was a grace and purity, carnal and beautiful, that I knew from that moment on I could never live without.

Sinclair slid down into the covers and continued reading. This was a woman who unabashedly loved sex. The more she read, the more descriptive and less academic Regina's prose became. Sinclair squeezed her thighs together and crossed a hand over her stiffening nipples. Regina was very good. She imagined the slight woman reading the words aloud, her soft red mouth shaping the seduction, an invitation to fall into her silken trap. And Sinclair was seduced. In the cool seclusion of her bedroom, she felt Regina's hands on her, touching her skin, teasing, satisfying. All these things that she wrote about aroused Sinclair's curiosity-the good-natured teasing among friends that eventually became a thoroughly gratifying group orgy, going down on a lover in a crowded subway station, the scorching wave of a shared orgasm in a cozy bed for three. All these were alien experiences to Sinclair. Regina's words made her long for them. Her fin gets slid down between her thighs. She didn't fall asleep until almost five in the morning.

The office intercom buzzed and Shelly's voice filled the air. "Regina Velasquez calling for you, Miss Sinclair."

Sinclair's fingers twitched against the computer keys and typed three extra t's.

"Put her through."

She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

"You didn't call me last night." Regina's southern drawl wrapped around the words like hot molasses.

"I didn't know that I was supposed to."

"You were, but I forgive you. Did you read any of my essays?"

"Yes. A few." Sinclair wiped her damp palms on her slacks.

"What did you think?"

"They're good. Very ... vivid."

Regina laughed again while Sinclair's stomach rearranged itself. "That's something, I suppose."

"Is that how you pick up people?"

"What makes you think I was trying to pick you up?" Regina asked.

Sinclair had walked right into that one. In all of Regina's essays, she never once mentioned the gender of the person she was with. There had been body parts sprinkled throughout, a liberal mentioning of penises and vaginas, breasts and buttocks that left Sinclair absolutely bewildered and painfully aroused.

"Are you?" Sinclair felt bold enough to ask.

"Yes." The other woman's laughter was full bodied and captivating. Sinclair imagined Regina throwing her head back, white teeth flashing, her long neck arched.

"Well, you know that I'm seeing someone," Sinclair said. Her hand tightened on the phone. Yuen had never made her feel like this. Hot in her belly and dry-mouthed. Sinclair knew that she should have been more nervous, hesitant, but Regina's seduction was so shameless and genuine that her own responses were too.

"So am I," Regina said. "Do you want to come to dinner with me tonight?"

She couldn't say no. Her body remembered the promise in Regina's book, in her low laughter. But she hesitated. What about Yuen? He would be expecting to see her soon, maybe even tonight. What would be her excuse? Sorry darling, this stranger propositioned me and I was a little curious about my attraction to women so I'm going to try her out and see what happens. That obviously wouldn't work.

In the end Sinclair called to invite him to breakfast on Sunday, apologizing that she couldn't see him before then. Still, she knew he would call to wrangle an invitation to Saturday dinner as well. She'd deal with that when the time came. In the meantime she tried to convince herself that there was nothing for her to feel guilty about. At least not yet.

Dinner was at a Mediterranean restaurant near Regina's house. The decor was stark. Sky blue walls and white columns, the scent of olives in the air despite whatever else was going on in the kitchen. Regina pulled Sinclair's chair out for her, then waited until she sat down.

"I have a few suggestions, if you don't mind," she murmured near Sinclair's ear.

Sinclair didn't mind. She'd never been to a place like this before and welcomed guidance. When the dark-haired waitress appeared, Regina took charge.

"We'll have the moussaka, dolmas, the stuffed shrimp with spinach and feta, tiropita, and a bottle of your house red."

That was her idea of making a few suggestions? She saw Sinclair's expression and laughed again. "I know. I'm overbearing, but you'll love it. I promise." Her eyes gleamed. "You have to try everything."

When the food came, Sinclair picked over it cautiously, prodding the dolmas-grape leaves stuffed with rice and herbs, apparently-and barely tasted the moussaka with its unpalatable blend of eggplant, ground beef, and zucchini swimming in a god-awful white sauce. The spanakopita was good though. Sinclair sipped her wine and watched Regina. The writer ate her meal in big, voluptuous bites that left her mouth white with bechamel sauce. Her pink tongue swept the paleness away in preparation for another bite.

"Come, taste this." Regina held a dolma perched between her thumb and index finger. When Sinclair lifted her hand to take it, she pulled it away and shook her head. "With your mouth."

Regina fed her the dolma, waiting patiently while her teeth bit through the thick concoction of grape leaves and seasoned rice, the soft pads of her fingers resting against Sinclair's lips all the while. Sinclair couldn't meet her eyes. She wondered briefly if she shouldn't be more uncomfortable with this. It didn't matter. She ate the other half of the dolma in one neat bite.

"So the person that I met the other night, was that a man or a woman?"

Sinclair almost choked on her wine. "Very funny. Yuen is very much a man."

"A very beautiful one."

"Yes. We've been together for about two years."

"It's a serious relationship, then?"

"It's exclusive, if that's what you mean."

"Up until now." Regina's eyes danced in the candlelight. She was so sure of herself.

"Until now." Sinclair released the admission, finally voicing her desire for much more than a friendship with this woman.

"Does he please you in bed?" Regina bit into a flaky spinach pastry, then licked the crumbs from her mouth.

"Yes. Yes, he does."

"You don't sound so sure."

"I think you're the one who doesn't want me to be sure. He does satisfy me in bed. Can we move beyond that, please?"

"Of course." Regina sipped her wine. A bit of red lingered on her mouth. She caught Sinclair's gaze and smiled. "Curious?"

Sinclair knew that she would be lying if she said no. Instead of replying she bit into her dolma and chewed as if that would save her from answering. Regina stood up over the low candles and leaned in to kiss her. Sinclair stopped chewing. Regina's lips pressed harder into hers, then softened. She licked Sinclair's mouth, bit the plump softness of her lips until the other woman sighed and opened her mouth for more. Sinclair's body began a slow melt, heating until every bit of moisture in her body was pooled between her thighs. Her fingers slid into Regina's hair to pull the woman closer. When Regina drew back, Sinclair's dolma was in her mouth. She finished chewing what Sinclair had started and swallowed.

"Does that satisfy any of your curiosity?"

When the check came, Regina took it before Sinclair could. As the waitress leaned over to pick up the bill and its generous tip, Regina smiled over the flickering candles, her eyes lazy with seduction.

"Come home with me."

Those simple words ignited a fire between Sinclair's legs. She couldn't say no. In the elevator to the penthouse apartment, Regina watched her from the other side of the copper-and-bronze fitted cage, smiling.

"I'm not going to touch you now. If I do I won't be able to stop. Don't want to frighten my neighbors."

Sinclair tried for levity. "They spook easily, like horses?"

"Something like that."

The elevator bell sounded. Regina ushered her through a well-lit hallway into an apartment that was all darkness and warmth. The scent of pine filled Sinclair's nose. The apartment was ornate but impersonally furnished. Anyone could have lived there. Sinclair trembled with an unknown fear. They moved through the darkness to the bedroom.

"Relax."

In a rustle of sound, Regina was on her. She kissed Sinclair, softly, as if trying not to frighten her. It was just like kissing a man, Sinclair decided, except for the press of two soft breasts against her.

"Touch them if you want," Regina murmured, nibbling on her lips then the slope of her neck.

Sinclair took a deep shuddering breath. With no table between them, no restaurant, no ambiguous flirtation, it was on. Regina took Sinclair's hand and pressed it against her breast.

"I'm going to fuck you." She bit Sinclair's lip. "If there's anything that you don't want, just tell me. Otherwise I'm going to take this." Regina cupped her through her trousers.

There was only one word left for Sinclair to say. "Yes."

Regina pushed her into the mint-smelling sheets and pressed her fingers into Sinclair, devoured her mouth, her breasts and pussy until she was incoherent with want.

"This isn't a man touching you, is it?"

"No." Sinclair gasped when the other woman's fingers slid deep inside her, quickly finding the spot that made her breathless, made her sweat and beg. She didn't even know that it existed. "God!"

"Just call me Regina." Still in her silk suit, she turned Sinclair over and slid up behind her, biting and caressing, inviting her to stain the silk with her sweat and cum.

"Come. It's all right. That doesn't mean the night's over."

Sinclair did, panting like a freight train as she collapsed beneath the other woman. Her own loudness made her blink at the ceiling in surprise. She half expected to see a mirror up there.

Regina shrugged off her skirt and blouse. She was completely naked underneath, ready with her small hard breasts and curvaceous hips. Sinclair reached for her, cupping her hips with wonder. They were soft and laced with fine lines that were almost invisible until the flesh was close enough to kiss. Sinclair's fingernails traced the rounded ass, the thick thighs.

"Time for that later, baby." Regina touched Sinclair's mouth with damp fingers. "Open your legs for me." She slid down Sinclair's body and tasted her, licked her, slid her tongue in and over her until Sinclair's throat was raw from gasping.

With the last of Sinclair's noises echoing in their ears, Regina lifted up her head, then her whole body. "That was your first lesson. I'm about to give you a pop quiz." Regina straddled Sinclair's face, opening up her shaved cunt to her inspection. "Do your best. I'll guide you through it."

Sinclair wanted to stare. The writer was pale and pink, and glistening, her clit hard and distended. Above her, Regina caressed her own nipples, squeezing and pinching until they were the color of raspberries.

"It's just like eating a peach, only you don't use your teeth." She undulated her hips above Sinclair, signaling her readiness.

It wasn't like eating a peach at all, Sinclair decided. It was better. The soft, wet flesh slid under her tongue like a salted oyster. She smelled gingery here, too, her musk addictive and, right now, very necessary.

"A little lower, sweetheart. Slip your tongue-hmm. Exactly. . . " Regina's voice trailed off on a deep moan.

Sinclair was a fast learner. She remembered how she liked to touch herself. With her tongue lavishing Regina's clit with focused attention, she slid two fingers deep inside her new lover and was rewarded with a sharp gasp and the trembling of the soft thighs bracketing her face. Regina pressed harder against her mouth. Her thighs quaked and started to give out. Sinclair sped up the hummingbird-like flutter to her tongue and thrust her fingers deeper. Regina gasped again, bucked on Sinclair's face as she growled long and deep and came hard around the long fingers.

Regina laughed softly. "I knew you'd be a keeper."

Rain started to fall, and Regina opened the windows to let the sound in. It was not a romantic gesture, she assured Sinclair as she stood bathed in the soft light from the bedroom lamps. She just liked the quiet noise, and so far above the streets she didn't have to smell the filth of the city. When Regina sank back into the bed, Sinclair propped herself on her elbow. "Doesn't this seem at all odd to you?" she asked.

"What? Sex with a near-stranger?"

"Yes, for one thing. I don't know anything about you. For all I know you could be a mass murderer or something."

Regina showed off her gorgeous teeth. "What do you want to know? I like dogs, I'm not into adventure sports or bingo. I'm HIV-negative and otherwise disease-free, unless you count manic depression as a disease."

"Interesting." And so very uninformative. Perhaps that was the point. Could she be satisfied with this? After Yuen's compulsive soul baring, Regina's reticence was a kind of relief. It made her more compelling and much, much sexier than the boy Sinclair had left at home.

"Does that mean you're satisfied?"

Sinclair traced Regina's collarbone. Desire hummed through her veins again, steady and loud. "I wouldn't say that."

Red-blushed nipples puckered and rose under Sinclair's gaze. With a soft laugh, Regina slid her fingers around the back of the other woman's neck and pulled her head down.

"Good."

At work the next day, Sinclair was useless. She pressed her legs together and stared at the computer screen until all she could see was Regina's face, wet with cum and sweat, her lip tight between her teeth. Sinclair left as early as she could and called Regina on her way to the train.

"Come to my house tonight. I want to show you something."

The writer's throaty chuckle stirred up the moisture already on Sinclair's panties. "I can't tonight. How about Sunday?"

What else could she do but agree? Sinclair called Yuen when she got home.

"I can't see you anymore," she said.

"What? Where did this come from?"

"Nowhere. I-"

"I'm coming over." He hung up the phone.

The doorbell rang twenty minutes later.

"Is it someone else?" he asked as soon as she opened the door.

Lying wasn't Sinclair's forte. "Something like that."

"What does that mean? Is there or isn't there?"

"I-I met a woman."

Silence.

He walked farther into the apartment. "You did what?"

"Three days ago." Had it only been three days?

"This is crazy." He turned to her, his face softening from its initial anger. "Is it that woman I met at Lin's party?"

Sinclair flushed hot and looked away. Had she been that obvious?

"It is, isn't it? I knew that bitch wasn't joking around." He looked at her across the pale expanse of the living room. "Three days. You're throwing away two years because of three days?"

Her tongue felt too heavy to speak. Yes, it was sudden. But she felt more in these past three days than she ever had with Yuen. Sinclair didn't want to say any of that out loud. It was too cruel.

"Sinclair. You have to know how insane this sounds. A week ago everything was fine. We were making plans for a weekend upstate."

"You were making plans for a weekend upstate. I wanted to stay home."

"But you always want to stay home. That's why I always make plans for us."

"Maybe that's the problem."

"You know what, Sinclair? This is bullshit. You'll come to your senses in a little while." He slid her a look. "Have you slept with her yet?"

"That's none of your business, Yuen."

He looked intrigued by the possibility of it, then shrugged. "Call me in a few days. Take time to sort this out. I'll be here for you." He moved to kiss her, but seemed to think better of it. "Call me." Then he left.

Sinclair collapsed against the closed door with a tremulous sigh. She felt limp and exhausted. Still, her mouth curved in a bittersweet smile. In two days, she would see Regina.

Regina called Sinclair on Sunday morning. "Where do you live?"

She came over with strawberries, whipped cream, sliced peaches, mangoes, and lychees. Her body looked delectable in a black jumpsuit that showed off her lean length and high, round ass. "I hope you haven't eaten yet."

"I have, but my Gram said that there's always room for dessert."

"Don't bring your grandmother into this. She probably wouldn't approve of what I have in mind for you."

Regina glanced briefly around the apartment, at its high ceilings, tasteful furniture, and spectacular view, before focusing fully on Sinclair. "Let's get you in the shower."

She was soft all over, despite her leanness, and eager as a puppy to play with Sinclair, to slide the soft fruit inside her and suck it out in loud, juicy slurps. Regina approved of Sinclair's bed. Its size and softness were apparently perfect for what she had in mind, although it had never been this sticky before. When all the gasping was done, she lay beside Sinclair, staring at her while trailing still-wet fingers over Sinclair's skin in long, lazy sweeps. Sinclair could almost see the tape recorder in her mind, making note of this scene. Fodder for her next book.

"Is the book you're working on essays or fiction?" Sinclair asked.

"Essays, of course. I could never get the hang of fiction. Too many lies." Regina leaned down and licked Sinclair's nipple. Her breath caught. "You're very responsive. I like that." Regina bent to show her just how much she liked it.