Happy Sunday! It’s time for another Sunday Snog – my 245th, if you can believe it!
Today I have a rather emotionally ambiguous F/F bit from my erotic suspense novel Exposure. Definitely not romance, but searingly hot nevertheless. As you have come to expect from me...
After you’re finished with my snog, head back to Victoria’s for more sexy Sunday kisses.
Sex, blood and betrayal: it's all in a day's work.Stella is just minding her own business and having a bit of fun, working as an exotic dancer at the Peacock Lounge. Through no fault of her own, she witnesses a double murder and gets pulled into a shady dance of deceit with political bigwigs, mob bosses, dirty cops and scheming widows. Now she's everyone's target; her only chance is to sift through the lies and expose the truth.
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I manage to hold together reasonably well until I get to the point where Tony kissed me. Then I falter. Francesca’s gaze burns into me, demanding the truth, but I somehow can’t reveal the intimacy that her husband and I had shared.
She looks at me for a long time, until I have to look away. Then she stares at her hands, her long pale fingers adorned with a plain gold band and a large diamond.
“So then you had sex,” she murmurs. “You and Tony.”
I nod, dumb again.
She sighs. “Then what happened?”
I describe those last violent, confusing moments as best I can. She seems genuinely shocked. “Andy shot Tony? I can’t believe it!”
“It’s possible,” I say softly, “that he was aiming for me.”
“You? Why would he shoot you?”
“I don’t have a clue. But I was on top. If Tony hadn’t heard the noise, and thrown me off, the bullet would have gone straight into my back.”
Where is this theory coming from? Last night I thought that maybe Mr. Clean planned to kill me later, but now I’m somehow convinced that he wanted to murder me then and there. The whole scene seems like a crime of passion, not a careful plot.
“Tell me more. I want to know everything.” She leans forward, her tears gone.
Her eagerness makes me suspicious. Why in the world should I trust her? She has every reason to hate me, the floozy who was with her husband when he was murdered.
“That’s it. After that—there was just two dead bodies and a lot of blood.” I remember how Tony looked, empty, all his life and power gone. At the time I was too shocked to know I was afraid, but now the horror hits me, full force. I am confused and dizzy, and suddenly I am shaking again, my breath coming in gasps, close to hysteria.
I feel her arms around me. She’s comforting me now; my head is on her chest. “Hush, Stella, it’s okay. Don’t worry. It’s over. You’re safe. It’s terrible, but now you’re safe.”
I’m sobbing, gulping in air, trying to get control of myself. Still I notice that her breast is pleasantly round and firm beneath my cheek. Her scent envelops me in a sensuous cloud. She runs her fingers through my hair, working out the tangles, while she croons in my ear. I begin to feel a bit better, and then suddenly, she slips her hand inside my robe and begins to stroke my breast with cool, delicate fingers.
I raise my head and look into her eyes. Her lips curve into a half-smile. She leans down and kisses me, open-mouthed. I kiss her back.
It is as if I am watching myself from a distance. I feel the sensations, her smooth skin, her minty taste, the tickle of her hair as she bends to suck on my nipples. I can’t understand why her touch arouses me so much. I’m still afraid, still suspicious, but the sensation of her tongue prodding my swollen flesh pushes everything else into the background. She nips at me. My cunt contracts into a tight knot, aching to be undone. She laps more gently, circling my nipples with her tongue. My sex relaxes, opens, trembles waiting for her next assault.
I am eager, wet and ready when her fingers find my cleft. I clutch desperately at her dress, arching my back and humping myself against her hand while she plays with my tits. She finds my rigid clit and works it with her thumb while her fingers play in my pussy. I squeeze my eyes shut, grinding against her, reaching for the climax that seems only a breath away. Pleasure washes over me, each wave more powerful than the last. Her fingers strum and stroke. My whole body vibrates with sensation, ready to shake itself apart, as I teeter on the edge for what feels like forever.
I feel all this and yet I am far away, wondering who this woman is, wondering why she wants to give me pleasure and why I am allowing her to do so. My orgasm is shattering and yet it seems to occur behind a wall of glass. I am divided from myself in a way that is totally foreign to me. It’s frightening.