The setting sun pulsed red where ocean and sky bled into one as the rider slowed the big bike and turned off the narrow, winding highway onto the overlook. She brought the motorcycle to a halt along the shoulder, well away from the few cars whose occupants had stopped to watch night eclipse day. With a long leg planted on either side of the heavy machine for support, she cut the engine, pulled off her helmet, and absently ran a hand through her dark, wavy hair as she stared out over the water. The rocky coastline far below, battered by plumes of angry surf, lay cast in half-shadows as the dying sun slipped away, leaving darkness in its wake. The steady rhythm of the waves breaking against the base of the cliff was unexpectedly soothing in a wild, untamed way. Odd, how something so violent can be so calming.

Tonight had been different. She hadn’t lost herself in the challenge of maneuvering the twenty-mile ride filled with tight, tortuous turns, nor had she discovered the source of the simmering unrest that had plagued her for weeks. Always most comfortable with action, she found her present introspection unsatisfying and frustrating. Sighing softly, she reached into the left inside pocket of her leather jacket for her cigarettes. She fingered one out of the pack and held it lightly between her lips while she fished the black and gold lighter from the right front pocket of her tight black leather pants. The tiny flare of flame lit her features for an instant as she touched it to the tip of the cigarette. A chiseled profile, square chin, and straight, slightly high nose were highlighted briefly by the flickering orange glow. As the lighter snapped shut, the image disappeared, and her figure became a long, lean silhouette against the deepening sky.

Kyle Kirk hunched her shoulders slightly against the cold wind blowing in from the sea and focused her gaze on the shifting shoreline where land and sea struggled endlessly for dominance in a war never won. With the roar of the surf so constant it verged on silence, all she could hear were her own questioning thoughts.

What the hell am I doing out here tonight? And where am I going?

It had been many weeks since she’d last made a Friday night journey into the city, seeking company in one club or another. She went for the comfort of women, for the irresistible sight and sound of them. For the mystery and wonder of them. More often than not, she returned home alone in the still, dark hours before dawn, her soul inexplicably soothed by the memories that clung to her during the long ride home. Sometimes, when she needed more than memories, she unlocked the second helmet she always carried on the side of her Harley and brought a woman home to fill the emptiness in both her body and her spirit for a few hours on either side of morning.

That night, she hadn’t intended to go out at all, but as soon as she came into the house from her workshop, she had set about getting ready to go out again. Without considering her destination, she’d showered and donned a crisply ironed white shirt and black leather pants that encased her muscled thighs like soft, warm flesh. She tucked a slim leather wallet, contoured to her form from years of use, into her right rear pocket with her license and enough cash to last the weekend. A fresh pack of cigarettes went into the left inside pocket of her favorite leather jacket and the lighter into her pants. She pulled on the jacket and zipped it partway up as she headed through the kitchen. It was as she switched on the floodlights subtly tucked under the eaves of the house and carport that she realized she was setting out for the city. Still, she had driven twenty miles before she had allowed herself to think about why.

For the last few days she’d been unsettled and short-tempered, and as she thought about it, she admitted that she hadn’t been herself for weeks. It wasn’t the solitude of her life that disturbed her—she’d grown used to that in the five years since her last serious relationship had ended. She had several good friends, which was more than most people could say, and work that she enjoyed. Her sex life was as fulfilling as she needed it to be. Not constant, perhaps, but she could have had more if she’d cared to. She didn’t. Recently, though, she’d become aware of a uneasy sense of dissatisfaction, as much emotional as physical, that threatened to disrupt the comfortable routine of her life. And what made it so frustrating was that she couldn’t define just what she wanted, or needed, or lacked.

Kyle took a last drag from her cigarette and dropped the butt near the toe of her boot. Carefully she dug a little hole in the gravel of the turnoff and pushed the bit of trash into it. With her heavy black boot, she meticulously covered it with a small mound of stones and tamped it down flat again. Satisfied that no trace remained, she pulled her left leg up onto the curved tank of her black bike and rested her chin on her knee.

As she sat, darkness slowly lowered a veil between her and the cars steadily streaming along behind on the highway. She slid her hand into her jacket pocket and removed a small folded square of paper. There wasn’t enough moonlight yet to read by, and she didn’t bother opening it. She already knew what it said.

Leathers – Where women hold the power

719 S. Van Nye

The chain of events, so un-noteworthy at the time, that brought her to this place on this night had begun with a magazine she’d picked up as an afterthought in a women’s bookstore where she’d gone in search of the newest novel from her favorite author. Disappointed to discover that the book was still on order, she’d grabbed a few magazines at random rather than return home empty-handed. Once at home, stretched out in front of the fireplace with a brandy, she’d looked through her purchases. The cover of the second magazine immediately caught her attention.

Stunned by the unexpected beat of desire between her thighs and the first sweet rush of lust, wet and hard, she’d opened the cover with shaking hands to the first article. Quickly she discovered that the short stories, essays, and poems contained some of the most graphic erotica she had ever read. All of it, in one way or another, explored issues involving sexual power, and she’d been instantly captivated. She was no stranger to the allure of love between women. But these glimpses of the dark edges of desire had left her aroused and almost insatiably curious, as if she’d caught a glint of long-lost treasure only to have it quickly disappear. She’d read the magazine cover to cover and a few days later had gone back to the bookstore to pick up the two previous issues.

And then she’d found the story that wouldn’t let her go.

The Edge of Trust. She’d read it enough times that she knew every word.

Kyle drew a long, shaky breath and contemplated another cigarette. She laughed softly and jammed her hands into the pockets of her motorcycle jacket. Not even my orgasm and I want a cigarette. Lousy time to be trying to quit.

The story had gotten to her. Still got to her. It wasn’t just the sex, which had blistered her mind and still made her want to come just remembering. It was the unexpected fusion of love and dominance, trust and submission that had twisted and tantalized her previously unquestioned vision of emotional connection. It confused and excited her. She wasn’t even sure which called to her more, the control or the relinquishing of it. Sometimes when she came, she imagined herself the bound woman. Other times, she climaxed as she saw herself in that leather chair, ordering a stranger to pleasure her lover while she masturbated.

Christ, if I keep this up, I’ll never be able to ride this bike. I’m out here so I won’t have to keep thinking about it.

Carefully, with hands that shook as much as when she’d turned the first page of that first magazine, Kyle unfolded the small rectangle of paper and peered at it. The sky above was obsidian, punctured by stars and streaked with moonlight. She held up the paper and turned it in the silvery light, but she couldn’t see the words. Just as carefully, she refolded it and stowed it in her jacket again. As she kick started the powerful engine and muscled the bike around to face the highway, she repeated the address from memory once more time.

Kyle rode through a light rain, noting that the city seemed eerily deserted—unusual for a Friday night. Even now, years after she had moved north to where the air was cleaner and the stars could still be seen at night, she was at ease negotiating the steep avenues and narrow alleys. Although she was sure that the advertisement had specified women, she found the street she was looking for in the Tenderloin, an area frequented mostly by gay men. Whatever the case, it was too late now to turn back. She was more than ready.

Coasting in the mist, she surveyed the unadorned buildings, many of which appeared empty or abandoned, until finally she saw the sign she had been seeking. The name flickered in the uneven glow of a pale blue neon sign: “Leathers.” Kyle pulled her bike into line with a half-dozen others already angled along the curb and switched off the ignition. She sat for a second watching the fitful light cast shadows on the trash-strewn sidewalk, then took a deep breath and swung her leg over the tank to the ground and stood. She could ride away, but if she did, she knew she’d be back. Perhaps there were answers on the other side of that windowless black door. Maybe there weren’t. She had to know.

Her boot heels echoed hollowly on the empty pavement as she approached the door. She glanced up and down the street, looking in vain for the sight of a familiar face, but she was alone. The door to the club stood slightly ajar, and the music that wafted out on a breeze of booze and smoke was a song she recognized. That small bit of familiarity settled her and served as a reminder that this was no different than any other strange club she’d chanced to enter, and there’d been quite a few of those over the years.

Well, not that much different, at any rate.

She took a quick breath and shouldered through the door into the darkness beyond. A bouncer in black T-shirt and black leather chaps stretched tightly over denim jeans sat just inside the entrance behind a waist-high divider that blocked access to the room beyond. The bouncer pretended to check Kyle’s ID as she collected the ten dollar cover charge. Heavy-set, dark eyes opaque, she looked Kyle over wordlessly, took the offered bill, and jutted her chin toward the bar.

“Have fun.”

“Thanks.”

The room was long and narrow, with a bar down the right side. To the left, round pedestal tables were scattered along the edge of a small dance floor made smaller by people standing about and chairs pushed askew. The ceiling was open-beamed with exposed heating conduits and unevenly spaced spots casting irregular circles of light over the room and its occupants. Somewhere a DJ played music with a heavy bass beat that reverberated through the rough wood floor. Kyle was not a stranger to new surroundings, and she moved through the small crowd near the door with practiced ease. She walked directly but unhurriedly toward the bar and found a free space between two lone drinkers who eyed her for a moment before looking away. Women two-deep leaned or sat along the scarred but clean surface of the bar and moved about in the shadows opposite her. At first glance, it looked much like any other lesbian club on a Friday night.

It wasn’t until she caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a beer that she looked around more carefully. Casually leaning with an elbow against the bar and her legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes traveled as she lifted the bottle to her mouth. Her vision had adjusted to the darkness of the room, and as she looked out across the dance floor through the softly wafting curls of cigarette smoke, she focused on the figures before her. What she had first taken as a strange sameness about the women turned out to be the fact that they were all clothed in some form of leather or denim. Leather chaps and pants, leather vests, and tight denim jeans abounded. She smiled inwardly, aware that she had unconsciously chosen exactly the right thing to wear. Knowing that outwardly she appeared to be like everyone else made her more comfortable, although she felt anything but confident of her role in this new theater. Nevertheless, the sight of women standing about in groups, talking or simply watching each other as she was doing, elicited the anticipated surge of excitement she always associated with being in the company of others like herself. This was the stage upon which anything might happen and where anyone could become a player.

After finishing her first beer at a leisurely pace, she started on her second and began to relax. Out of habit, she picked out, in a detached, almost objective way, the women who were attractive to her. One in particular, leaning with a shoulder against a pole on the opposite side of the room, stood out from the rest. About Kyle’s age but slightly taller than Kyle’s five feet seven inches, she was slender, with an athletic body accentuated by tight blue jeans and a denim shirt open far enough to show the inner curve of her breasts. Thick blonde hair fell in casual layers to her collar in the back. Her sleeves were rolled halfway up, exposing a thin leather band encircling her left wrist. As she talked to several women nearby, she lifted a bottle to her lips, and Kyle caught a glimpse of the strength in her well-muscled forearms. The stranger’s gaze swept the room at intervals, but she seemed to take little note of those around her. Her eyes skimmed over Kyle’s face without stopping.

Under other circumstances, Kyle would not have hesitated to introduce herself to someone she found attractive, but tonight she was uneasy about making the first move. Ordinarily, her approach to a woman was dictated by the signals offered and returned—a smile that lingered, the slow perusal of her body by an appreciative glance, a touch that lasted too long to be merely friendly. Sometimes she offered a drink, other times she struck up a conversation or asked for a dance. On rare occasions, she simply suggested to a woman that they find a private place to consummate their obvious mutual attraction.

In this arena, however, she sensed there were rules she didn’t understand and that left her feeling unaccustomedly inhibited. When one woman approached another, a polarity was evident: it appeared initially as if one woman was the aggressor and the other passive. Yet Kyle soon appreciated that there was interplay, that the move was not completely one-sided; often the apparent aggressor would walk away, her overtures apparently rejected. Obviously, some dynamic—understood to both women—was at work, and after Kyle had been in the club for an hour, she had her first experience with the ritual.

 A woman materialized from the shadows and stepped close to Kyle’s side. There was an almost imperceptible pressure against her left thigh as the woman spoke softly, her lips close to Kyle’s ear.

“Are you just looking tonight, or are you playing?”

Although startled, Kyle kept her voice even and her gaze fixed straight ahead. She didn’t move away from the leg that pressed just a bit harder against hers now. Considering her reply, she decided she couldn’t play a game whose rules she didn’t know. “I’m not sure I know what the game is.”

The woman laughed in surprise. “You’d never guess from looking at you.”

“Actually, this is the first time I’ve been here,” Kyle said, turning slightly amidst the crowd of bodies to study her companion more carefully. She was an inch shorter than Kyle, with curly dark hair and warm, dark eyes. She wore a leather vest over a white T-shirt and jeans.

“I’m Chris.” She extended her right hand while casually giving Kyle an obvious once-over.

“Kyle.”

Chris shook Kyle’s hand, leaned her back to the bar, and faced the dance floor. The slight pressure against Kyle’s leg disappeared.

“You picked a good night to drop in. The crowd’s better than I would have expected this early.”

 “I’m not sure what I expected.”

“You here by yourself?” Chris gave Kyle a questioning look.

“Yep.”

“Well, probably not for long.”

Kyle laughed. “I think for tonight I’m just watching.”

Chris shrugged. “Will you have another beer?” When Kyle nodded her assent, Chris ordered two, waited silently for the bartender to pass them to her, and then took a long pull on hers before speaking again. “I’m not much on initiations, but I’ll tell you anything I can.”

“Well, I think I get the general idea,” Kyle said slowly as she sipped her beer. “But I’m not real sure what the ground rules are.”

“It’s not much different than any other club,” Chris replied. “It’s just that most of the women here share a certain kind of interest, if you know what I mean.”

“A certain sexual interest.” Kyle’s tone was matter-of-fact. “That I do understand.”

“Well, because of that, if someone is interested in you, they’re not likely to come up and ask you to dance. More likely than not, they’re going to ask you if you’re available to play—like I did. Or not say anything at all—waiting for you to ask.”

 “Why not just ask outright?”

“She might want to find out how much you know about what’s going on before she makes a move.” Chris tried again when Kyle frowned. “Some of the women here will feel most comfortable if they take the lead and you follow. Others prefer it if they are told exactly what to do—at least during the scene. Either way, you’ll need to negotiate those terms for the length of the scene.”

“How do you know who wants to do what, then?” Kyle asked, genuinely puzzled as to what Chris was trying to tell her.

“Good question. I’ve been fooled myself, and I’ve been in the community for a long time.” Chris chuckled. “Most of the time, it’s easy to tell what people are interested in just by looking.”

“You mean like the way it used to be when the butches always asked the femmes to dance, and even if the femmes did turn out to be the aggressive ones in bed, they never let on in public?” Kyle smiled, thinking that there was a certain security in knowing what was expected of you. “And of course, two butches never got it on together?”

“Uh-huh,” Chris said with a grin. “At least none admitted it. But yeah, like that.”

“But times have changed,” Kyle pointed out. “Those old roles aren’t so clear, or necessary, anymore.”

“Not socially, maybe, although things never change that much,” Chris replied. “Even though the dynamics in the leather scene don’t really have a lot to do with butch-femme roles, they do have a lot to do with what we want to express physically. And what we want sexually says a lot about who we are.”

“So how do you let someone else know exactly what you’re into?” And what do you do if you don’t know?

Chris surveyed the crowd. “Look at that woman next to the jukebox over there.”

Kyle followed Chris’s direction and saw a woman dressed pre­dominantly in leather—leather pants with a wide, studded belt, heavy black motorcycle boots, and a leather jacket covered with zippers. She appeared to be alone and yet she looked directly at no one. “Hot.”

Chris smiled. “Well, what do you think she’s looking for?”

“She looks like she’d be the one to call the shots.”

“Ah, but I know her, and she isn’t,” Chris said. “If you look more care­fully, there are a few signs that tell you just what she wants. For instance, she’s wearing a leather bracelet on her right wrist. She’s also not cruising—she’s waiting.”

When Kyle nodded in agreement, Chris explained, “She’s a bottom, not a top. She wants someone to approach her, set the scene, and take control. She wants someone else to take charge.”

“Does that mean she’s passive, then?” Kyle asked, surprised. “Just going along with what someone else wants?”

“Not necessarily. It just means that she’s willing to let someone else determine how things begin. You’d be surprised how often the bottom actually calls the entire scene.”

“What if someone approaches her that she’s not interested in?” Kyle asked. “What if she doesn’t want to play?”

“She doesn’t reply with the correct answers, or she just says no.”

“So she does have something to say about it then?”

Chris appeared startled for a second. “Of course—if she doesn’t agree, nothing can happen. Both partners must be willing.”

 “So what if I see someone I like, and I want to…get acquainted?”

“It depends on what you want.” Chris shrugged, then eyed Kyle speculatively. “What do you want?”

Kyle held her gaze. “I don’t know.”

Chris said nothing.

“But I’m here,” Kyle said softly.

 “It’s all in how you present yourself,” Chris said just as softly. Her eyes slid once more over the length of Kyle’s body. “And your presentation is just right. I don’t usually bring people out, but…”

Kyle shook her head. “Thanks, but…”

“Not tonight?” Chris finished for her.

“Right.”

Chris nodded, her eyes still warm. “It seems strange at first, but I think you’ll find out it’s just another way of communicating your desires.” She finished her beer and regarded Kyle seriously. “I can’t stay tonight, but I hope you do. Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Is that why I’m here? To find…something? Kyle returned her gaze intently. “I’ll be staying.”

*******

Kyle noted with regret that it was almost closing time. She’d quit drinking right after Chris left, because riding the bike high was suicide. Now she was sober and restless. The atmosphere was charged with sex and had become more so the longer the night wore on. At one point she’d walked into the labyrinthine hallway looking for the bathrooms and had practically stumbled on two women in the midst of a tryst in the shadows. One woman leaned against the wall, head back and eyes closed—clearly about to come—as another rhythmically pumped an arm between her legs. At first glance, they looked like any two women having sex until Kyle noticed that the hands of the woman against the wall were handcuffed behind her back. Kyle couldn’t look away, fascinated by the intermittent glint of dancing silver as the bound woman thrust her hips and jerked her restrained hands from side to side. Kyle couldn’t remember having made a sound, but maybe she had, because the woman opened her eyes and stared into Kyle’s as she started to come, crying out in a strangled voice. Kyle had held the woman’s gaze, watching the orgasm rage across her face, until the woman sagged against the wall, head lolling and moaning softly. The other woman reached around, released the cuffs, and pushed them into her back pocket. Then she turned and saw Kyle.

Kyle met her cool, appraising look unflinchingly.

  “She likes to come again right away,” the stranger advised in a nonchalant tone. “Don’t make any marks, and don’t forget…she leaves with me.”

And then the woman who had pocketed the cuffs walked away, leaving Kyle to stare into deep blue eyes, still glazed and unfocused.

“Please,” came a soft whisper.

Kyle’s belly had twisted with sudden lust, a fierce wanting that burned still. She lowered her eyes, saw the expanse of bare stomach tapering down to the vee of the open fly. She’d hungered to slide her fingers beneath the worn denim and slip through the slick heat that she knew awaited her. She longed to enter this stranger and feel the last tremors of the climax she had witnessed ripple around her fingers. She ached to hear that choked cry of pleasure again—for her.

She’d fisted her hands and swallowed her need and slowly shaken her head. “I’m sorry,” she’d murmured as she’d walked away.

But she’d wanted her. She didn’t even know her, but she’d felt some connection as basic and simple as a shared need to touch and be touched. She could have taken her, would have reveled in her, would in all likelihood have come just from being inside her, but she hadn’t. And she wasn’t entirely sure why. She still wanted her or someone—something—so much that the arousal had turned to pain.

Lost in the memory of the scene, Kyle failed to notice a woman approaching until her vision was suddenly blocked, and, at the same time, she became aware of a body so close she could feel the other’s heat. With a sharp intake of breath, she recognized the blond she had seen earlier leaning against the pole. So near to her now, Kyle observed that her hair was indeed a rich gold and her eyes so blue they verged on indigo.

Kyle found she had to look up at the woman, who regarded her with an air of easy confidence, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her jeans, her long legs straddling Kyle’s. Her amused smile was nearly insolent, softened by the merest hint of a dimple adjacent to one corner. Her eyes however, were not smiling. They were fiercely intense and searching.

Uncertain of what showed in her own eyes, Kyle was at once uneasy and intrigued. Unaccountably, she dropped her gaze. In that second, she fully realized that she did not know what to expect next.

“How’s the sightseeing going?” a cool voice questioned. “Got it all figured out yet?”

Kyle’s head snapped up, heat rising to her face. “I’m not a tourist!”

“Oh my…touch a sore spot, did I?”

Kyle was pissed. Who does she think she is, coming up uninvited and giving me a hard time? Jaws clenched, she started to turn her back. She would have told her to fuck off, but she’d learned a little patience over the years and knew it wasn’t worth a confrontation.

A hand closed firmly on her upper arm and held her in place.

“Wait a minute. We’re still talking.” There was just a hint of laughter in the voice, as if at a private joke that Kyle had missed.

“I don’t think we have anything to say.” Struggling to appear unaffected by the monumentally annoying stranger, Kyle reached for a cigarette. She felt a little cornered with her back to the bar, and she needed the familiar ritual to give herself time to think. As she pushed her hand into her pocket for her lighter, a match flared before her.

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” the woman asked softly, cupping the flame in her long tapering fingers.

“Is it?” Kyle frowned slightly as she drew on her cigarette, pulling the smoke deeply into her chest. She exhaled slowly, searching the perfectly sculpted, perfectly remote face. She didn’t know the right answer, if there was one, but she knew what she felt, and she went with it. “Somehow I thought you were the one calling the shots.”

The blond nodded, touching the match to her own cigarette. “Very good—but only if you want me to. Only if you let me—understand?”

Kyle sighed, looking directly into the blue eyes that still calmly searched her face. “I’m afraid that I’m going to disappoint you.”

Suddenly the woman smiled, a flickering luminescence that dispelled the aura of aloofness that had surrounded her until then. Just as quickly, it was gone. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Kyle felt foolish. This was a woman like her, a woman in a club filled with other women, all of them linked by a common bond. Why did I think that these women would be so different from all the other lesbians I’ve known?

She’d been so caught up in the mystique of the dress and the attitude of these leather-clad figures that she had failed to recognize the women beneath the costumes. Her body relaxed as her old confidence returned. She might not know all the signals, but she knew who she was.

“My name is Kyle.”

“I know.”

Kyle raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Chris informed me.”

“I’m slow tonight,” Kyle said, shaking her head.

The woman was only inches away from Kyle now, and her next words were spoken so softly that only Kyle could hear them. “I’m not rushing you.”

The blond had not changed her stance but still stood boldly in Kyle’s view, legs spread, her thighs just brushing the outside of Kyle’s. Kyle realized that this stranger was presenting herself, a gesture at once arrogant and vulnerable. She took advantage of the moment to study her, having only gotten a sense of her lean build and sharply sculpted features from her earlier appraisal. This time, Kyle slowly surveyed the slim torso beneath a faded denim shirt that molded to a solid waist and disappeared into well-worn denim jeans. A black leather belt rode low over her narrow hips, and a few keys hung from a leather strap on her left hip. Kyle took note of the thin leather band buckled around her tanned left wrist. Kyle’s study was interrupted by the woman’s voice.

“Like what you see?” Her voice was low, intense, intimate.

“Yes,” Kyle answered honestly. She raised her eyes, met the deep blue ones unflinchingly.

“Come dance with me then.” It was not a request.

The room came sharply into focus as Kyle became acutely aware of the heavy, pounding rhythm that reverberated through the air, through the floor, through the very walls. Insistent and unrelenting. It echoed the pulse that beat through her blood and her bones.  This is it. Do you really want to do this?

Without a word, she nodded and followed the woman onto the dance floor. There were other couples there, but they quickly faded from Kyle’s consciousness as the stranger turned and put both arms around Kyle’s waist, pulling her near. As they pressed close together in the crowded space, Kyle felt for the first time the strength contained in her com­panion’s deceptively lithe body. The arms that held her were sinewy and strong, the slender frame solidly muscled and hard. The soft swell of breasts was a startling counterpoint to that stark physicality, and the desire that had simmered for hours in Kyle’s depths flared to life.

It seemed entirely natural to rest her head against the blond’s shoulder where the sweet scent of soap and something more primal made Kyle’s belly flutter. The hand in the curve of her back held her confidently, and when the woman insinuated one tight thigh securely between Kyle’s own, Kyle’s hips lifted in silent welcome. As they danced with their breasts slowly melding, Kyle felt the blond’s nipples harden beneath the fabric of her shirt. Her own stiffened in response, painfully taut and aching. When the hand on her spine guided Kyle’s hips rhythmically against that slow-moving thigh, all the heat of their two bodies seemed to coalesce into one point between Kyle’s legs. She moaned without meaning to and could almost feel those long fingers on her skin.

Never had she re­sponded so quickly or so certainly to another’s touch. The people around her, the soft hum of conversation, even the steady beat of the music faded as she lost awareness of anything but the firm muscles, demanding hands, and hot breath skimming her neck. The promise of those hands, that insistent pressure calling blood to her loins and urgency to her flesh, were all she knew. When Kyle slid her hands down to the woman’s hips, striving to pull her closer, hoping to ease the aching pressure, the woman’s deep voice penetrated the blur of arousal.

“You don’t get it for free.”

The denim-clad stranger’s lips brushed Kyle’s neck and a single arrow of excitement pierced her to the core. She wanted only that the exquisite torment not end. “Tell me the price then.”

 “Later.” The woman reached one hand up into the soft waves at the back of Kyle’s neck and spread her fingers in her hair. Her mouth against Kyle’s ear, she murmured, “Come home with me. Now.”

For an instant, reason intruded, and Kyle hesitated. Who are you?

The blond slipped a hand between them and slowly, deliberately, squeezed Kyle’s nipple. Kyle’s knees buckled as her clitoris stiffened, and she leaned heavily against the unyielding stranger. Oh, Jesus, god!

“Say yes.”

There was just enough urgency in the whispered demand to let Kyle know that it was not her need alone that brought them together.

“I…”

“Say yes.”

Another brush of soft lips along the edge of her jaw, another roll of her nipple between thumb and fingers, and Kyle was forced to close her eyes against the sweet torture.

“Yes.”

*****

This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to represent any particular individual, alive or dead. This work may not be printed or distributed for profit without the express written permission of the author. This work is registered with the US Copyright Office.

Comments please to radclyffe@radfic.com