Anne and Jill had been dating for two months. Officially. It was their two month anniversary, but Anne still wasn’t comfortable enough with the other woman to ask whether two-month anniversaries were cause for celebration. So she had asked Jill to dinner and a comedy show without mentioning the occasion. She had sort of hoped Jill would put two and two together, especially after Anne insisted on paying for everything, and driving and holding open doors and such, but the smaller woman had just watched her quizzically and enjoyed the attention.
Now the two of them were stretched out together on Jill’s plush couch, Anne with the armrest digging into her spine and Jill with her cheek nestled against Anne’s ample chest. Jill’s eyelashes brushed the skin above Anne’s neckline with every blink; Anne marveled that Jill didn’t notice the rapid flurry of her heartbeat, even as she traced wide, lazy circles across Jill’s narrow shoulders.
"So, apparently I’m his “crazy bitch supervisor” that he “can’t stand.”
Jill was telling a story about work. Anne had missed the first half of it, distracted as she was by the fluttering of eyelashes. Jill ground each word between her teeth before she spat them out, biting them off with bitter abruptness, working herself into a rage.
"What the fuck is his problem, anyway?”
Now Jill raised herself up on an elbow, to glare up at Anne as she swung her free arm around for emphasis.
“I barely ever talk to the guy. We’ve maybe worked together a handful of times. And yet, somehow, I’m always being mean to him. Tch.”
Jill sat all the way up and crossed her arms, automatically pulling away from Anne.
Anne hesitated only a moment before reaching out and gently grabbing the closest part of Jill’s body that she could reach; her foot. Anne had just recently realized that a physical connection was the easiest way to break Jill from her thoughts, which were often darkly self-deprecating. When Jill started spiraling into herself, all Anne had to do was reach out a hand to pull her back. She gently tugged the foot into her own lap and started rubbing small circles into Jill’s sole with the pads of her thumbs.
“Well, maybe he thinks that because you never talk to him,” Anne said mildly, keeping an eye on Jill’s eyebrows to gauge her reaction. They were comically at war with themselves; lifting, relaxing slightly at Anne’s ministrations, snapping back to angry at her words.
“I think he hates me because I expect too much from him,” Jill retorted. “You know, like I expect him to be able to tie his own apron properly. And pronounce the word ‘syrup.’”
Anne slid one hand up to knead Jill’s calf; her anger ebbed again.
“Stupid people always think I’m a bitch.”
Abruptly, the lifted eyebrows won. Jill let her head drop onto the back of the couch, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. Anne seized the opportunity to gaze down the pale line of her throat unobserved; mesmerized by the play of lamplight disappearing in shadows of Jill’s low-cut shirt, she almost swallowed her next words.
“You kind of are a bitch.”
Jill’s head came back up surprisingly slowly. Her grey eyes pinned Anne to the couch, steady but searching; Anne could feel her gathering herself to charge, to batter her way into Anne’s intentions. She was primed to raise her guard, to fight. Her need to know was palpable. Anne met her gaze as honestly as she could. She tried to open her mind. She did her best to give it up, to surrender the fight before it began.
Jill’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and softened, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward in the beginning of a smile. Then her whole face crumpled at once, and she fell into a full-throated laugh.
“A bitch, huh? Well it’s nice to know how you really feel about me.”
Her words were hard, but Jill’s look changed. She wore a crooked smile that Anne had never seen before. A knot of tension Anne hadn’t known she was carrying slowly unraveled in her chest; the pulling thread in her veins made her giddy.
Jill slipped into Anne’s lap.
They weren’t a perfect fit; Anne bent almost double to rest her forehead on Jill’s shoulder. Her nose bumped against Jill’s collarbone. Jill’s skin smelled fresh, vaguely of aloe, and coconut oil. As Jill’s cool fingers circled low on Anne’s stomach, from the hollow of her hip along the waistband of her jeans, Anne decided to taste it. First she brushed her lips along the bone, barely making contact; Jill sucked in her breath as she popped open the button of Anne’s jeans. Her fingers slowed in their unzipping as Anne introduced her tongue, and then just as she slipped beneath the top of Anne’s underwear, Anne flicked out her tongue and sucked hard. Jill cried ‘oh’ and arched back; her fingers started to slip out of Anne’s jeans, until Anne caught her wrist. Jill rocked against Anne’s longer body, trying to press herself against Anne’s pelvic bone even though it was below her reach. Anne tugged once on Jill’s captive hand, reminding her of its abandoned mission.
Jill smirked and drove straight down, separating Anne with an expert twist of her fingers; two held her open as a third unerringly found its mark and began a slow, irregular dance.
“Oh, god,” Anne exhaled sharply as her head snapped back against the arm of the couch and her hands wrapped spasmodically around Jill’s upper thighs. Jill braced against the couch with her free hand and she wiggled her own hips lower and lifted up, to give herself better leverage. The more Anne tried to press up, into Jill’s hand, the higher Jill held herself, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?” Jill breath began to short with effort; her pale freckled face started to flush where it swayed above Anne’s.
“Ungh,” Anne replied, and she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. “Bitch.”
Anne smiled with her eyes still closed as Jill’s fingers immediately dipped lower and probed. First Jill slid one finger into her, questing; finding Anne wet and open, she immediately drove in a second, then a third, thrusting none-to-gently and letting the heel of her hand bang against Anne’s clit. Anne’s eyes flew open and she cried out, instinctively reaching to stop the abrupt assault even as she swelled and soaked. Jill slapped Anne’s hand away and, just as unexpectedly, pulled out.
“These are in my way,” Jill growled, yanking sharply at the pockets of Anne’s jeans.
Dazed, Anne helped her peel the denim from her sweat-slick skin. When she was naked from the waist down, Jill coolly pried her legs apart and lowered herself between them, positioning herself with her own pelvis just behind the fingers she was about to re-introduce to Anne. She paused, poised, and smirked at Anne with one pale eyebrow raised.
“Um,” Anne croaked, and then Jill slid into her again. She was gentler this time, and started with two fingers. She curled them upward slightly, and thrust slowly, gliding them against Anne’s walls as though searching for something. After a moment, she found it.
“O-Oh,” Anne cried, and now Jill sped up again, careful to maintain the right angle, hitting the same spot every time. As soon as Anne got accustomed to the new pace, gasping and flushed, Jill added a third finger and the thrust of her own hips against the back of her hand, sending her fingers deeper. Anne felt tension coiling at the base of her spine, a tightly wound spring that Jill was winding tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until—
“Fu-uu-uuuuck!!” Anne slammed against the air like she was seizing; distantly, she heard her hips pop in protest. She was too dimly conscious to care. She let her eyes roll back in her head, and surrendered to the waves of endorphins crashing into her brain.
Anne was slowly brought back to Earth by Jill’s weight, settling across her torso, and by the sharp scent of herself, which Jill started tracing along Anne’s lips. When she finished, she looked up to find Anne watching her through half-lidded eyes; she smiled, the crooked smile. She kissed Anne softly, once, twice; she pulled back and ran her tongue across her own thin lips.
“Bittersweet,” she commented. “Just the way I like it.
Anne blushed, and suddenly remembered that she was the only one half-naked. The air was cool on her quickly-drying legs.
“Anne? Happy two months,” Jill said quietly.
A tiny balloon swelled slowly in Anne’s chest, inflated by the crooked smile and mischievous glint in grey eyes. Afraid it would grow to bursting if she didn’t move, Anne rolled over; she laced her fingers with Jill’s and pressed their linked hands into the couch above Jill’s head, even as she pressed her lips into Jill’s smiling mouth.
“Happy two months,” she answered, voice husky and low. “Now help me take this off.”