Exactly

A One Kiss Past Straight Bonus Scene
by Aurora North

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Denise

Marla came up the outside stairs at 11:19 still wearing the shirt.

Denise heard her before she saw her. Clogs on the wooden steps, too fast, the way Marla took stairs when she was late for a delivery. Then the knock. Two knuckles, twice. Then, because apparently two knocks was not enough tonight, a third, flat-palmed, against the door.

Denise opened it.

Marla stood on the landing under the bare bulb with her car keys still in her hand and her hair coming down out of its clip. She had changed out of her work blacks. She was in soft gray joggers and her clogs and nothing else but the shirt. Lavender polyester, tight across her breasts, MARLA spelled out over her heart in small pink rhinestones that caught the light from the bulb and threw it back in little sparks. There was still a faint, ball-shaped gray smudge low on the left side where she’d been pressed against a rack of house balls six hours ago.

“You didn’t change the shirt,” Denise said.

“You told me what you were going to do to the shirt.” Marla’s chin came up. Her cheeks were already pink. “I’m not an idiot, D. I’m not going to show up in a different shirt.”

“You drove across town in it.”

“I drove across town in it, past a Wegmans, at eleven o’clock at night, with my name on my chest in pink rhinestones.” She stepped inside, past Denise, close enough that Denise could smell fryer oil and lemon bars and her. “A man at the light on Erie Boulevard gave me a thumbs up.”

Denise closed the door. Turned the deadbolt.

The click was very loud in the quiet apartment.

Marla turned around at the sound. And Denise watched her see it: the room. The lamp in the bedroom doorway, low and amber. The bed made with the good sheets. The brown leather case with the brass clasp, open on the dresser.

Not hidden in the closet. Open. Waiting. The harness laid out on the folded black cloth inside it with the silver rings catching the lamplight. The slim blue cock beside it. The bottle of lube, already uncapped.

Marla’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“I said exactly,” Denise said.

She’d had four hours to think about it.

Four hours of breaking down a satellite bar at a bowling alley in East Syracuse. Four hours of Marcus asking if she was okay. Four hours of hauling crates into Loretta’s belly and rinsing tap lines and restocking the reach-in with her body humming like a downed power line, still unfinished, still aching, still feeling Marla clench and shudder against the ball rack and scream into her palm.

She’d spent most of that time planning.

Not the strap. The strap was simple. She’d done that before, though never with anyone who mattered like this. It was the rest of it. The exactly. Marla had held her to the word in a text message at eleven o’clock, and Denise had stood in her dark kitchen reading it with her heart going like a shaker tin, and understood that she was going to be graded.

Marla Pearson had spent fifteen years tasting things for a living. She noticed when you skipped a step.

Denise wasn’t going to skip a single one.

She sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Come here,” she said.

Marla came. She crossed the bedroom slowly and stopped where Denise pointed without looking — right there, between Denise’s open knees — and stood in the lamplight with her cold hands loose at her sides, and the rhinestones glittered across her chest at exactly the height of Denise’s mouth.

Denise put her hands on Marla’s hips. Held her there.

Then she leaned in and found the first rhinestone with her fingernail.

It was the corner of the M. A tiny pink chip of glass glued to polyester. She worked her nail under the edge of it, slow, and felt it give, and pried it loose. It came away with a tiny dry click. She let it fall on the floor.

Then she put her mouth where it had been.

Over the shirt. Over the thin, cheap fabric, right over the swell of Marla’s left breast. She kissed the small bare spot on the polyester, open-mouthed, and breathed out hot through it, and felt Marla’s whole body jolt under her hands.

“Oh,” Marla said.

Denise found the next one.

It took a long time. That was the point. One stone, pried free. One kiss where it had been. Her fingernail, then her mouth. Click, and then her breath through the fabric, her lips, sometimes her tongue, sometimes the edge of her teeth. The first leg of the M. The second. The point in the middle. Marla stood between her knees and shook, and her breath went short, and her fingers came up and slid into Denise’s hair and didn’t pull, just held on.

By the end of the M, Marla’s nipple was hard and dark through the lavender polyester, and the fabric over it was wet from Denise’s mouth.

“D,” Marla said. Her voice was very thin. “D, this is going to take all night.”

“Yes.”

“There are—” Marla looked down at her own chest. Her face was scarlet. “There are so many rhinestones—”

Denise pried another one free and put her mouth on Marla’s breast, right over the nipple, and sucked through the wet cloth. Marla’s knees buckled. Denise caught her by the hips and held her up.

She lifted her head.

“There are forty-one left, Pearson,” she said. “I have all night.”

Marla stopped talking.

Somewhere around the R, Marla started begging.

It was quiet at first. Little words. Please under her breath, D, please, while Denise worked a rhinestone loose with her thumbnail and kissed the hot skin through the shirt underneath it. Then less quiet. Marla’s hips had started to move, small helpless rolls against nothing, the soft gray joggers shifting. Her fingers had tightened in Denise’s hair.

“I can take it off,” Marla gasped. “I can just — it’ll take one second, I’ll take it off, D—”

“No.”

“Why—”

“Because I said one rhinestone at a time.” Denise pried another stone loose. Click. “And you said you’d hold me to it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Denise looked up at her. “You meant every word. You texted it to me at eleven o’clock with a period at the end. You never use periods in texts.”

Marla stared down at her, flushed and furious and so turned on her pupils had eaten all the gray in her eyes.

“I hate you,” Marla said.

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” Marla agreed, wretchedly, “I don’t,” and Denise laughed against her ribs and found the next stone.

The R went. The L. Denise’s mouth worked its way across Marla’s chest over the shirt, left breast to sternum to right breast, the lavender fabric damp and clinging everywhere she’d been. She pushed her hands up under the hem as she went, slow, so slow — over Marla’s soft stomach, her ribs, her cold skin warming fast under Denise’s palms — but she didn’t lift the shirt. Not yet. She just held Marla’s bare waist under it and kept her where she was and kept going.

Halfway through the A, Marla’s knees gave out for real.

She went down hard onto Denise’s thigh, straddling it, and ground down against it through two pairs of pants with a sound like something tearing. Denise let her. Wrapped one arm around her waist and held her there, rocking, and pried the second-to-last rhinestone off the A with her other hand and kissed the place where it had been.

“How many,” Marla panted.

“Nine.”

“Nine—”

“You can count them if you want.”

“I don’t want to count them, Denise, I want you to fuck me—”

Denise went very still.

Marla went still too. She heard what she’d said. Her face, which Denise had thought couldn’t get any redder, found a way.

“I said that,” Marla whispered. “Out loud.”

“You did.”

“I’ve never said that. To anyone. In my life.”

Denise put her hand flat on Marla’s back, between her shoulder blades, and pulled her close, and put her mouth against her ear.

“Nine more,” she said. “And then I will.”

Marla shuddered all the way down.

The last rhinestone was the tail of the A. Denise saved it on purpose. She worked it free slowly, so slowly Marla was whimpering, and it came off with a final tiny click and fell somewhere on the floor with the others, a glittering trail of pink across the dark boards from the bed toward the door.

The shirt said M R A now, where she’d skipped stones. Three ragged letters in pink, the rest of it bare.

Denise looked at it. At Marla in it, flushed and shaking and straddling her thigh, the polyester wet over both breasts, her nipples hard and dark through it.

“Arms up,” Denise said.

Marla’s arms went up so fast she almost hit her in the face.

Denise peeled the shirt off over her head and dropped it at the foot of the bed.

Underneath, Marla was bare. Her breasts heavy and flushed, her nipples swollen from the wet cloth and Denise’s mouth. Her soft stomach rising and falling fast. Goosebumps across her shoulders from the sudden air. She looked down at herself and then at Denise, and for a second something almost shy crossed her face—

Denise put her mouth on her. Skin, this time. Nothing between them. She took Marla’s left nipple into her mouth and sucked hard, and Marla’s back bowed, and the sound she made bounced off the bedroom walls.

“That’s one,” Denise said against her breast. “Loud.”

“I’m not — I wasn’t—”

“Louder.”

She switched breasts. Bit down, gently. Marla cried out.

“There,” Denise said. “That’s what I want.”

She stood up and turned Marla around and walked her to the bed.

Pushed the gray joggers down her hips and off. Marla was bare underneath those too — of course she was — and so wet that Denise could see it on her inner thighs in the lamplight, glossy and slick, and the sight of it went through Denise like a hand closing around the back of her neck.

“On your stomach,” Denise said.

Marla climbed onto the bed and lay down on her stomach on the good sheets with her cheek on Denise’s pillow, and turned her face toward the room to watch. Her hair was spread across the white cotton. Her back was a long pale curve, freckled at the shoulders, dipping into the small of her spine and rising again into the soft, full swell of her ass. Her thighs were pressed tight together. Denise could see them trembling.

She went to the dresser.

She undressed with her back to the bed. Black button-down, unbuttoned and dropped. Bra. Jeans. She could feel Marla watching every piece come off. Then she lifted the harness out of the case and stepped into it, and pulled the straps tight, and fitted the slim blue cock through the silver ring until it sat snug and heavy against her pubic bone, its base pressing exactly where she needed it.

She poured lube into her palm. Turned around.

Marla’s eyes went to the cock and stayed there. Her lips parted. Her hips shifted against the mattress, once, a small, helpless grind against the sheets.

Denise walked to the bed slowly, stroking the slick length with her fist, and let her look.

“Tell me yes,” she said.

“Yes,” Marla said, before she’d finished. “Yes, D, God, yes—”

Denise climbed onto the bed behind her.

She knelt between Marla’s legs and pushed her thighs apart with her knees, wide, wider, until Marla was spread open on the sheets, and then she lowered herself down. All of her. Her whole weight, chest to back, the way Marla loved it. She pressed Marla into the mattress and felt her go boneless underneath her and heard her let out a long, shaking breath, and the cock lay hot and slick along the cleft of Marla’s ass, not inside her yet, just there.

Denise put her mouth to Marla’s ear.

“Exactly,” she said. “Remember?”

“I remember—”

“On your stomach. On my bed. Strap on.” She rolled her hips, slow, dragging the cock down through the wet between Marla’s thighs, and Marla gasped and pushed back against it. “Slow. From behind.”

“Please—”

Denise reached down, lined herself up, and pushed in.

Slow.

So slow. One inch, and then another, the blunt slick head stretching her open and sinking in, and Marla’s whole body went taut under her and her hands fisted in the pillowcase and she made a sound that started low and climbed and climbed as Denise sank deeper, all the way, until Denise’s hips were flush against the soft curve of Marla’s ass and she was buried to the base and couldn’t go any further.

She held still.

Marla was shaking under her. Gasping into the pillow. Clenching around the cock in long, slow pulses that Denise could feel through the base, pressing back against her own clit.

“Okay?” Denise said.

“So okay—” Marla’s voice cracked. “D. Oh my God. You’re so deep—”

“I know.”

“I can’t — I can’t move—”

“You’re not supposed to move.” Denise pressed down a little harder. Pinned her. “That’s my job.”

She started to fuck her.

She’d said slow. She meant it. Long, deep strokes, drawing almost all the way out and sinking back in, rolling her hips at the bottom of every one so the cock dragged against that soft swollen place inside and pressed and held. No rush. No hurry. Her weight on Marla’s back the whole time. Her mouth at Marla’s ear the whole time. The bed creaking under them in a slow, steady rhythm, in, and out, and in.

And Denise talked to her.

“Exactly like I said, Pearson,” she murmured. “Didn’t I tell you? At the bowling alley. Didn’t I tell you exactly what I was going to do?”

“Yes—”

“One rhinestone at a time.”

“Yes—”

“On your stomach. On my bed.” A long slow stroke, all the way in. Marla moaned. “Did you think about it? All night? Handing out lemon bars to your aunt? Did you think about this?”

“Every second—”

“Good.” In. Out. In. “I thought about it too. I thought about you standing in that van with my name on your chest. I thought about how loud you were going to be.”

Marla was getting loud. It was starting to pour out of her — moans, gasps, Denise’s name, half-words with no shape at all. Her hips had started pushing back against every stroke as much as Denise’s weight would let them, small desperate rolls, chasing more.

“Louder,” Denise said.

“D—”

“I told you. My neighbor’s a locksmith.” She drove in deep and held there and ground her hips in a slow circle, and Marla shouted. “He goes home at six.”

It went on for a long time.

Denise didn’t speed up. Marla begged her to. Marla cried faster and harder and please into the pillow, and Denise kissed the back of her neck and kept exactly the same long, slow, deep rhythm, and told her no, and told her she could take it, and told her she was so good, so fucking good, look at her taking it, listen to her.

And Marla got louder.

She didn’t hold anything back. Not one sound. She didn’t bite the pillow or press her face into the sheets or apologize. She said Denise’s name over and over like she was learning how to say it. She swore, filthy and breathless, things Denise had never heard come out of her mouth in eight years of kitchens. She came once, early, with no warning at all — a sudden sharp clench around the cock and a cry that cracked down the middle — and Denise felt it go through her and kept moving through it, slow, steady, never stopping, and Marla sobbed and kept going and kept building again.

Somewhere across the alley, a window closed. Hard.

Marla heard it. Her whole body went still for one second under Denise.

“Someone—” she gasped. “D, someone heard—”

“I know.”

“They closed their window—”

“I know.” Denise pressed down on her harder. Drove in deep. “Do you want to be quiet?”

Marla was silent for exactly one second.

“No,” she said.

“Then don’t.”

Marla let go.

She came the second time screaming. Really screaming, face turned sideways on the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, her hands clawing at the sheets and her whole body clamping down on the cock so hard Denise felt it like a fist. It went on and on. Long rolling waves of it, Marla shaking and crying out under her, and Denise held her through every one, kept her pinned and full, kept rocking into her slow and gentle until the screaming broke into gasps and the gasps broke into wrecked, helpless laughter.

Denise didn’t stop.

She slowed down even more. Barely moving. Small, deep rocks of her hips, the cock buried to the hilt, her own clit grinding against the base on every one. She’d been close for an hour. Since the M. Since the bowling alley. Since a text message at four-fifteen in the afternoon in a lavender shirt. She’d been holding it back so long she’d almost forgotten it was there.

Marla turned her face on the pillow. Looked back at her over her shoulder with one eye, flushed and teary and drunk on it.

“You,” Marla said. “Now you.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re shaking, D.” Marla pushed back against her, slow, deliberate, squeezing down on the cock on purpose. Denise’s breath caught. “I can feel you shaking. You’ve been shaking since the rhinestones.”

Denise’s hips stuttered.

“Come on,” Marla said. Low. Rough. Echoing her. “Let me hear you. My neighbor’s not a locksmith. I don’t care who hears.”

Denise came.

It ripped out of her. She buried her face in the back of Marla’s neck and drove in once, hard, the first hard stroke all night, and ground down, and the pressure against her clit broke wide open and she came with her teeth against Marla’s shoulder and a sound coming out of her chest that she’d never heard herself make. Long and raw and loud. Louder than she’d been in years. Louder than she’d ever let herself be, with anyone, in this bed or any other.

Marla laughed under her. Breathless and delighted.

“There she is,” Marla whispered.

Denise collapsed on top of her and didn’t move for a long time.

It was after one when she finally pulled out, slow, and Marla shuddered all over, and Denise unbuckled the harness with fingers that didn’t work properly and let it drop over the side of the bed.

They lay tangled on top of the ruined sheets. Marla on her stomach still, Denise half on top of her, one leg thrown over the backs of her thighs, her cheek on Marla’s shoulder blade. The lamp was still on. The room smelled like sex and sweat and lube and faintly, absurdly, of lemon bars.

“Someone closed their window,” Marla said into the pillow.

“I heard.”

“Someone across the alley closed their window, D. Because of me.”

“Because of both of us.”

“Mostly me.”

“You were very loud.”

“I was so loud.” Marla turned her head. Her face was blotchy and wet and blissed-out and absolutely radiant with pride. “Nobody’s ever closed a window because of me in my life. I’m thirty-five.”

Denise laughed against her back.

After a while, Marla said, “There’s a rhinestone stuck to my hip.”

Denise lifted her head and looked. There was. A single pink chip of glass, glinting against the soft skin over her hipbone.

“Leave it,” Denise said.

“Why?”

“So you know it happened.”

Marla was quiet for a moment.

“I know it happened,” she said softly. “I was there.”

Denise kissed the rhinestone. Then the skin beside it. Then the small of Marla’s back. Then she lay back down with her cheek on Marla’s shoulder blade, and reached over, and turned off the lamp.

In the dark, Marla found her hand and pulled it under her own body and held it against her stomach.

“Exactly,” Marla murmured, already half asleep. “You did it exactly.”

“I told you I would.”

“You did.” A long, slow breath. “D?”

“Mm.”

“Next time I get to pick the shirt.”

Denise smiled into her skin.

“Deal,” she said.

She lay awake for a long time after Marla’s breathing went slow, listening to it, her hand pressed flat under Marla’s warm stomach. At some point she realized she’d lost the cap to the lube. At some point after that, she put her glasses on to look for it under the bed, and found it, and lay back down to take them off.

She never did.

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