Hera leads me up the stairs. I have no eyes for the decoration of her bedroom—I only have eyes for her. I seem to want her more in this moment because of how she treated me when we first met. My desire has a certain I-knew-it quality about it.
Even more surprising than Hera kissing me—although I did feel the possibility of it in the air when she put her hand on my knee in the car—is how it makes me feel. Maybe this is what I need to shake my old self off completely. To move on from who I used to be and what I used to do. The more she kisses me, the more I shed my former skin—the barrier I had to create to draw a line between what was real and what wasn’t.
I used to always be sure. I used to always calculate my next move for maximum result, but with Hera, there’s none of that. Besides, I think she might be in charge. Letting me drive her was one thing—I get the feeling she won’t go as far as letting me top her.
She shrugs off her blazer and throws it onto a chair. She switches on a lamp on the bedside table and it casts her in a seductive glow. She comes closer again.
Here is the woman I need. As I think it, I can’t explain why, but the knowledge burns inside me like something that’s been true forever. Like it’s inevitable—part of nature’s laws.
Then I have no more time for any thoughts at all because when Hera comes for me again, with the same intensity as she kissed me with downstairs, there’s no room for anything else.
For the longest time, I haven’t allowed my body to just be flesh brimming with desire. For years, I had to keep my mind in charge of the tiniest act my body performed. My body was my instrument, my livelihood. And now Hera’s here to take all that away. And she doesn’t know it, she may never know it, but she does it effortlessly. And I wonder if this is what I saw in her, even all those weeks ago when she didn’t like me. I wonder if I didn’t see this in her the first time she stepped out of her bright red truck outside the Pink Bean. That I could meet her needs the way she could meet mine. It’s been vibrating in the air between us since the beginning, even when we were too occupied with all the other nonsense to even realize.
She tugs at the zipper of my jumpsuit. It’s a bit tricky to open—one of the reasons I never wore it on the job—so I turn around in her embrace to give her better access. When I have my back to her, she doesn’t fumble with the zipper though. She brushes my ponytail aside and kisses the back of my neck. Even if I can’t see her face, I can feel her intention. Her desire comes through the touch of her lips against my skin.
A small moan escapes me. God, I want more. I want it all. I want to unearth the depths of Hera Walker. I press my behind against her to make my own intentions known. But Hera takes her time kissing my neck, as though she wants to cover every inch of it. Her tongue skates along the nape of my neck and the hot sensation blasts through me as though she’s already touching me between my legs.
I haven’t been kissed like this for ages. Another need of mine reflected in Hera’s. Her hands slide around my waist, press me harder against her. Then they venture up and rest underneath my breasts. Her hands inch up and I throw my head back, onto her shoulder, in a gesture of complete surrender.
I revel in the fact that she’s so completely in charge; it reminds me that I have no responsibilities here. Not tonight. Not in this bedroom with the faint light of a small bedside lamp and Hera’s breath catching in my ear. I’m someone else in her arms.
Her hands cup my breasts and the entire expanse of my skin breaks out in goosebumps. There might be layers of fabric between us, but her hands on my breasts like that, almost audaciously, carry me into an area of intimacy I’ve avoided since I started working for Alana. You can’t bring sensations like this to a job. It’s as if Hera reads my body, as though her hands on my breasts signify much more than an erotic gesture—much more than foreplay. She’s getting to know me, without words, finding the real me. Seeing me in the semi-darkness of her room.
Her hands squeeze me intimately and my nipples push against the fabric of my bra. They burn against it, wanting to tear holes through it, wanting to be touched by her desperately. Her lips skate along my neck and her kisses are no longer measured. They’re wet and her tongue is in play and I can feel Hera’s desire—her need—for me in the press of her body against mine. Her hands slide from my breasts to my back and she pushes me away from her. She zips me out of my one-piece item of clothing as though she deals with extremely aroused women in jumpsuits on a daily basis.
I kick off my shoes and stand in front of her in my underwear. On display, which is nothing I’m not used to. Hera’s gaze is burning, like I’ve seen many a client’s do, but this is different. I’m not the one to pounce. I don’t try to get her white shirt off her. I could try but I sense that she’s the kind of woman who likes to strip off her own clothes.
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth again, the way I did earlier, downstairs, when I could so easily tell how crazy that was driving her, how it made that wall around her crumble. The wall may not come all the way down tonight, but there are huge gaps in it already. The first brick was removed long before Hera put a hand on my knee in the car.
She unbuttons her shirt but doesn’t take it off. Briefly, I can make out the olive skin of her belly, as she rushes toward me again, as though our separation has already lasted long enough. Her hands are in my hair, tugging at the band that’s holding up my ponytail. As my hair cascades down, she looks at me as though she’s just spotted the world’s most beautiful hidden waterfall. The desire in her eyes is the kind no money can ever buy.
She kisses me again and walks me toward the bed as she does. Her mouth is hungrier on mine, her tongue more insistent than before. The backs of my knees hit the bed and she pushes me down, flanking me. I sense some movement in her legs as she kicks off her shoes, then presses her warm, warm body against mine. She kisses me again, all intention and heat, then pauses and gazes at me from above. No words are needed now. I don’t have any of my own and if I did, I wouldn’t say them, because I wouldn’t want to break the magic spell of this moment. The warmth in Hera’s eyes, mixed with the desire demonstrated through her actions meeting my own, is plenty to rev up my engine some more. My clit already aches for her touch. I want her strong, sturdy builder’s fingers inside me. God, I want them so much. But I need to go at her pace. I need to give her this moment. Mine will come later because, even though I’m fully in the throes of my own desire, a part of me already can’t wait to see Hera yield under my own touch.
She kisses me again and it’s a kiss that doesn’t stop for minutes. While her lips are locked on mine, Hera draws a line with her finger from my chin, over my neck, to my breast. It dips underneath the cup of my bra, finding my nipple. I bring a hand underneath Hera’s shirt, my fingertips scratching the skin of her back. As her body presses into me, so does her belt buckle, but I restrain myself and don’t try to undo it and get it off her. If it leaves a mark, it’s one I will look at with nothing but fond memories.
Hera pushes herself up, the side of her shirt covering my belly. Her finger withdraws from my bra as she finds her balance, then she brings both her hands behind my back to take off my bra. She doesn’t say anything but I can see the wonder in her eyes when my breasts are bared to her. As though she had resigned herself to never seeing another woman’s breasts in the flesh again. I could be wrong—I could be reading Hera all wrong—but that’s how it feels to me in that moment. Like I’m a miracle Hera never even dreamed to hope for ever again.
I glance down as Hera comes for me, both her hands on my breasts. There’s hunger in her grasp, something untamable. Her true nature coming through that carefully constructed wall, pushing through, telling her that this part of her still exists. This particular moment of wonder I’ve seen many times and, every single time, it fills me with hope and gratitude and I marvel at how humans can deny themselves something so essential. But, no matter how adept we become at ignoring our needs, they always find a way to shine through again. It’s no different with Hera and the eagerness in her grasp is reflected in the pulsing of my clit. And anyone who has ever tried to argue with me that what I did was just sell my body, sell the naked act of sex in exchange for money, has never witnessed a moment like this.
I need to snap myself out of this train of thought. Hera looks up at me briefly, as if she knows I’m on my own personal journey as well, and I send her a small smile of encouragement, to let her know that I’m with her here, all the way.
She leans her head down and while her hands try to contain my ample breasts, she sucks my nipple between her lips.
“Oh,” I moan, and rake my fingers through her short hair. Hera licks and sucks and, then, bites down gently. My body sizzles with the heat that’s being generated between us. Her lips sear against my nipple, erasing all the memories that have no relevance tonight. Because tonight, I’m here with Hera, and this is more real than anything I’ve ever known. It holds more promise and gives me hope that, maybe I too, can be destined for love.
Hera’s wildness increases. Her lips on my other breast are less restrained. She pushes me all the way down, her hands sliding from my chest over my arms to my hands. She intertwines her fingers with mine, then kisses my breasts again. Her tongue flicks over my nipples, her teeth graze against my flesh. Then, she finally makes her way down.
I can’t help but squirm against the sheets. My legs are already spread for her, but I’m still wearing my panties. Not for long though. From Hera’s breathing, I can tell she’s past the patient, teasing stage. I can tell she wants to lick my clit as much as I want her to lick it. She aches for me the way I ache for her. And even though, on my way over, and throughout the hours we spent at the gallery, I didn’t even allow my mind to entertain the possibility of this for a fraction of a second, maybe the hope brimmed somewhere inside me nonetheless.
Hera kisses my inner thigh, inching ever closer to my panties, which have become a nuisance now. The last frontier before I give myself to her completely. And I want to give myself, I’m ready. I want to give myself in a way I haven’t in a very long time. No holds barred and, also, without a whiff of transaction to it.
Hera kisses my belly, just above my panties. I push myself toward her—my way of giving permission, or, perhaps, of telling her to get those wretched panties off me already. I want to be naked for her, show myself unrestrained, meet her growing wildness, her desire to please me, with everything I have—as my truest self.
Hera’s losing it as much as I am. She tugs at my panties now, showing her unbridled self to me in the process. We’re matched, I think, in this moment of desire, of nothing else but our need for each other, perfectly cast in the roles we’re in.
Hera sits between my legs, looking down at me. I only see the crown of her head but her gaze on me there is enough to set my skin on fire. She bows down, her body folding in on itself, and then, at last, I feel her breath on my swollen lips.
She kisses my inner thigh again but without the barrier of my underwear between us, the sensation is much more urgent, much more paralyzing. Because now I am at her mercy. I want her to do this to me.
Her lips reach my clit. She kisses it tentatively, but only for a split second. Then her tongue comes out to play and I’m lost. I disappear in the joy her touch brings me and it’s no longer just her tongue on my clit that I feel, it’s all her intentions, and all my own desires bursting through my flesh, straining under the surface of my skin. I’m as alive as I’ve ever been as I allow this very sensation, this surrender to another person completely, back into my life.
And god, I want her to fuck me, but I’m so aroused, my desire is so acute, that I’m not sure my body has the patience to hold out. And why would it wait, when it has waited all this time? Surely, this is not a one-night thing between us. It can’t be. Most likely, it won’t even be a one-orgasm night. What with the way my flesh is coming alive, and desire is crystallizing into pleasure on my skin. Hera licks and sucks my clit into her mouth. I rock my pelvis up to her, to her eager, able mouth; I press my hands into her hair pushing her as close to me as I can bear. And then I come because there’s no sense in waiting, in denying myself this burst of pleasure, this wave of nothingness and everything that takes me, and tethers me to her in a way I someday hope to adequately convey to her. But for now, I collapse under her touch. I free myself from who I was and become someone else with her—as we are always a slightly different version of ourselves with different people.
I cave in under the pressure of her tongue, of how it feels to be naked in front of her, opened up, vulnerable but safe in the knowledge that she knows what to do with me.
“Oh Christ,” I groan, and pull Hera toward me hurriedly. I look into her eyes briefly and before I pull her in for a kiss, I wonder if that was the beginning of a tear in her eye.