2. Meeting Caitlyn

Transcript

On the train to work, at my desk, in a restaurant, at home in my bed. No matter where I am, I think of her. It's beyond cliche and maybe even a little creepy, but that doesn't stop me from fixating on the golden-haired woman I met at the club, the woman I danced with, the woman I kissed.

For the woman whose number I somehow managed not to get. For the hundredth time since Saturday, I groan at my own stupidity. How could I have not asked her? It would have taken all of six seconds to pause making out, flush her a coy grin, and ask for her number.

Instead, like a horny prepubescent boy, I had been too distracted by her tongue in my mouth and her hands on my hips to do anything productive. So I've dragged myself here again to the scene of the crime. I decided to come alone this time, so as to not risk being pulled away by a too-drunk friend.

I tamed my masses of curly hair, spritzed on a sultry fig and tobacco perfume between my breasts, wore a skirt short enough to leave little to the imagination. It's unlikely that she's here, I know, but if I find her, I'm not going to miss my chance again. And yet, she's not here.

I've been in the club for all of five minutes, but somehow I already know. I take a lap around the perimeters of the cavernous room. The typical suspects are all present, straight guys standing awkwardly in the corner, gaggles of women with their hands in the air, queer couples making out on the dance floor.

My heart leaps into my throat when I see a golden-haired woman dancing with a curvy brunette, but when the blonde turns her head, I can tell it's not her. It may have been easier if it had been. Then I could abandon this stupid, reckless, baseless hope for, what, another kiss, a hot and heavy tryst, a relationship?

I take a frantic gulp of my drink, willing the gin and tonic to work its magic and bring me courage. No good can come from me standing around. If I'm here, I might as well dance.

So what if she's not here, I wonder? I can still have. ..

The air is sucked from my lungs as I glance towards the stage. There, seeing me, seeing her, is the vision I've waited a week to take in. Caitlyn, I breathe.

She's in high-waisted shorts, combat boots, and a crop top, all long legs and toned tummy. As I run a suddenly trembling hand through my hair, wondering how sweaty and gross I look, her cheshire grin cuts through the darkness like a ray of light. Miraculously, she crooks her finger at me in a clear command, Come here.

I stagger slowly forward on jelly legs, my gaze locked on those golden curls, that devious smile. I can barely comprehend what's happening. Out of all the people in here, she beckoned to me.

Has she been thinking about me too? All my thoughts dissipate as she pulls me on stage and immediately into a kiss. I'm once again lost in the softness of her lips, the gentle yet insistent pressure of her hands on the small of my back.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, breathing in her scent of sweat and coconut shampoo. When her tongue dances against mine, I can't help but moan. The telltale warmth of being utterly, painfully turned on spreads throughout my core and between my legs.

I suddenly wish that something else was between my legs. The thought is so brazen that I pull away, shocked at myself. Did I bite your tongue or something? Caitlyn shouts over the music and I laugh, embarrassed.

No, you're just. .. I scramble for words and find nothing impressive.

You're just so sexy. She smirks and takes my hand. I'm glad you're here.

I can't help but smile back. I am too. Caitlyn's thumb traces tiny circles in the back of my hand before she lightly touches my arm.

She leans in close, her mouth against my ear, and a delicious chill skitters up and down my spine. Come to the bathroom with me. She takes my hand firmly, as if to lead the way, but a quizzical brow means that the decision is all mine.

I swallow hard. Bathroom lights are not at all forgiving. What if she looks at me up close in the fluorescent lights and doesn't like what she sees? But the pressure between my thighs continues to build as Caitlyn bites her bottom lip, looking at me with those coal-rimmed blue eyes.

I don't want to say no, so I don't. She tugs on my hand and we're off the stage, clambering down the few treacherous steps and towards the back of the club. Two people are in line for the bathroom, but Caitlyn seems to have a plan.

She cheerfully announces that I'm going to be sick. Making faces, the people in line step backward just as one of the bathroom doors swing open and a woman comes out. Giggling at her ruse, Caitlyn pulls me into the bathroom, and I scramble to shut the door behind us.

Before I can take in the decor, Caitlyn pushes me up against the wall, her hands gentle yet firm on my shoulders. Can I take the lead? I nod, eyes wide, gone mute with desire.

She kisses me, first softly, although her hands don't move from my shoulders. Then the kiss begins to build, growing rougher, studded with little nips on my bottom lip. I gasp as she pulls away from me and plants kisses down my neck on my collarbone, her teeth whispering across my skin.

Fire seems to ignite wherever her lips touch, and my eyes flutter closed, my chest heaving, my legs very nearly quaking. Caitlyn's hands move from my shoulders to seize fistfuls of my shirt. I'm gonna take this off now.

I stiffen, but nod, and with tantalizing slowness, she pulls the garment up and over my head. Here it is, I think dully as she appraises me, her gaze traveling up and down my curvy frame. Here is when she sees me, in this unflattering bathroom light, and decides I'm too pale and lumpy and shy and… Oh god.

She hisses, her fingers ghosting across my abdomen so that I shiver. You're so fucking beautiful. A knot of tension I didn't realize was there unravels between my shoulders.

Think. I begin, but she silences me with another kiss. Her hands roam my skin, now tracing patterns on my back and stomach as her mouth claims my own.

I allow myself to be explored, relaxing as much as I can, focusing only on her touch, her breath. Her little murmurs of encouragement when I moan. I can't remember a lover ever taking this much time with me, running their hands along the curve of my waist, kissing the sensitive spot behind my ear, nibbling my bottom lip again because they can tell how much I like it.

Caitlyn luxuriates in my body, in my reactions to her every touch, and I can't help but melt under the softness of her hands and lips. It seems like forever before her hands move to my breasts, as if she didn't want to rush it. Our eyes lock, and then our lips, and she deftly unhooks my bra with one hand.

When it falls off, I don't shield myself in embarrassment or worry that she can tell one of my breasts is slightly larger than the other. I only let out a low hiss as she runs the pads of her thumbs over my nipples. Then she tweaks one enough that I yelp in pleasure.

Her grin widens. You like it a little rough, don't you, Miss Shy? I nod wordlessly, not wanting her to stop.

She doesn't. Her mouth replaces one of her hands, and I cry out as, ever so gently, she bites down. Ripples of pain and pleasure emanate from my breasts and out through the rest of me.

Just as quickly, she soothes the area with the soft lap of her tongue, her hand tenderly cupping my other breast. At these sensations, my legs tighten. Something deep within me clenches, desperate to be touched, desperate for release.

Please touch me. I whine, barely recognizing my own voice. She moves her mouth to the other nipple, her teeth grazing it.

I am touching you. Her tone lilting, teasingly. But then she glides her hand up my shin, up my thigh, up to my black cotton panties.

They're damp with sweat and want, like the rest of me. You want me to touch you here? Her fingers playing at my inner thigh.

Too risky, my mind whispers. Too bold. Too insolent.

Too bold. Too insolent. Too needy.

Shut up. I whisper back. I take in a shuddering breath and say, Yes.