Jules stayed at Vivian’s house all day Saturday and had more fun than she could ever remember having. It was a specific kind of fun. While Vivian made a game attempt at getting dressed every now and then, it didn’t last long.
Vivian also had a vague idea about preparing food of some kind, but Jules wasn’t particularly interested in that either.
“You had me for breakfast, I’m having you for lunch,” she said and slid her hand up under Vivian’s skirt. “Fair’s fair.”
Vivian leaned her head back against the kitchen wall. “It’s not fair… You’re the one who’s always after me to eat—ah.”
Jules was already addicted to watching her lose her cool, forget how to talk. “You’re the one who said ‘deal with it.’” Then she leaned in and smiled against Vivian’s mouth so she could feel it—Vivian trembled—and whispered, “So deal.”
She slid both hands beneath Vivian’s skirt, hiking it up around her thighs and then plucking at the waistband of her panties.
Vivian’s breath caught, and she looked into Jules’s eyes, her own eyes wide and shocked. “You’re going to try this for the first time up against the kitchen wall?”
Jules, who remembered Vivian coming just from being rubbed through her underwear, said, “Try what?”
Vivian narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to touch—touch me. Directly. Up against the wall?”
“Oh. Gosh. Did you want me to peel you some grapes first?”
Vivian glared.
Jules slid the fingers of her right hand gently up the inside of Vivian’s thigh, and the glare wobbled.
“Rub your feet?” Jules whispered. “Fan you?” She tickled a little.
Vivian twitched and gasped.
“Or I could kneel,” Jules said hoarsely, her temples starting to pound with her heartbeat, her blood rushing in her ears. She slid her fingertips farther up until she was cupping Vivian through her underwear. “I could kneel right here and…”
Vivian’s head fell back and thudded gently against the wall as her eyes closed.
Jules realized she was thinking about it—they both were—about Jules sliding her tongue against those little folds and tucks and creases until all of Vivian’s bones turned to water and her voice was rough with her cries.
“Maybe…” Jules swallowed hard. “Maybe later.” She bent and began to nuzzle at the sensitive spot beneath Vivian’s ear and tugged at her panties again. “Let’s get these off.”
Seconds later, the underwear was tossed onto the kitchen counter while Jules kissed Vivian to distraction. Then she reached for her courage once more and carefully—very carefully—slid her hand under and up until her fingertips brushed against soft, fine hair and heat and slickness.
She moved her hand carefully so that her fingertips were rubbing against the soaking lips.
Vivian practically climbed her wrist, and Jules’s fingers slid farther back until they were…
“Please,” Vivian moaned. “Oh, please.”
Jules wished she could see what she was doing. Vivian had a point about doing it up against a wall. But heck if Jules was going to admit it, so she just kissed her neck again and whispered in her ear, “Show me.”
With a hiss, Vivian gave in, reaching down between her legs, taking hold of Jules’s hand. She groaned, “There, right there.” She shuddered and patted Jules’s knuckles. “Use your whole h-hand against me.”
Jules cupped her again, and her palm got slippery. She squeezed gently, then rubbed, and Vivian rocked her hips. Jules angled her hand so that the heel of her palm could grind against the clit.
Vivian’s head tossed back against the wall again. She cried out softly.
Jules took a deep breath, trying not to faint, and began flexing her hand back and forth. On the rise, she rubbed Vivian’s clit with her palm, and on the fall, she pressed Vivian’s perineum with her fingertips.
“God!” Vivian’s eyes squeezed shut, her face going red as she lifted up on her toes, writhing against Jules’s hand.
“Beautiful,” Jules choked. She rubbed her face against the curve of that throat, nuzzling her again while Vivian grabbed at her back. “Beautiful. You’re so—”
“Inside,” Vivian gasped, rubbing her own nose in Jules’s hair. “Please…inside me—”
Jules moaned. Before she made another move, she kissed Vivian, slow and deep. And then she hunted ungracefully with her fingertips for a couple of crucial seconds until she found her target, soft and slick and giving beneath the pressure of her hand. She slid one finger in, shocked by how hot Vivian was down here. “Is that…”
“Be gentle,” Vivian pleaded, cupping Jules’s face in her hands and kissing her, not gently at all.
Jules pulled back a little, being so gentle with her mouth and her hand that Vivian nearly hyperventilated. “Nice and slow,” she breathed, and sucked on Vivian’s bottom lip. “Is this how you like it?”
Vivian made an incoherent noise.
Jules didn’t wait for a better answer but instead pressed a second finger inquisitively at the entrance.
Vivian sobbed and bucked her hips, which Jules took for permission as she slid the second finger in. Very gently.
“Amazing,” she whispered.
“Gentle,” Vivian said again, but the word was without meaning—she was chanting more than talking now. “Gentle.”
“Yes.” Jules kissed the side of her neck. “Is it good? Can you show me how to make it good?”
“Ah.” Vivian reached between their bodies again, between her legs. But she didn’t guide Jules’s hand this time. She just hiked her skirt up higher and rubbed frantically at her clit, then was clenching all around Jules’s fingers, fast and rhythmic.
Jules lost her breath as she tried to watch it all at once: Vivian’s hand, Vivian’s face, and everything in between as Vivian stroked herself to climax, biting her lip and whimpering through her nose.
When Vivian was done, when her convulsions had slowed, Jules leaned in to kiss her. They were both gasping.
After they parted, Vivian managed to say, disbelievingly, “I couldn’t wait. I had to…”
“God, Vivian.” Jules pressed her nose into Vivian’s throat. She slid her fingers out carefully and patted the inside of Vivian’s sticky thigh. “You’re incredible.”
Vivian was panting too hard to reply. But she kissed Jules’s temple, then her cheek, and slid her arms around her waist.
Jules was trembling and wondering if this was the pattern they were going to follow from now on: making Vivian come hard and fast and getting so turned on by it that she went off like a firecracker at the slightest provocation.
Nothing wrong with that, she thought dizzily as Vivian slid one hand up and down her back. And down to her hip. And then between—
Jules gasped, “Oh Jesus!” as Vivian cupped her through the silk of her pajama bottoms and the underwear beneath.
Vivian’s raspy breathing had slowed, regulated itself, dropped down into something like a purr. “Is this nice?” she murmured into Jules’s ear. “Do you want my hand now?” She squeezed. “Do you like my touch, Julia?”
Jules shut her eyes and tried to think of sad stuff or gross stuff, anything but Vivian’s hand between her legs. It didn’t work, so she tore at the buttons of Vivian’s blouse until it fell open, shoved up her bra, and hungrily bent back down to her breasts.
Vivian groaned. Her hand began to follow the rhythm of Jules’s mouth until they were rocking together, and Jules wasn’t able to take more than a few seconds of that before she came.
As she rested her head against Vivian’s shoulder, Vivian rested hers against the wall. They both struggled for air. Then Jules lifted her sticky fingers, sniffed them, and licked them. Delicious. She’d forgotten. She couldn’t wait to drink it right from the source, so to speak.
She wondered if Vivian would be able to return the favor. Mm. That would be—
“Lunch now,” Vivian said breathlessly against her forehead. “We could order something.”
She sure recovered fast.
Jules still felt dizzy. That might not have been the sex, though. That might just be Vivian, Jules’s own personal hurricane, who picked her up, whirled her around, then dropped her casually on her ass.
What else was new? Jules laughed a little. “Anything. You name it. Anything at all.”
* * *
“Why don’t you ever wear that brooch?”
“Huh?” Jules asked around a mouthful of broccoli melt from Daily Provisions. “Uh, what brooch?”
Vivian stuck her fork into her chicken Caesar salad. “The snake brooch I gave you in London. I haven’t seen you wear it since then, and I know you liked it.”
Her face turned hot. “I do,” she said. “It’s nice. Really nice.”
Vivian tilted her head to the side.
“Too nice,” Jules admitted. “I have it in a safe deposit box.”
A look of displeasure crossed Vivian’s face.
“I just don’t want anything to happen to it!” Jules added quickly. “I keep it in a safe place because it’s special.”
Very special. It was the first thing Vivian had given her after they’d begun their…courtship or whatever it was. It was irreplaceable. Jules wasn’t about to risk that brooch being lost or stolen.
“Jewelry is meant to be worn,” Vivian pointed out.
“I will. It’s just too nice for every day.”
“Hmm,” Vivian said. “Wear it to the party next month.” Her eyes gleamed with secret pleasure.
“Okay,” Jules said slowly. “What are you up to with that, anyway?”
She shrugged. “Just a little soirée. Why do I have to be up to something?” Before Jules could reply, she added, “I haven’t seen you check your email yet today.”
“Of course not!” Jules spluttered. “When was I supposed to do that, with my fingers in your—”
Vivian pinked. “Don’t be crude. Anyway, why don’t you look?”
Talk about being up to something. Jules grabbed her phone and opened her email.
Her eyes widened. At the top of her inbox was an email from someone named Carter Mathson.
The email read:
Dear Ms. Moretti,
I hope this email finds you well. I’m reaching out to you in the hopes that you’d be willing to write a short feature for Modernity’s June issue. We would be looking for a piece of about 1,000 words on the topic of your choice. We are particularly interested in pieces on fashion for this issue, which in your current position I believe you can readily supply. If you would like to submit a feature to Modernity, please reply ASAP with a brief proposal for the piece.
I look forward to hearing from you within the next two days.
Sincerely,
Carter Mathson
Features Editor
Modernity Magazine
Jules read the email three times in dumb astonishment. Modernity was about popular culture, style, and politics that published celebrity interviews right alongside articles about world affairs. Her parents had had a subscription when she was growing up. It was, as her dad would say, the real deal. And they were reaching out to her…her…to write something?
It seemed unlikely that Carter Mathson had read her article in Salon and been swept away. Or in The Cut, unless he was really into Working Girl. Very unlikely indeed.
She looked up at Vivian, who regarded her with a smug smile.
“I overheard Allie mentioning your upcoming birthday to Simon,” she said. “I have no idea why you didn’t mention it to me. I know it’s early, but I assumed you wouldn’t object.”
Jules looked back down at her phone. “You set this up? An article in Modernity for my birthday?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly send my assistant out to buy something for you. Besides, what do you get for the woman who already owns every boho necklace in New York?”
“This, I guess,” Jules said slowly. Time to puzzle through her own reaction, which wasn’t as thrilled as Vivian was no doubt expecting.
To say this was an incredible opportunity was an understatement. Magazines like Modernity solicited articles from well-known writers, people who won awards and gave guest lectures. People like Jules submitted to the slush pile and never heard back again.
Instead of that, Vivian had all but guaranteed her a spot. Jules hadn’t gotten there on her own merits.
That wasn’t the worst thing in the world; Jules wasn’t naïve. Most writers would never make it big, no matter how hard they worked or how good they were. It was all about who you knew. That was and always had been the deal. And hadn’t Jules wanted to work at Du Jour so she could make those valuable connections? What connection was more valuable than the editor in chief? Jules should be thrilled about this.
She was quiet for a few seconds too long. “Wow, Vivian! Thank you. This was so sweet.”
Vivian was frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Now Jules’s reaction was too fast. “I appreciate that you did this.”
“It didn’t take much,” Vivian said dryly. “Out with it. What’s the matter?”
Nothing should be the matter. It didn’t make sense that Jules felt weird about this, especially since she couldn’t pin down why it was weird. No matter what she said, Vivian had gone to some effort for this. She was a busy woman and didn’t have a lot of spare time to contact magazine features editors.
Plus it showed that Vivian had been paying attention to what Jules cared about—given a lot of thought to what would please her. It was just like watching a fashion show and thinking about Jules in the clothes. Wasn’t it?
Of course it was. She was being ridiculous. Besides, it called back to how offended Vivian had been when Jules had asked Simon for assistance with Salon and not her. Vivian only wanted to help.
“No, this is great,” Jules said with more conviction. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s awesome, I swear.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Remember what I said at Christmas,” Vivian told her sharply. “If something’s wrong, tell me instead of stewing.”
Jules’s stomach tightened, but that was weird too. Also Vivian was strangely insistent about this. “I will. Don’t I always? At least since we started this?” Then the penny dropped. “Oh-h-h.”
“What’s oh-h-h’?” Vivian demanded.
“They stewed, didn’t they?” Jules closed her email app and looked her dead in the eye. “The husbands.”
Vivian scowled. “‘The husbands?’ You make them sound like a fifties rock band.”
“But am I right?” Jules folded her elbows and leaned in on them.
“Couples shouldn’t expect each other to be mind readers. I can’t stand it when people bottle problems up instead of dealing with them.”
Jules felt a pang of unease. Vivian wasn’t wrong; Jules had been trying to hide her reaction. “I know. I’ll speak my mind. As long as you do too.”
Vivian gave her a disbelieving look.
“Which you do,” Jules sighed.
“Frequently,” Vivian agreed.
It was time to change the subject. Vivian was starting to look annoyed, which was not how Jules wanted to spend the afternoon.
“This is the best birthday ever,” Jules said as she gave Vivian a winning smile.
“Humph.” But Vivian’s glare wobbled.
It made Jules’s stomach flip pleasantly.
“Trying to charm me?”
A low, steady throb began down below as Jules thought of what was about to happen. Yeah, this was much better. “No, I’m just being greedy.”
Vivian leaned forward on her elbows. “Oh?”
“I want another present.”
“Explain.”
About ten minutes later, back on the bed, Jules proved to a gasping Vivian that actions were better than explanations and definitely spoke louder than words.
Especially since Jules still wasn’t quite sure which words she wanted to say.