Doctor Victoria King tilted her face to the sun and let the swift ocean current carry her to shore. She rested her paddle across the front of the seventeen-foot long, twenty-one inch wide red kayak and squinted in the early morning haze toward the beach at Herring Cove. Men and women perched on the undulating curve of sand marking the border between earth and water, casting baited lines to tempt the sea bass to their last meal. In the black ribbon of parking lot sandwiched between the dunes and the shore, vacationers were just beginning to stir, opening the windows and doors of their mechanical homes, airing out their sea dampened linens and clothes. Tory was so used to seeing the idyllic tableau, she barely took note as her craft glided the last few feet and touched bottom in the frothing water at the ocean’s edge.

As she unzipped her life vest and tossed the PFD into her boat, the sound of a car door thudding closed penetrated the roar of the waves, and she stopped what she was doing to watch Reese Conlon walk down across the shell-littered sand, a blazing grin on her handsome face.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Tory said softly, her eyes roaming the trim body in the immaculately pressed and polished uniform, moving slowly from the broad shoulders over the faint swell of breasts to the narrow hips and long, muscular thighs. God, you’re gorgeous.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Reese replied easily, stopping a few feet away, shoulders squared in that unconscious military posture that was second nature to her. She knew Tory was watching her, looking at her, and she liked it. Her skin tingled under the stiff cotton of her khakis everywhere Tory’s glance fell, the visual caress as tangible as a touch. The two feet of air between them shimmered like the currents above blacktop on a hot summer’s day. “Nice out there today?”

“Mmm. Yeah, it was.”

Reese smiled. Tory’s clear, lightly tanned skin was flushed from the wind off the water and the exertion of her recent paddle. The T-shirt she had worn under her PFD was damp with sweat and spray, the thin material subtly outlining her firm, high breasts. Her mid-thigh length shorts hugged slender, toned thighs. Even the scarred and damaged calf held a trace of valiant beauty.

“Give you a hand?” Reese finally said, her voice husky. You are so very lovely.

“Anytime,” the doctor replied, her own throat suddenly dry.

Tory caught up to Reese by the side of her Jeep and opened the back. Tossing the items she carried inside, she turned and reached for the rear of the kayak. “Ready?”

“Any time you say, love.”

Together they lifted it to the roof rack and secured it. As they stood facing one another by the side of the vehicle, their eyes met and they moved close enough so that their hands touched.

“Busy day today?” Reese asked, brushing the auburn collar-length hair back from Tory’s face with her fingertips, letting her hand linger against her lover’s cheek.

“Uh huh,” Tory murmured, resting one palm on the taller woman’s chest. “You?”

“Routine,” the sheriff replied, watching the green eyes deepen to the color of the ocean in August. “I won’t be late. Can we have dinner?”

“Mmm, okay.” Tory ran a finger down the buttons on Reese’s shirt, thinking about the hard muscles and soft smooth skin underneath. Thinking about waking with her that morning and how much she had wanted her right then and knowing that there wasn’t time. Knowing that she would want her all day. Knowing that that evening there would be time. “I love you.”

Reese lowered her head and brushed her lips over Tory’s, her hand beneath Tory’s hair caressing the back of her neck. “Me, too,” she whispered against her lover’s ear.

“Go to work,” Tory ordered as she stepped away. Reese had a dangerous glint in her deep blue eyes, the kind of spark that promised flames. She was afraid if they touched again they’d kiss for real, and then she wouldn’t be able to concentrate all day.

“When?” Reese persisted, but she didn’t move. She didn’t dare. You always do this to me, make me so hot I can’t think.

“Later. Now go.”  Tory slid into the Jeep, pulled the door closed, and started the ignition with shaking hands. She had expected the passion to lessen, the fires to cool, but they hadn’t. She glanced into the rearview mirror as she drove away. Watching Reese stride to her patrol car, she knew that they never would.

*****

Later turned out to be eleven o'clock that night. Tory’s patient schedule had been disrupted while she sutured a series of nasty lacerations on the forehead of a cyclist who had blown a tire coming down Route six from Truro and had catapulted into the guard rail. By the time she got home her leg ached, and she was exhausted.

“Did you ever get dinner?” Reese asked as she met her lover on the rear deck of the house they shared overlooking Provincetown Harbor.

“No,” Tory sighed as she flopped into a deck chair, absently petting the huge brindle mastiff who lumbered to her side. “Hey, Jed,” she whispered faintly.

Reese leaned to kiss her, then said, “I’ll be right back.”

Tory closed her eyes and when she jerked awake a few moments later, there was a tray table beside her with a glass of wine and a sandwich. Suddenly she was ravenous. “Thanks.”

“Better?” Reese asked when Tory set her glass down with a satisfied groan.

“Almost.”

Reese raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

“Uh huh.” Tory held out a hand, and Reese moved to take it. Tory tugged her down onto the lounge chair beside her, turning so that they rested face to face. Threading her arms around Reese’s waist, she pressed close, pushing one thigh between Reese’s. “This.”

It began with a kiss--a kiss to say welcome home, a kiss to say I missed you, a kiss to say I love you. It became something more urgent as flesh met flesh and passion stirred. Tory worked her hand between them and pulled the T-shirt from Reese’s jeans, resting her palm on the curve of rib as it arched above Reese’s taut stomach. Reese kissed her way from Tory’s mouth along the line of her jaw to the smooth skin of her neck, biting lightly until she drew soft cries from her lover’s throat. Their hearts pounded, beating a rhythm that echoed in each other’s blood as they explored one another with mouths and lips and demanding hands.

“Tory,” Reese gasped as she felt her lover’s finger slip down the front of her jeans. She didn’t remember opening her fly, but one of them must have. “Careful.”

“Why?” Tory murmured thickly, pushing lower as she leaned up on the other arm so she could see Reese’s face. Her fingers found the hardness she was seeking, and as she pressed the length of her, Reese moaned. “You’re always good for more than one.”

Reese grew still under her hands--body arched slightly, head tilted back, pupils wide and dark. Tory knew how to touch her to keep her on the edge--knew the telltale flutter of her lids, the stutter of breath in her chest, the faint cry barely uttered--she knew and she held her there, moving her fingers slowly, carefully, one gentle stroke after another.

“Tory…love,” Reese whispered as the pleasure escaped the confines of the places Tory touched and cascaded outward to burn through her blood and roll down her legs, muscles clenching with the force of nerves and vessels turning to fire. She pressed her forehead to Tory’s shoulder and shuddered, lost and forever found.

As many times as she had watched Reese come, Tory was never prepared for the beauty of it. Awestruck, humbled beyond words, she bit her lip to keep from falling with her, wanting to remember each precious second of the moment. But she couldn’t keep from thrusting against Reese’s thigh, her body having long since moved beyond her control. Trying desperately to ignore the pressure building between her legs, she clung to her lover, gasping.

Dimly Reese heard Tory’s ragged breathing against her ear, and even as she continued to shiver with the last ripples of release, she reached for her. “I want to be inside you.”

Tory lifted her hips, helping Reese push her slacks down. “Yes. Yes.”

It was quick, because she was so close. One second, Reese was there--gliding over her, opening her--and then she was inside her, owning her. Tory cried out once, sharply, and then she was coming. Over and over and over she closed around Reese’s fingers, each spasm knifing through her with a terrible wonder. When she could make sound, she could find no words. She simply turned her sweat-damp face to Reese’s chest and hung on.

*****

They must have slept because it was the chill that woke her. The sky was very dark above them, and the wind from the water was sharp and crisp. In the distance, the foghorn echoed plaintively. Tory stirred, running her fingers over Reese’s chest. “Hey, Sheriff.”

“Mmm?”

“Bedtime.”

“Okay,” Reese said, but when she moved to get up, Tory suddenly held her tighter. She stilled, surprised by the force of her lover’s grip. “What’s wrong, Tor?”

Tory shook her head. “Nothing.” She fiddled with the button on Reese’s jeans, uncharacteristically uncertain. “I’ll be thirty-nine in September.”

Reese waited.

Tory took a deep breath. “I was thinking it’s time for us to have a baby.”

*****

March, East Village, Manhattan, NYC

The rail-thin, young man with short, spiked hair wore a shapeless black T-shirt and equally formless black denim pants that hung precariously from his nonexistent rear end. In the tiny kitchen of a fourth floor walk up, he approached a petite blond, also in black jeans that actually fit her trim form and a midriff-baring, white crop-top that exposed a softly curved belly adorned with a silver navel ring. "Great party, Carre. Any more beer?"

"In the fridge.” The three studs in the rim of Caroline Clark’s left ear glinted as she turned to refill a bowl of pretzels from a bag on the counter. “It's nice to get the midterm projects over, huh?"

"For sure. Did you hear about Paris yet?"

"Just that they got all my application materials," she replied, her smile fading slightly as she thought of spending her junior year abroad. She wanted to go, because the chance to study and paint in France was like a dream come true. But when she actually pictured herself there, so far away from everything she knew, everyone she loved…

"What about Bri? She going, too?"

Caroline hesitated. "I...we haven't really talked about it."

"Where is she tonight, anyhow? She’s missing all the fun."

"At the dojo." Caroline glanced at the clock uneasily. It was after 11:00 p.m., and Bri’s class ended at 9:30. Bri knew that Caroline was having friends over from school, and Caroline tried to ignore the stab of hurt at her lover's absence. Now that she thought about it, Bri had been even quieter than usual the last few weeks. She seemed to be training even more, if that were humanly possible, and coming home later and later. For the first time in the four years they'd been together, Caroline felt uncertain of what was happening between them.

"What?" Caroline asked when she realized that her friend James was still speaking.

"The black belt thing...that's happening soon for her, right?"

"Oh. Yes. Sometime this year."

"Man, that's amazing." James leaned against the counter and fished a handful of potato chips from an open bag beside him. The two of them moved closer together as another woman squeezed in beside them, muttering that she was looking for ice. "She, like, practices every day, doesn’t she?"

"Almost." Sometimes Caroline thought that Bri’s training was the most important thing in her life. She knew for a fact that the martial arts were much more important to her lover than college. Not for the first time, she thought that Bri had only come to Manhattan to be with her. That if they had stayed in Provincetown, Bri would have been just as happy. Maybe more. It wasn't that Brianna wasn't intelligent, because she was. She just chafed at schedules and deadlines and inactivity.

When they’d talked about going away to college, Bri had simply said that she would go anywhere that Caroline wanted to go. When Caroline received the scholarship to the Parsons School of Design in Manhattan, it had seemed like an ideal solution. It wasn't that far from Cape Cod, so they could still get home easily. There were plenty of schools where Bri could enroll, and Reese Conlon knew of a dojo where Bri could train. Bri had settled on the city university, because it was affordable and offered a solid curriculum in criminology. She wanted to go into law enforcement, like her father and Reese.

When they found the tiny apartment in alphabet city, the student/artist enclave in Greenwich Village, life had seemed perfect. For Caroline, it still was.

"I'd better get back out there," Caroline said, grabbing a bottle of beer for herself.

"Later," he called as he reached for more chips.

The front door was just closing behind Bri as Caroline walked into the crowded living room, which also happened to be their bedroom when the sofa bed was pulled out. Caroline stepped over extended legs and threaded her way around the bowls and bottles on the floor until she reached her lover. Standing on tiptoe, she slipped one arm around Bri's shoulder and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. "Hi.

Bri, taller than Caroline by a head, was in her usual outfit—tight, threadbare blue jeans, multi-zippered leather jacket, and heavy black motorcycle boots. She put both arms around her girlfriend and pulled her close, squeezing gently. Caroline always smelled like the shampoo she used, some combination of fruit and spices. Just the scent of her could make Bri wet. "Hey, babe. How's it going?"

"Okay. Missed you."

"Sorry." Bri let her go and shrugged out of her jacket. The black T-shirt was stretched tight across her muscled chest and shoulders, her breasts smooth shadows beneath the thin cotton. Narrow-hipped and broad-shouldered, hard-bodied from years of jujitsu, she exuded danger and a seething sexuality.

“Come on,” Caroline said, taking her hand. “You want something? A beer?”

“Sure,” Bri replied, allowing her girlfriend to pull her though the crowd. She was happy that Carre hadn’t asked her why she was late, but she’d seen the hurt in her lover’s deep green eyes just the same. Fuck. I have to tell her soon.

Chapter Two

By 2:00 a.m., everyone had gone. Discarded bottles and half-empty bowls of snacks lay scattered around the room, but the apartment had survived the crush of partiers in fairly good shape. Caroline and Bri were nestled on the couch where they had collapsed after bidding goodnight to the last of their friends. The room lights were off, and a few candles provided the only illumination. Bri, cradling Caroline in her arms, leaned against the corner of the sofa with the smaller woman lying between her out-stretched legs.

"I guess we should open the bed," Bri murmured, nuzzling her lips in Caroline’s fragrant hair. She rubbed her palm slowly up and down Caroline’s stomach, brushing the navel ring back and forth. Every now and then, she tugged it between her fingers. “Carre? Babe? You awake?”

“Mmm hmm.” Caroline turned on her side and pressed her hips between Bri’s thighs. "It's awfully nice right here."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Bri tilted Caroline's chin up and found her lips, exploring with the tip of her tongue along the sensitive inner surfaces. They’d kissed thousands of times, but every time she was struck anew by how incredibly soft those lips were. Within seconds, Bri felt herself swell and grow hard.

"I love to kiss you," Bri murmured.

"Mmm. Me, too." Caroline rested her hand on Bri's chest, rhythmically brushing her thumb across the peak of her lover's tight nipple. She knew that would make Bri crazy.

After a minute, Bri said urgently, "Come on. Let's open the bed and get our clothes off."

"Not yet," Caroline said with gentle firmness. "I’m too comfortable. Just kiss me again."

Beyond the Breakwater October 2003 from StarCrossed Productions