Caught Looking by Alison Tyler

Author:Alison Tyler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2010-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

BUSTED

Sophie Mouette

After the movie, Elle and I parked at the edge of the beach. It was too dark to see much except a hint of paler darkness where the surf hit the sand, but we cracked the windows so we could hear the crash of the waves and the murmur of the wind without getting too cold.

I don’t think we intended for things to go as far as they did. I certainly hadn’t planned on it, but when her warm tongue entered my mouth and her warm hand crept beneath my shirt and found my lace-encased nipple, all rational thought fled, except for a momentary flash of pleased surprise.

It seemed extra-naughty to be fooling around in a semipublic place with my girlfriend the cop.

Making out in a car is never easy, but when you’re young and in lust and have been dating only three months, you make do and don’t care about pretzeled limbs. You pretty much don’t complain unless something cramps and you have to shake it out or scream.

I wasn’t complaining. The briny air mingled with the tea tree scent of Elle’s shampoo as she kissed me, leaning across the console to where I sat in the driver’s seat. She had this ability to point her tongue and flick strongly, and when she did that against mine, I felt it all the way to my clit—where, sooner or later tonight, I’d feel her tongue for real.

She scraped her fingernails across my nipple and it rose to hard, aching attention. I moaned against her talented mouth and, encouraged, she used her nails to pinch.

Some of my friends laughed when granola-dyke me started dating a police officer, saying it was an obvious case of opposites attracting. But we really do have more in common than base physical urges. I like Elle’s taste in old movies and her ability to create a gourmet meal out of my poor excuse of a pantry; she confessed she was intrigued by my obsessions for Swedish heraldry and Italian greyhounds.

So let ’em laugh. At least I was getting some.

And I wanted more. Needed more. I climbed over into her seat to straddle her, whacking my knee against the gearshift and almost elbowing her in the eye in the process. The bruises (for me, at least) didn’t matter. It seemed like her hands were everywhere, encouraging me: first on my breasts, then running up and down my back; high on my thighs, tangled in my hair.

I was getting so wet, so hot. I managed to insinuate one of my legs between hers, which meant that one of hers was between mine, and I ground against it as best I could in the confines. I’m a tiny thing, but she’s tall and lanky and mostly leg—which helped.

She pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it somewhere, then rained a line of tiny nips along my collarbone as I gasped from the sudden sensations. She roughly pulled the bra cups down so she had direct access to my breasts.

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