After Hours at Her Place — Bonus Chapter (Part 2)

by Isla Wilde

She recovered faster than I expected.

“My turn,” she said.

“Tonight I want you to scream.” She kissed lower. Stomach. Hip bone. The crease of my thigh. “This room has excellent acoustics. It would be a shame not to use them.”

Her mouth was on me before I could respond.

Hot. Direct. Her tongue flat against my clit with a pressure that made my vision blur and my spine arch and my hand tighten on the shelf until my knuckles went white.

She added a third finger. She fucked me with her hand—deep, steady strokes that hit the spot every time—and her mouth returned to my clit with a pressure that was relentless.

“Now,” she said. “Come for me now.”

I came with a shout that definitely carried through the walls to Greene Street.

“The acoustics,” she said, “were excellent.”

“Good. They should know what this room is for.”

“Round two?” I said.

“You can’t possibly—”

“Try me.”

I rolled on top of her. I kissed the grin off her mouth and slid my hand between her thighs, finding her still wet, still swollen, still responsive.

“Slow,” she whispered. “I’m—it’s a lot.”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

I built her slowly this time. Her hand found mine—the one that wasn’t between her legs—and laced our fingers together.

I held her hand while I made her come.

It was the most intimate thing we’d ever done. Just two women on a blanket in a room where they’d started, one touching the other with the kind of knowledge that only came from months of paying attention, their hands linked on the floor while one of them trembled apart.

She came quietly. A long exhale, a slow clench, and a single whispered Em that contained six months of love and nine months of history.

“Your turn,” she said.

She sat up, positioned herself behind me, pulled me back against her chest. She kissed my neck—the spot below my ear that made my head drop back against her shoulder.

Her hand slid down my stomach. Between my thighs. She entered me from behind—two fingers, then three, the angle deeper than face-to-face, the fullness different, the pressure against my front wall immediate and intense.

“Tell me what you feel.”

“Everything. Danielle—everything—”

Her other hand found my clit. She worked me from both angles—fingers deep inside me, thumb on my clit, her mouth on my neck, her chest warm against my back. I was surrounded by her.

“I love you,” she said. Not a whisper—a statement. Made while her fingers were inside me and her body was wrapped around mine like she was never going to let go. “I love you, Em. I love you in this room and in every room and in the rooms we haven’t been in yet.”

I came with her words in my ear and her hands on my body and her heart beating against my back.

We sat on the blanket, leaning against the shelving, drinking champagne from the bottle. The garter belt was somewhere under the pillows. Her silk dress was a dark pool on the tile.

“We christened the stockroom,” I said.

“We re-christened it. The first time was a christening. This was a consecration.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too.” She pressed her forehead against mine. The scar was warm against my skin. “And for the record—you kissed me first.”

“For the record—I always will.”

Some things didn’t change.

Some things got better.

Loved this bonus? The full novel is waiting.

← Back to After Hours at Her Place