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“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard United Airlines Flight UA5296 with service from Albuquerque to San Francisco. We’re currently third in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately five minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage under your seat or in the overhead compartments –”
Carol tunes the rest of the announcement out with a low sigh and fastens her seatbelt extra tight for absolutely no reason.
It’s the third time she’s been on a plane for Zosia, and she’s neither high nor drunk.
The first time, it had been a desperate last-ditch effort to get her back – and get her back she did. The second time, they’d flown home together, and Zosia had fucked her in the cramped lavatory, one hand down her jeans and the other over her mouth.
“You seem a little tense, baby,” she’d said, trailing her fingertips up Carol’s arm. “Why don’t you let me take care of that?”
Then she’d sauntered suggestively down the aisle, briefly glancing back before disappearing into that tiny space. Door unlocked.
Now, four months later, Carol is back in a window seat – the shade pulled down as soon as the plane starts moving – praying that she lands in San Francisco safely. If only because she has plans, expensive plans, that she wants to see through.
One week earlier
“Carol, there’s no need for you to come all the way here,” Zosia says, chewing on her breakfast. “It’s only one more week.”
“I know,” she agrees, and can’t believe the whine that slips past her lips immediately after. “But I miss you. I should’ve gone with you.”
“Baby, you know there are more important things than following your girlfriend around –”
Carol’s cheeks hurt because of the smile she’s trying to hold back. Girlfriend. Her girlfriend. It’s such a weird sensation, getting all giddy at her age for such a mundane definition. But then again, Carol’s experiences with loving and being loved have been so scarce throughout all her life that any ounce she gets is surprising and, when it stops being scary, exhilarating. And right now, everything about Zosia feels absolutely exciting, captivating, and incredibly deserved.
She shakes her head. Zosia stares at her through the screen with an amused, utterly satisfied grin, and she wants to kiss it off her face. “No, there aren’t.”
“You’re cute,” Zosia coos, and the camera shakes a little as she stands and moves about the hotel room. Carol can see the mess behind her – clothes piled up on a chair, her guitar on the bed with a bunch of notes, a pen and some picks. “And… you’re going to be late for your interview.”
Interviews. Never one of Carol’s strongest suits because, of course, she doesn’t do well with on-the-spot quips and in-depth scrutiny carried out by strangers. But it’s basically an obligation to her publisher, and her publicist is going to have a stroke if she misses her appointment with the guys from that fucking what’s-its-name podcast that got famous overnight because of a few clips shared on TikTok by someone with too much free time. Apparently, it’s the new trend.
God, last she checked, podcasts were only for smartasses and very opinionated, obnoxious people. Nobody cared about them when Bloodsong of Wycaro came out. Now she’s probably going to have to talk to someone about shit that’s completely unrelated to its sequel, Ashes of Wycaro, because they’re going to need something catchy, a punchline to draw listeners and viewers in. But mostly because Carol needs to officially crawl out of the hole she’d confined herself to, and remind her readers that she’s alive, that she’s still writing.
Basically, she needs to beg them to pay attention to her after she’s left them hanging for a little too long. And she has to do it from the bottom of her heart. She can’t just say, hey, my new book is coming out in February, go buy it! So, again, really not her fucking forte.
Carol groans at the thought. She balances her phone against an empty vase on their dresser (nice décor, but they don’t bother with keeping plants in their apartment) and rummages through her tie drawer, looking for the perfect one for the occasion. Do people even wear ties for these things? And why are there clips of podcasts if they’re made to be listened to anyway? Did nobody ever think about the convenience of doing an interview wearing sweats and no makeup?
“I know, I know.” She picks up her black tie – the meeting-with-Val tie, which is now remembered as Zosia’s favorite tie to be bound with – and a solid terracotta one, and stares at them. “It’s just – I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in three weeks. I don’t remember what you look like anymore.” She holds both ties up in front of her phone. “Which one?”
“You’re so dramatic,” Zosia says, pointing to the terracotta tie. “You’re literally looking at me right now.”
With a nod, Carol puts the black tie back in the drawer and lifts the collar of her shirt to place the other around her neck. She thinks of all the times Zosia has done it for her, of how quickly she mastered all the knots Carol likes just to be the one to tie them and then ruin them after. Usually, that happens with Carol on her knees between Zosia’s legs as she pulls on the tie like a leash to keep her there, steady and focused until she comes on her tongue. Other times, Zosia takes it off and uses the garment as a blindfold, and Carol loves it when she can’t see what Zosia plans to do to her. And then, there are some rare, tender occasions, when Zosia simply loosens the knot and kisses her cheek, then her lips, and whispers a soft hi, baby, against them, and maybe those are the ones that Carol loves the most.
But she’s not thinking about them, right now. Try as she might, she just can’t stop that sudden craving, the feeling of wanting Zosia, the urge to fuck her and then, just then, tell her she loves her. It’s animalistic, something that strikes out of nowhere and makes her feel like she’s lost her rational hold over a life that should’ve been well past the point of uncontrolled libido and sex dreams and hands shoved down pants. And yet, ever since Zosia left for San Francisco, she’s found herself doing that basically every other night, eyes shut and focused on conjuring up the best mental image of Zosia fucking her, moving her hands just like she would and still being unsatisfied after.
It’s not a mortifying experience, per se, but it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. Carol Sturka, 41, cranking it up to her imagination like the good old days, picturing a woman she still can’t believe loves her enough to look over just how pathetic she can be.
“Baby, you still with me?” Zosia calls after a few minutes of Carol sitting there with her mouth shut.
“Well, technically, I’m not looking at all of you,” Carol replies then, as if awoken from a dream. She lifts an eyebrow and hopes that Zosia somehow realizes exactly what she’s asking for. It’s a bit juvenile, and Carol might as well have texted her a desperate “send nudes”, because Zosia chuckles in her face, hand over her mouth as she shakes her head.
It’s all a front. Carol knows very well that Zosia’s mind runs exactly as fast as her own, and if Carol can’t fathom being States apart, Zosia doesn’t even like it when they aren’t in the same room. So, in a way, they’re both losers – Zosia simply hides it better.
As of now, though, she doesn’t do a good job at hiding it when Carol smiles cheekily and adds, “Maybe I need a reminder. You know, since I’m so forgetful.”
“Nice try, babe. But how about you earn your rewards, instead of asking for them like a hormonal teenage boy?”
Carol’s cheeks burn a light shade of red. “And how do I earn them?”
“I don’t know, be creative,” Zosia says, and then she places her phone upright on her nightstand and disappears off camera. Carol can only see the t-shirt she was wearing as it’s flung into frame and falls to the floor. “I’m going to take a shower now.” Then, after a few moments, she speaks again, her voice lower, the delicious inflection it takes when Zosia is starting something already echoing between her legs. “Carol?”
“Yeah?” Carol swallows, anticipation settling low into her body. The thrill of knowing that Zosia is casting her hook and she’ll bite without hesitation makes her pulse quicken, her fingers tingle. She grabs her phone and sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for Zosia’s little push.
“Do you really miss me that much?”
“Fuck, I do.”
“What do you miss the most? Skip the mushy stuff.”
“I miss kissing you,” Carol starts, but stops when Zosia groans. Apparently, kissing is mushy stuff. “Oh. Okay. That’s – okay. I was trying to be nice, but god, I miss fucking you in the morning before leaving for work.”
“Now we’re talking. Go on,” Zosia hums, and Carol hears a click and a buzzing sound in the distance. “Make it good.”
She can’t help but gasp as the buzz pulls a clear, focused image out of the depths of her mind. Zosia, lying on her bed, legs splayed apart, cunt spread open. A toy nudged against her clit, eyes rolled back into her skull, teeth marks on her bottom lip.
And she can’t actually see any of it. That’s diabolical.
“I miss waking you up with that urge for it,” Carol says anyway, because she could be cruel, sure, but she just can’t resist Zosia in any way, shape or form. If she wants to come listening to Carol’s voice, then Carol will make sure she comes to it. She’ll talk her through it until she wakes the people next door with her moans and she makes a mess of her sheets and the hotel has to charge her double for the laundry. “To be inside you, to feel how tight you are, and then how you stretch around my fingers.”
“Fuck –”
“Zosia, use your hands,” Carol tells her, before Zosia can say anything that might make her forget that she’s supposed to be in charge of this moment. “Do it exactly like I would.”
The buzzing stops. It gets to Carol’s head a little, because she’s usually the one who does as she’s told. So, maybe, Zosia really does miss her more than she can imagine.
“And what would you do?” She breathes and groans. She’s definitely not waiting for Carol to tell her.
That defiance gives Carol a wicked idea.
“Hm, that depends,” she hums. She knows it’s going to piss Zosia off if she drags it, but she can’t help it. And, if she has to suffer because Zosia won’t let her watch, then she’s allowed to be a little shit. “Are we talking regular weekdays or weekends?”
“Carol, what the fuck.”
“Well, you know. There’s a huge difference,” she says nonchalantly. Then, she casually adds, “Should I let you fuck yourself as I would when we’re in a rush? Or should I let you take your time? How desperate are you for it?”
Zosia doesn’t say anything. A beat, two beats. She speaks on the third, her voice shaky and unconvincing.
“Not that desperate,” she lets out. Carol is sure her fingers are drawing tight circles on her clit, and she can tell by the way Zosia is breathing that she’s doing everything she can to come faster than Carol will allow, like she’s already predicting where she’ll go with her response.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.”
That’s it, then. Carol smirks, because Zosia has just given her enough fuel to run that idea all the way to the end. “Then put your clothes back on,” she says, firm and final.
“Huh?”
“And stop touching yourself.”
“What?”
Carol doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, she quickly opens her browser app and looks up flights to San Francisco. She doesn’t even check twice before she buys a ticket for the first one available next week.
“You heard me,” she says then, back on the call. She tries to sound exactly like Zosia does when she pulls this kind of stunt on her. Adamant, confident. “Come on. You can’t be late for your studio session.”
“Carol. What the fuck. I literally have two fingers up my p–”
“So what. They’re not stuck, are they? Pull them out and go get ready.”
“How do you know that I won’t just finish by myself?”
“You won’t.”
“God, stop acting so – fuck. Stop being such an asshole.”
“Why, baby? Does it turn you on?”
“You –”
“Stop talking and show me your hands, Zosia. Let me watch your fingers come out.”
“Fucking hell, Carol,” she mutters, breathy and strained, and then the camera shakes and she’s looking at Zosia’s face, a crease in her brow that makes Carol’s mouth water. She doesn’t do as she’s told. Carol can tell, by the way her shoulder moves, that she’s trying to get a few more strokes in –
It makes her hesitate for a second before she speaks again. Still, her words are lost to the wet sounds and the groans Zosia lets out as she keeps fucking herself.
“I said stop, Zosia.”
“I don’t want to – fuck, Carol, I wish you were here. I need –”
“I’ll be there soon, baby,” Carol says then, part of that confidence swept away by the sight of her lover. “I’ll be there and I’ll fuck you just like you want me to, but if you come right now, then that won’t be necessary, right?”
“What,” she pants, and Carol knows that she’s really trying to slow down. “This is –”
“Are you close, Zosia? Are you going to come even though I just told you not to?”
“I – fuck.” Zosia’s movements falter, then come to an abrupt stop. She opens her eyes, and stares at Carol like she’s mad at her. Like Carol doesn’t know that she’s loving every second of this thing. “Fuck you.”
And she says it without any vitriol as she turns her back camera on, and shows Carol exactly what she asked for. Her fingers, wet and shaky, as she pulls them out of her cunt. Then, she quickly taps on her front camera button and makes Carol watch as she brings them to her mouth and sucks on them, licks them clean and wiggles them to show her work.
“Good girl,” Carol whispers. It slips past her lips just like that, and it gets an immediate response out of Zosia. Something like a whine. Something that Carol would understand, if it came out of her own mouth, but like that? It’s new, like she’s just dug a goldmine and now she’s rich. Naturally, it also drives her fucking crazy, so she keeps going. “See? It’s not hard to just listen and do as I say.”
“Carol. Please,” Zosia says, taking a deep breath in. “If you keep talking to me like that I’ll –”
“What? You’ll what, baby?”
“I’ll just go rub one out in the shower.”
“That would be disappointing,” Carol says, pursing her lips. “You know, Zosh, if I can get on a plane to come fuck your brains out, I think you can manage to keep your hands to yourself for a few more days.”
“Fuck, what’s gotten into you today?” Zosia asks as a surprised and pleased smile takes over her frustrated scowl. “I mean, you always drive me crazy, but this is something else.”
Carol shrugs, then she stands and puts her phone back on the dresser. As she moves, she feels her underwear stick uncomfortably to the slickness between her thighs. She glances at the clock and of course she’s fucking late already. She decides to ignore the ticking anyway, all because she wants to look at Zosia a little longer.
“You told me to be creative,” she says, and she reaches for her belt buckle, making quick work of it and then unbuttoning her slacks. Zosia just stares, teeth digging into her lower lip.
“God, Carol,” she groans as Carol pulls her slacks down. “Are you trying to kill me? What are you –”
“Relax, baby,” Carol replies, and then she drops the act entirely, smiling sheepishly. “I just, uhm, need to change before I go.”
Zosia laughs at that. “See? I told you you’d be late.”
*
Carol makes it to the studios just in time to catch the MCE host as he’s grabbing a cup of coffee at the stand outside the building. She tries to sneak past him to get inside and pretend that she’s been there all along, but he immediately spots her and waves her over.
“Carol, hey! Good to see you!” He says as he shakes her hand enthusiastically. It’s sweaty, despite the cold December air. “Coffee?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Carol replies politely. She doesn’t call him by his name because, well, she can’t fucking remember what it is. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
She knows she did, obviously. Her mind flashes back to the moments in between getting off the phone with Zosia and getting ready to leave. The ones where she had to change into clean briefs and spent a concerning amount of time wondering whether it would be unfair to jerk off before heading out. Quite unfair was the verdict, so she left unsatisfied and frustrated, despite being the one who had started it all.
“Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry about that. Traffic’s a bitch this time of the year, am I right?” The guy says. It does give Carol the ick, but she nods along and waits for him to grab his coffee before they head to the sound stage. He talks her ear off about late Christmas shopping, but Carol tunes most of it out because she’s a fucking idiot and she still has to get Zosia a gift. Two years of not doing that and she immediately forgets that you’re supposed to.
Eventually, they make it to the stage where the guy and his partner, a woman whose name also eludes Carol, record their podcast. She sits in a comfortable chair across from them, at a round table with a keyboard for sound effects and three mics on it, cameras all over to catch her making a fool of herself from different angles. Just perfect.
She takes a deep breath and steadies herself, missing most of the introduction Jack (that’s his fucking name) and Savannah make, even though she imagines they’re just following a done to death script.
“… and today, on Main Character Energy, we have a very special guest. Small hint: Savannah is a huge fan of hers.”
“That’s right, Jack. I do love a good steamy romance, but that’s not all there is to her books. Ladies and gentlemen, today we have the huge honor of speaking to one of the most prominent novelists of the genre, author of the series Winds of Wycaro, the woman that made us all swoon over broody pirates and yearn for a timeless love story like Raban and Lucasia’s. Yep, you guessed it, I’m talking about bestselling author Carol Sturka!”
Jack presses a button on his keyboard, and a round of applause fills the room. Carol fakes a smile and claps along until the noise dies down.
“Oh, you’re too kind, Savannah,” she says, huffing a short laugh and slightly bowing her head. “I’m just happy to be here with you guys.”
“And we’re so excited to have you on our show, Carol,” Jack replies with a nod. “Alright, you know the drill. We have to ask, it’s our thing.”
“Yep. And you have to spit it out, no beating around the bush. So, tell us…”
“Do you think you have Main Character Energy, Carol?” They both say in unison.
What a dumb question, Carol thinks as she pretends to mull it over. At some point, though, too long passes and she finds that she doesn’t have an answer. She should’ve listened to her publicist and prepped for this.
“You know, maybe it’s strange, but I don’t think I do,” Carol says after a while. Maybe their question wasn’t so dumb, after all. She knows the definition veers dangerously close to being obnoxious, self-centered and dramatic (which begs the question of why would anyone ever admit to an audience that they’re fucking insufferable?), but it has some good to it as well. Still, she doesn’t think she’s confident enough to walk around like she’s the protagonist of her own show. “I feel like I could be a supporting character, at best.”
“We hear that a lot,” Savannah interjects with a grin. “And that’s a bit of an ass-covering reply, if you ask me. What do you think, Jack?”
Jack nods. “I think you’re right, Sav. Alright, Carol, let’s try this again. Let’s say tomorrow aliens take over the world. They infect us all with a weird parasite that turns us into machines with no free will, no thoughts whatsoever. Would you be one of us, or would you be immune?”
Carol frowns. That’s a better way to frame it.
“Shit,” she says without thinking. “Sorry. Is that allowed?”
“Encouraged,” Jack says.
“For what it’s worth, Carol, I think you’d be immune.” Savannah winks at her. “Like, I sense strong main character vibes from you, and I’m never wrong about these things.”
“Oh. I really don’t know about that,” Carol laughs. It’s genuine now, because these guys don’t make any sense, so she should just embrace it. “My partner would agree with you, though.”
She freezes.
The camera to her left is clearly taking a tight shot of her face right now, and Carol is sure she looks like she’s just shat her pants.
There was never a discussion about this with Zosia. She never asked her if she’d be okay with Carol mentioning her in upcoming interviews. In hindsight, considering that she’s a huge inspiration for the turn Ashes takes, she should’ve.
And mentioning a partner like that, when she’s been so private about her life her entire career? She’s basically just thrown a turkey leg to a starved dog. Predictably, Jack and Savannah don’t let it slide.
“Oh, your partner, huh? Are you trying to change the subject with matters of the heart?” Jack asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
Carol shits herself just a little more.
“Well, if she is, it’s working, Jack. Now I kind of want to know all about it.”
She takes a deep breath in. The die has been cast. If she really puts her mind to it, she knows that Zosia would never be mad about it. In fact, she calls Carol her girlfriend so often the word sounds like gibberish most of the time. So, really, she’d be thrilled to know that Carol is talking about her.
And it’s not like Carol makes a secret of her sexuality. She just never talks about it, because it doesn’t feel necessary. Sure, she can recognize that, maybe, part of her need for privacy stems from the deep seated insecurity instilled in her during her formative years, but she’s gotten over it, for the most part.
She just can’t believe she’s about to officially come out on a fucking TikTok podcast she’s never even listened to. She would’ve loved to do it on, like, Good Hang with Amy Poehler. Or on that show where there’s a girl who takes her guests on a date and buys them fried chicken.
Instead, she’s here, talking to two dummies with trigger-happy fingers on a soundboard and stupid catchphrases.
“Alright,” she tries, faking a cordial laugh. She puts her hands up. “You got me.”
“Well, spill it, then. Why would your partner think you’d be the protagonist that saves the day?”
Carol hums. Despite the nervousness that took over her, thinking about Zosia does put a smile on her face. Her mind flashes back to Helen too, because they both saw the same good things in her, the ones she still doesn’t quite believe. Her chest aches a bit, but it’s an ache she accepts fondly.
“I think it’s because she believes in me,” Carol murmurs, almost to herself. “Between the two of us, she’s definitely the more confident and easy going, but I suppose that sort of thing rubs off on you with closeness. She’s actually the one who inspired me to take a big leap with Ashes of Wycaro, so, you know, I’m really grateful to have her by my side.”
“Aw,” Savannah coos. “She’s blushing, Jack.”
“Folks, you’ve heard it from us first. If you had any doubts that Carol Sturka was actually as romantic as her characters, now you can rest your hearts, because she’s a big softie.”
“Shit. I hope your audience can keep a secret.”
Carol finds that talking about her love life is easier than she thought. She doesn’t say Zosia’s name directly, but she talks about her for a little longer, until Jack changes the subject and asks her about her dream cast if her novels were to be adapted into a tv show or a series of movies. Carol gives vague answers and, when the drilling is over, she reminds the audience of the Ashes of Wycaro release date, promises them that they’re in for a ride, and then enthusiastically says goodbye to Jack and Savannah and gets the fuck out of that suffocating studio.
As she drives back home, she fights the urge to call Zosia and tell her all about the interview. Instead, she calls her publicist. She sounds a bit too thrilled about this turn of events, talking about how it’ll make the book feel more authentic, like a mirror to Carol’s journey. She doesn’t care what she thinks, and she hangs up after that quick update.
Then, back home, she actually almost calls for Zosia. She’d love to just kiss her and hold her right now. But as soon as she catches sight of the underwear she left on their bedroom floor, her mind swiftly drifts back to that morning and it’s not just kissing and hugging anymore.
She thinks of Zosia’s fingers, wet with her own arousal, and she lays on their bed with her slacks unbuttoned and her hand underneath layers of fabric that would be off already, if Zosia were there with her.
“Fuck,” she mutters to nobody in the room as she slides one finger through her already wet folds. She’s dying for it to feel like Zosia’s. She’s dying to have at least something more than her thoughts to rub one out to. Hell, even a picture of her tits would do it for her, right now.
And, of course, speaking of the fucking devil, Zosia facetimes her just as Carol eases one finger in.
“Baby, hi,” Zosia says when Carol decides that she can’t miss her call just because she’s unreasonably horny. “What took you so long?”
“Oh, uhm. I was about to fall asleep,” Carol blurts out, wiping her hand on her pants. Incredibly stupid.
“In your suit and tie?”
Carol’s face scrunches up in defeated embarrassment as she takes in Zosia’s frown.
“Okay, fuck it. I was masturbating.”
Silence on the line. Zosia looks at her with a disappointed yet amused expression, enough to let Carol know that she’s in some sort of trouble. “That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?”
“I – uhm. Sorry.”
“What were you thinking about?” Zosia asks, ignoring the contrition in her tone. “And please, don’t apologize or stop on my account.”
“Your tits,” Carol says in an instant. She doesn’t need to be told twice, and her hand is back in her pants at the speed of light. “I was thinking about your tits.”
“You want to see them?”
Zosia puts her phone down and takes her sweater off before Carol can even nod. She’s not wearing a bra.
“There you go, baby. Anything else?”
“Fuck,” Carol mutters, fingers on her clit. She’s not moving them yet, but her pulse is racing and her mind follows with obscene thoughts and a need that thrums deep inside of her. All because of some tits. But, to be fair, people have done and said crazier things for much less. “You look gorgeous.”
“I know, baby.” Zosia smirks, then reaches up to brush her thumb against her nipple. “So what now? You want me to touch them? Play with them a little?”
It does feel a bit strange. Like Zosia is purposefully being so open to it just to remind Carol that this is a two-way street. If she can’t do it, neither should Carol, after all. The catch is right around the corner, but Carol ignores it for the sake of chasing her release.
“Like this?” Zosia asks, cupping both her tits and kneading the soft flesh there. “You want to come while I touch my boobs, baby? Is that enough for you?”
Carol fucking hates that she loves being talked to like this. And Zosia knows it, so she keeps mocking her lack of self-control, makes her feel pathetic for it, yet encourages her to bring herself closer to the orgasm she’s been craving all day. Even while she was on that podcast talking about her, lovingly and respectfully.
“Words, Carol. I know you’re not losing the ability to speak over a pair of tits.”
“I’m – fuck. No, that’s not enough.”
“You want to feel them up, don’t you? Or maybe you want to watch them bounce like they do when you fuck me hard, baby, is that it?”
Carol groans, head thrown back into their pillows. She’s loud, it makes Zosia smirk, and that’s how she knows she’s fucked.
“Yeah, that’s it. You’re thinking about me taking your cock and begging you to fuck me nice and hard until I come, aren’t you?”
“Fuck,” Carol’s fingers are now rubbing tight circles over her aching clit on their own accord. She could come in a few more strokes, and she’d be incredibly embarrassed about it, but fuck, she needs this. “Oh God, yes – fuck, Zosia –”
“There you go, baby, just like that. You always fuck me so good,” Zosia keeps pushing, letting out a breathy moan. “Even now I can’t help but want it so bad. And you said I shouldn’t touch myself, but god, I’m so wet –”
“I – fuck that. Let me see –”
“Oh, no.” She coos, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. She drops her hands to her sides and her face falls into a serious frown. “See, it just so happens that I know how to keep a promise. And I promise you, Carol, if you don’t stop touching yourself right now, I won’t let you fuck me. Not when you get here, not when we’re back, not even on New Year’s.”
Carol’s eyes fly open and she almost gasps. She stops moving immediately, because she knows Zosia rarely changes her mind about these things.
“What the fuck.”
“That’s how it’s done, baby. But you did good this morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about it back at the studio.”
“Zosia,” Carol whines. “I feel like I’m going to die.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Zosia laughs as she puts her sweater back on with an insanely enticing grin on her face. Like she’s daring Carol to complain some more. When Carol doesn’t, she speaks again.
“So, when are you getting here?”
*
The days leading up to Carol leaving for San Francisco bring about an air of desperation she’s not acquainted with anymore. First of all, she’s incredibly frustrated, sexually speaking. She wakes up wet and goes to sleep with absolutely no difference made and it only turns the next day into something harder to endure.
Second, she has to get a Christmas present for Zosia. Something that doesn’t scream corny, and not too ridiculously committed. They’ve been together, officially, four months. They’re not fucking married.
And third, she keeps thinking about Zosia pointing out just how much Carol likes to watch. And how true that is. So much so that she starts coming up with ideas that sort of weird her out, but also add up to the scenarios that cause her to wake up with her underwear uncomfortably sticking to her skin.
After the third day spent obsessing over that, she decides to embrace it. Worse comes to worst, Zosia is just going to say no. She digs through old stuff she keeps in a box locked in their studio (the one where Zosia confessed to wanting Carol’s attention all to herself), and retrieves a camera, a collapsible tripod and a couple memory cards and some batteries.
Her heart thunders as she imagines setting this up in a hotel room and recording as she fucks Zosia through the mattress and then rewatching it all – alone or together.
So, here she is. Carol Sturka, 41, thinking about making amateur porn with her younger girlfriend. She’s truly lost it. And yet, despite the feeling of awkwardness surrounding her entire plan, that camera is the first thing Carol packs for her trip.
Then, two days later, she finally finds a nice Christmas gift for Zosia. Commissions it, actually, to a local guitar shop. She even pays extra to make sure it’s ready in two weeks.
And finally, she takes advantage of her re-established fame to make some calls and get herself a reservation at a fancy restaurant in San Francisco. The kind where you end up on a waitlist if you don’t know people. So, even if fine dining is not really her thing, since there’s all sorts of weird ingredients and textures, and things filled with things that shouldn’t exist, she decides to spoil Zosia a little. Take her out because, in four months, it’s just occurred to Carol that they haven’t even gone on an official date – doing drugs at an art show doesn’t really count. And neither do birthday surprises and breakfast after sex.
She wants to be a little old school for her. Take her out in a nice dress, to a nice place, gift her flowers, maybe, and then rip that same dress off of her and –
“Chill the fuck out,” Carol mutters to herself as she decides which suit would be best for the occasion. She goes for a light grey one, and keeps a few tie options to the side. Then she shoots Zosia a quick, vague text to give her a heads up about going somewhere with a dress code.
Carol does land safely in San Francisco, and her heart starts beating out of her chest the second she sets foot out of the bustling airport, carrying a suitcase the contents of which would make a thief die with embarrassment, if it ever were to be stolen.
She’s staying at the same hotel as Zosia, but she booked a suite for them. And she rented a car, because she’s definitely not wining and dining her on a fucking Uber.
So, she drives to the hotel feeling uncharacteristically confident, the kind that comes from a well thought-out plan. And she’s jumping out of her skin to see Zosia. To touch her, to hold her, to breathe her in. It’s not even about sex right now.
The check in is quick. ID, pleasantries, and then a man takes her suitcase to her floor and Carol follows. She knows she won’t run into Zosia by accident, because she’s working at the studio right now, putting the finishing touches on the tracks they recorded throughout the month.
Still, she wants to surprise her. So she unpacks – setting the camera down on her nightstand, suddenly embarrassed about it – then takes a shower to wash away the disgusting sensation of having been on a plane, puts on clean clothes and tries not to faint of excitement as she drives to Hyde Street.
*
Sometimes Carol forgets just how unnerving waiting can be. She glances at the clock. It’s too early. Zosia’s never finished a session before five in the afternoon.
She sits in her car, bouncing her right leg on the mat and wishing she were a regular smoker just to have something to do with her hands. Eventually, she’s too annoyed with the obsessive movements of her leg that she gets out of her car and walks into the studios.
“Hi. I’m with Zosia Dabrowska,” she says to the woman sitting at the front desk. “From We is Us?”
The lady nods and pretends to look up something on her computer, then smiles with her teeth and shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t let you through. It’s a private session.”
“Oh. Come on, she’s my –”
Carol knows telling this woman about their relationship won’t change a thing. She’s just doing her job. But fuck, it’s like MCE kicked a dam down and now she can’t help but wanting to call Zosia hers out loud. And she’s sure that Zosia would have a field day at such a display. She can almost hear her voice, amused and surprised.
Then she realizes that it’s actually her voice, coming from behind her back.
“Carol?”
She turns around, and Zosia is there, holding a bottle of water and staring at her with the biggest smile she’s ever seen on her face. And fuck, Carol feels like she could just die there, because she looks magnificent, in her oversized sweater, baggy jeans and hair up in a messy bun. She’s even wearing her reading glasses. Hot.
“Surprise,” Carol says, not exactly hesitant, but a little self-conscious. Maybe turning up here unannounced was too much.
But then Zosia giggles and skips toward her, throws her arms around her neck and pulls her into a hug that feels a bit rough, like a cat accidentally scratching you while playing.
The woman at the front desk stares at them and shrugs. “Fine, go ahead, I guess,” she says, and then watches Carol and Zosia as they walk hand in hand to the Studio A door.
*
Watching Zosia in her element, doing what she does with ease and confidence, makes things difficult for Carol. First of all, she’s still coming down from the high of finally seeing her again after a month. And then, she has to sit tight and quiet and wait for this thing to be over before she can have her all to herself. Of course, it’s not an easy wait. Zosia plays, then talks about things she doesn’t understand, nods when the guy sitting at the controls tells her to go again and make it more aggressive, and Jules and Natalie sit on swivel chairs beside him and Carol has to pretend they’re not glancing at her every two seconds.
Through it all, Zosia keeps playing, behind the soundproof glass of the live room, focused on the neck of her guitar. Sometimes she looks up and winks at Carol, and then straight up shreds while staring at her. Like she could do it with her eyes closed.
It’s the sweetest kind of torture, the one she’d ask more of if Zosia ever stopped. And, when she’s finally done with her part, Zosia gets out of the live room at the speed of light, grabs Carol and her stuff and waves goodbye to Jules, Natalie, and the other guy.
*
As soon as Carol unlocks the door to her suite, Zosia pushes her inside and against it. Her lips find Carol’s with haste, hands on hips and chest pressed against her as they both give in to the urgency of the moment. Mouth open, eyes shut, swallowing spit and moans and a need that’s been building up for way too long, Carol feels like she could melt on the spot. Or die, actually, because her heart is hammering against her ribs, a deafening pounding that drowns out every other sound and makes her light-headed.
“Fuck,” she breathes into Zosia’s mouth. “I’ve missed you.”
“I know, baby,” Zosia whispers. She pulls back to look at her, a string of spit still keeping them tied together as they stare into each other’s eyes. “You made that very clear.”
For a moment, Carol forgets what she wants to say, what she wants to do. She forgets that what’s unfolding in front of her is the exact realization of a month worth of fantasies. And it takes a soft caress on Zosia’s cheek to confirm that she’s there. That a month isn’t a long time, because people spend longer apart all the time. Hell, they spent most of the summer apart and almost resenting each other. But in this instant, it feels like Zosia’s been gone for years, and she doesn’t want to let her go now that she can hold her.
“Hey,” Zosia says as she tilts her head to the side. “Still with me?”
“Yeah,” Carol replies, nodding and tucking a strand of hair behind Zosia’s ear. “Sorry.”
She watches as Zosia flashes her a smile and then turns, looking around the suite and whistling. She moves past the foyer into the living area, taking in the flower displays that Carol had asked for and the floor-to-ceiling windows that lead to the private terrace. Then, she peeks into the bedroom. A massive king-sized bed takes up half the room. And there’s a mirror right in front of it.
“Wow,” Zosia blurts out, hand grazing the unnecessarily fancy high-thread-count sheets. “Isn’t this a bit much?”
“There’s a Jacuzzi outside.”
“Oh.”
Zosia smirks. A world-shattering, devilish grin that’s exactly what Carol wants, but she can’t indulge in right now. Because she has a fucking reservation at Quince, and you simply can’t be late for something like that. Still, she doesn’t do anything to stop Zosia from taking off her sweater. Half naked, she sits on the bed, patting the spot right beside her.
“Come here,” she calls as she unhooks her bra and tosses it on the floor. That’s all it takes for Carol to step toward her, hypnotized.
“We don’t have much time,” she tries once she’s close, but Zosia shuts her up with a finger pressed to her lips.
“Why,” she whispers to her ear. Her hand snakes up the inside of her thigh and rests above the waist of her jeans. “You think you’d last more than a minute?”
Carol shakes her head, eyes shut and breathing already uneven.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Zosia keeps speaking, sultry and low. She takes Carol’s hand, balled up in a fist by her side, pries it open and places it on her chest. A tiny, breathy gasp slips past her lips. Or maybe it was Carol’s. “Come on, touch me. You’ve been dying to do this all week, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Carol nods, and opens her eyes to Zosia staring into them. She finds it hard to hold her gaze. It’s a scrutiny she’s been on the receiving end of so often it shouldn’t warrant such a reaction, but somehow, in these moments, it still does. And the fact that Zosia’s pushing herself into the touch really calls for her focus elsewhere. On her tits, specifically her nipple pressing hard into her palm. “Fuck, Zosia, let’s just –”
Zosia grabs the back of her neck then, unexpectedly, and pulls her into a bruising kiss, swallowing her words, sighs and moans all together as their tongues collide. She swiftly unbuttons Carol’s jeans, never breaking their kiss, and slips her free hand in the cramped space, grazing the cotton of her briefs in a slow, feather-light motion. When she starts rubbing over them, Carol moans, so loud and desperate that it feels like she came already. Zosia smirks against her mouth.
“Look at you,” she whispers, breath hot as she trails her tongue down Carol’s neck and presses her palm to Carol’s cunt. “So desperate. It hasn't even been that long, baby.”
“Oh, god –”
Then, Zosia suddenly pulls her hand away, scoots back on the bed, and sits behind her. She presses her naked front against her – and even though Carol’s still fully clothed, she feels Zosia’s heat seep through the fabric of her shirt. Chin on her shoulder, she keeps whispering into Carol’s ear.
“Your hand, now. Show me what you’ve been doing all the time while I was away,” she says, fingers on Carol’s wrist to guide her. “Make yourself come for me, baby.”
When Carol tries to turn her head for anything – a kiss, maybe – Zosia forces her to turn back.
“I want you to watch yourself,” she says, but Carol keeps her eyes closed even when she doubles down on it. “After all, you like doing that, don’t you?”
Carol groans as she finally slips her hand past the waistband of her underwear. She’s just too wet already. There’s no chance she’ll last long enough to see where Zosia wants to take this.
And yet, she understands it completely when she hears a dull click – the sound of a shutter closing to capture that moment. Her eyes fly open, her fingers freeze.
Zosia is holding her camera, the one she left on the nightstand because she’s a fucking idiot, and she’s just taken a picture of Carol’s reflection in the mirror – legs splayed open, hand shoved down her pants, mouth hanging half open.
“Wh – what are you doing,” she manages to say, still like a prey that’s playing dead.
“What’s it look like to you?”
“Huh. I –”
Zosia gently waves the camera in the air. “Did you bring this with you because you want to go sightseeing tomorrow or what?”
Carol stares at her reflection in the mirror. She feels her face burn.
“I – uhm. No, I didn’t.”
“Then what’s it for?”
“Fuck,” Carol replies, exhaling through her nose. She turns to look at Zosia, or rather, look away while facing her. “You can say no or – god, I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable –”
“It doesn’t.”
“Oh.”
“But we won’t do it if you don’t ask.”
Of fucking course Zosia wouldn’t let her off the hook easy. Of course she’d want Carol to say out loud that she wants to have sex with her on camera, that she wants to take pictures of her, immortalize her body when it’s full of marks, thoroughly fucked, spent, glistening with sweat.
It’s yet another iteration of Zosia pushing her to her limits. Ask for what you want, take what you need, fuck me like I’m yours, don’t hold back. She could think of so many more, but the only thing she needs to come up with, right now, is an answer.
Zosia is looking at her like she’ll accept whatever she decides. If Carol pulls back, then this little camera stunt will be forgotten. But god, Carol really, really wants to do it. And the glint in Zosia’s eyes tells her that she’s thinking the same thing.
She reaches for the camera, snatching it out of Zosia’s hands in a sudden bout of courage. “I want to take pictures of you. And videos. Of everything I’ll do to you tonight.”
“Well.” Zosia’s face lights up as she lays back on the bed, hair splayed on the mattress like a holy crown. She’s just too beautiful to be real. “Take one now, then.”
*
Forty minutes and only a couple of pictures later, Carol is standing in the hotel lobby in her light grey suit, nervously fidgeting with the tie she had to put on with shaky fingers while Zosia got ready in her room.
Now, she waits. And the pounding in her chest that comes from the joint pressure of taking Zosia on a pretentious date and then asking her to make a sex tape just won’t leave her alone.
It’s like performance anxiety on steroids.
What if it ends up being an awful experience? What if Zosia hates the food, hates the place, hates the way Carol fucks her after? What if she ends up being so bad at it that Zosia has to fake it for the camera?
She’d probably die of shame.
The elevator dings, then, and the doors slide open to reveal two women – who are not Zosia – and one behind them that definitely is.
Carol’s breath catches when she sees her. She’s wearing a long, jet black sleeveless dress that falls elegantly to her ankles, hugs her figure like it’s been painted over her and shows just the right amount of cleavage to make Carol’s mouth water. Her hair falls loose in dark waves, one side tucked behind her ear, revealing a pair of understated earrings – and her piercings.
“Wow,” Carol mutters to herself. Or maybe she says it out loud, because Zosia strides toward her with an amused smile on her face.
“Hello, handsome,” she coos, draping a hand over Carol’s chest. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”
Carol blinks.
"You're –" she stops, shakes her head, and starts over. "Fuck, you're stunning, Zosh."
Something warm flashes through Zosia's eyes. She leans forward to kiss Carol’s cheek and whisper into her ear. “I’m not wearing any panties,” she says, and then walks past her without waiting for a reaction.
When she realizes that Carol is not following her, she turns and calls for her. “Well? Are we going or what?”
*
Zosia makes it purposefully hard for Carol to focus on the road. She keeps her hand on her thigh for the entirety of the drive, sometimes squeezing, sometimes moving further up with an innocent smile on her face that’s telling a whole different story.
When Carol stops at a red light, Zosia’s hand is pulling at her belt, and Carol has just enough willpower left to grab it and move it away with a sigh.
And then, by the time they sit at the table, facing each other, Zosia starts trailing her heel up Carol’s calf while she’s deep into a not so interesting conversation about wines with the sommelier.
He’s talking about some excellent vintage the chef has selected for their meal – and Carol isn’t hearing any of it. She lets out a tiny gasp when she feels Zosia’s foot brush against her knee and fuck, she really needs to stop this.
But she doesn’t.
“… and this particular vintage has a remarkably long finish, which pairs perfectly with the dry-aged Sonoma duck.”
Carol smiles with clenched teeth, nodding and clearing her throat to thank the man showing her the bottle and, when he finally fucking leaves, she lets out a loud sigh that makes Zosia huff a sultry laugh.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Her foot still hasn’t moved.
“Can you –”
“No.”
“Do you want me to die? Because I will die.”
“Let’s enjoy the Sonoma duck first, darling, shall we?”
Carol stares at her, blinks slowly and then swallows back a whine when Zosia actually listens and puts her foot down. She reaches for her glass, already filled with sparkling water, and takes a short sip. The lipstick stain on the rim catches Carol’s attention briefly.
“I like this side of you,” she says after a moment, trailing the tip of her finger over the red mark. “You know, acting all chivalrous, doting on me.”
“I just figured it would be nice to go out on a date like this,” Carol blurts out, as if she’s looking for an excuse to justify her going overboard with the fancy stuff. “I mean, since we skipped a few steps along the way.”
“Oh, so this is how you like to impress women?”
It’s just banter, Carol knows it – but it makes her blush and look away all the same. “Well, is it working?”
“It is,” Zosia murmurs, picking her glass back up and hiding her smile behind it. “A little too well, maybe. See, I might even come up to your hotel room, later.”
Carol smirks and takes another sip of water. “That’s the goal.”
“I knew it,” Zosia gasps, playfully swatting her linen napkin at her. “You just want me for my body.”
“Can you blame me?” Carol laughs, but she shakes her head subtly. “I was debating going back upstairs when you came down wearing that dress.”
“So, you weren’t even going to treat me to dinner first? Just straight to the fucking? Carol, where are your manners?”
“I mean, we’re here, aren’t we?” Carol shrugs and nods to a table in the corner, with a man and a woman sitting across from each other. “But I don’t know about manners. I feel like I’m going to punch that dude if he keeps looking over here.”
“Who cares, baby,” Zosia replies, low and amused, and reaches for Carol’s hand over the table. She brushes the tip of her finger over her wrist and then her palm in slow, circular motions. “You’re the one who gets the prize tonight.”
Two waiters come by their table, then. One is carrying their entrées, the other a bottle of wine that he serves to Carol first. So, Carol makes a show of studying it, smelling it, and then tasting the smallest sip attentively, before placing her glass back down and nodding. The waiter promptly pours some more, but Carol stops him and nods toward Zosia. “Enough for me, thanks.”
When they’re gone, Zosia lifts her glass and waits for Carol to do the same. And this time, Carol doesn’t look away when she clinks it against Zosia’s.
“To us?” She says.
“To us.”
*
The rest of the dinner goes by smoothly. Zosia seems to enjoy the rich, elaborated flavors more than Carol herself does, and between one course and the other, they talk about the band, Carol’s ideas for her next book, and what happened during her interview the other day.
“Yeah, uhm. I just – it just came out,” Carol says sheepishly.
And Zosia just laughs, reaches for her hand across the table, tells her something about loving the way it feels, to know that she’s Carol’s through and through.
At the end of the degustation, Carol asks for the bill, which is brought to her in a discreet leather booklet. She swiftly opens it and doesn’t even look at the numbers on it before placing her card inside and handing it back to the waiter.
Zosia stares at her throughout the process.
“Is it weird that that turned me on just now?”
“People are into weirder things,” Carol smiles, but secretly enjoys the reveal and waits for Zosia to stand and grab her arm before heading out.
*
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, and too fucking long. Carol is itching to get to their suite and she can tell, by the way Zosia is clenching her thighs, that she shares the sentiment.
Her cheeks are flushed – both from the wine and, Carol supposes, whatever she’s thinking about right now. It doesn’t take a psychic to assume that the camera she set up before leaving has something to do with that and with the way her fingers twitch, looking for something to hold on to.
“Zosh? You okay?” Carol asks anyway, just to make sure.
Zosia takes a moment to reply. When she does, it’s with an urgency to her tone that Carol can’t deny.
“Pull over,” she says, and that’s exactly what Carol does.
The second she puts the car in park on the side of the road, Zosia climbs into her lap and reaches down to the lever to move the seat backwards a bit. She lifts her dress so it bunches around her waist, and she presses herself into Carol with a low, breathy moan.
“What –”
“Kiss me.”
This time, Carol doesn’t do as she says. Instead, she grabs her hips, fingers digging hard to guide her in a slow rocking motion that makes Zosia squirm and Carol marvel in delight.
“I thought kissing was mushy stuff, baby,” she says, lips against her exposed collarbone.
“Oh my god, Carol,” Zosia exhales. “Just shut the fuck up and do it.”
So, Carol kisses her – mouth to her neck first, then to her jaw as her hand slides up her back and finds her hair, pulling her down to finally capture Zosia’s lips with hers. The sound that escapes her is pure honey, thick, sweet, and she craves more, seeks it with her tongue until that too is too much for Zosia.
She pants, open mouth to Carol’s. “God, I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she says, then grabs Carol’s hand and guides it under her dress, between her legs and straight against her cunt. Somehow, even when completely undone by her own desire, Zosia manages to smirk first when Carol’s fingers find her naked and dripping already, and only then moans. “See? This is what you do to me, baby.”
Carol throws her head back against the headrest. “Fuck,” she whispers as she coats her fingers in Zosia’s arousal, sliding them slowly through the slickness, testing how far she can go before Zosia just loses it and tries to sink onto them. “Fuck, Zosia, you really couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel, could you?”
“God, no, I want you – I need you now,” Zosia replies and, just as Carol predicted, she’s getting impatient, pulling at her tie, at the lapels of her jacket. “Are you going to fucking do something about it or –”
Carol slips one finger inside before Zosia can finish her sentence. And then, when she tries again, presses in one more.
No words come out of her mouth at this point – just huffs, moans, whines that Carol feels straight to her core, pulsing with the very same desire she’s fucking out of Zosia. She curls her fingers inside of her, feels Zosia clench around them, brushes her thumb against her clit when she manages to keep her still.
And god, Zosia just keeps on giving – Carol’s hand is soaked, there’s a wet patch on her slacks right where Zosia was rubbing herself, and she’s crying out her name in a car with windows that are definitely not tinted, parked on the side of the road. It really can’t get better than this.
“God, I love the way you feel,” Carol murmurs, thrusting her fingers harder into her cunt. “The way you take my fingers –”
“Oh, fuck, Carol, yes, just like that,” Zosia says, entranced, not entirely connected to whatever Carol is muttering against her skin as she picks up a quicker pace and buries her fingers deeper with each stroke.
Carol can’t blame her, really. She’s holding on to the flimsiest thread of sanity that tells her she has to make Zosia come now. An impulse that’s out of her control, a frenzied desire to listen to her gasping, calling her name. To feel her shudder and then twitch and fall spent in her arms –
And she’s so close to doing just that. Carol can tell by the way she throws her head back, neck strained and flushed, and slams her eyes shut, focused on rocking her hips – so hard and fast that Carol has to just let her fuck herself on her hand at this point, or she’ll break her wrist.
She takes her in. Wishes she could actually snap a photo of her right now – beads of sweat by her hairline, mouth swollen, bite marks over her chest. And when she comes, with a long moan that carries the echo of Carol’s name, hunching over her, panting hard, Carol realizes that no picture would do this justice.
*
Fucking Zosia in a rental car by the side of the road doesn’t do much to quench her desire. It works for about ten minutes, sure, but as soon as they walk into the hotel lobby, she is back all over her, completely disregarding the strangers standing in the elevator with them.
Carol tries to keep her distance, she really does. She’s using her coat to hide the massive evidence of Zosia coming in her lap – a wet patch that she’d wear proudly, were she not in a confined space with two other people.
The guy in the corner is playing games on his phone, volume a bit too loud to be acceptable in such a setting. The other is wearing a large set of headphones.
Zosia takes advantage of that to step closer, front pressed against Carol’s arm.
“When we get inside,” she whispers, breath hot into her ear, “I want you to go put on the biggest strap you’ve packed.”
Carol swallows. Hard. She looks straight ahead as if none of this is actually happening and doesn’t speak.
“And then I want you to watch me as I suck you off, baby.”
The elevator doors slide open to their floor. Fucking finally.
“Oh,” Zosia says, as she walks out. “And keep the suit on.”
*
Standing in front of their suite door, feeling the nervous excitement of a first that’s really the millionth time, Carol thanks whoever invented magnetic keycards for their genius, because her hands are shaking so bad that it would be impossible for her to stick a key in a lock, right now. How ironic.
Zosia waits behind her, practically buzzing with impatience. As soon as the door opens, her hands are all over Carol, pulling her tie loose as she chases after her lips to kiss her until she can’t breathe anymore – and then, when Carol enthusiastically reciprocates, she pushes her off of her.
“Go,” she says, pointing to the bathroom. “I’ll wait here.”
So, Carol quickly grabs the bag she had left by the dresser, and disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes.
There, she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Red lipstick on the collar of her shirt, on her chin. She’s a mess already, but that’s just what Zosia does to her. She unbuckles her belt, pulls down the zipper of her slacks and her briefs, takes in the wet patch that’s soaked through them, and drops them to the floor. She definitely won’t need them.
For a moment, she stops and gives in to the warmth in her chest. It goes beyond uncontrollable arousal. It’s got something to do with trust, with love, with the new feeling of just taking the plunge and knowing that someone will catch you. Those sappy thoughts mixed with the dirtiest desires she has a hard time wrapping her head around, and yet Zosia doesn’t question them. She pushes her toward an indulgence that doesn’t need explanations. And in doing so, she shows how much she cares for her.
Carol knows she’ll need more time to fully understand it, but not doubting it is a huge step in the right direction.
She sighs, and then she has to hold back a chuckle, because that’s a weird sequence of thoughts to go through while Zosia is waiting for her to choose a toy and –
“Fuck, yeah –”
She freezes, hands on the straps she was tightening around her waist. Zosia moans again. And again. And Carol stops wasting time, finally, when she slips a dark purple dildo into the ring and tugs at it to make sure it’s firm and well-placed. She takes one last look before she pulls her slacks back up and frowns at the sight of the bulge poking against the fabric. She presses down on it to try and make it less ridiculous. She had a dream like this once. It was fucking weird.
“Carol, fuck, come here before I – oh, god –”
When she comes out of the bathroom, the sight that greets her stops her briefly in her tracks. Zosia is already naked on the bed, legs splayed apart and hand working between them. Carol’s gaze lingers on her for a moment, before she notices the red light on her camera.
She’s already filming.
Suddenly, Carol realizes that she’s the one who has absolutely no idea how to do this. And when Zosia turns to look at her, she feels like she’s never even had sex before in her life, because underneath the blinding excitement, there’s a hint of nervousness that makes her hesitate.
“Carol,” Zosia calls, sultry and inviting her with a smile. “Finally.”
Carol steps closer. She glances at the camera, and Zosia doesn’t miss it.
“Don’t mind that, baby. Just focus on me,” she whispers as she crawls across the bed and to the edge of it, where Carol is standing. She sits on her knees and places her hands on Carol’s hips. “Unless you don’t want to do it anymore.”
“No,” Carol replies immediately. “I want to.”
“Good.” Zosia hums. Her hands move to Carol’s belt, slow and steady. As her slender fingers work the buckle, Carol feels her breath catch, the warmth in her lower stomach turning into maddening heat that spreads even lower. “Then relax,” she says as she lets the slacks fall to Carol’s feet.
She wets her lips, scoots back on the bed, gets on all fours, ass up, and takes the tip of Carol’s cock into her mouth, just like that. Maybe she smirks before she does it, but it’s not like Carol can claim to have the mental clarity required to make sense of whatever’s happening right now.
All she does is let out an honest to god, utterly pathetic, reputation-shattering moan at the sight, and she can’t even feel that fucking thing. She just locks her gaze with Zosia, watches as she pulls back and then sucks on a little more of it, until half the shaft disappears past her lips.
“Fuck,” Carol groans, throwing her head back for a second before remembering that this is all for her visual pleasure and she can’t miss any of it. So, when she looks down again and sees the bobbing motion of Zosia’s head, she grabs the back of it, and guides her to take her cock deeper. Zosia hums, or at least it sounds like she’s satisfied with this turn of events, and moves faster, like she actually expects Carol to come in her mouth like that, and fuck, for a second Carol wishes she could.
Instead, she just stares at Zosia’s hollowed cheeks, and she dares to give a little thrust, just to see what happens. Zosia gags as the dildo hits the back of her throat.
“Shit,” Carol gasps and tries to pull back, but she feels Zosia’s hand on her ass, a slap to keep her steady as she shakes her head.
“Just took me by surprise,” she says, voice hoarse. Carol takes in the tears in the corner of her eyes, the smudged make up. The string of spit stretched from the toy to her mouth. And then Zosia’s tongue, swirling on the tip before she wraps her lips around it and works her way to the base, again, relentless. She looks up to make sure Carol’s still watching, lets out a choked moans when she realizes that she could never look away.
Carol wonders just how much of this is too much. Because, if it were up to her, Zosia could go on forever and she wouldn’t get tired of it. But fuck, it’s making her so wet that she’s practically feeling it on the inside of her thighs, running down like tears of frustration.
And Zosia, as if hearing her thoughts, reaches up to touch her – at least graze at her where there’s enough space. She feels the wet heat, eyebrows raised in surprise while her mouth is still occupied, and then she releases her cock with a pop that makes it bounce a little.
“Fuck, Carol, you’re so wet,” she says, fingers trailing up to feel all of it. “You really get off on this, don’t you?”
“I – oh my god,” Carol manages, because Zosia takes her in her mouth once again, but this time she tries to reach up as much as she can to press her fingers against her cunt, rub her clit, once, twice –
That’s all it takes for every muscle in her body to seize up. A feather-light touch and everything gets fuzzy around the edges, the ghost sensation of Zosia’s fingertips on her as she twitches and feels her knees give out with the shockwaves that course through her. It’s quick, too quick, not exactly what she wanted after being starved for so long, but it’s something, and it leaves her blissfully euphoric for a few seconds.
Zosia holds her up with one arm wrapped around her waist and stares at her, surprise on her face as if she’s not responsible for it. “Fuck, baby, did you just –”
“Shut up,” Carol says, pushing her against the mattress and climbing over her.
“I sucked you off so good I made you come in three seconds.”
“Zosia.”
“What? I’m just saying. I loved all three of them.”
Zosia brings her fingers to her mouth then, licks every drop of Carol off and, to prove her point, moans at the taste. Then, she hooks a leg around Carol’s waist and pulls her flush against herself.
“You can touch me now,” she whispers into her ear, guiding her hand between her legs. Carol is drunk on the feeling of that slick heat under her fingertips. “See for yourself how much I liked doing this for you, baby. Sucking your cock, watching you squirm and try to hold back from fucking my mouth. God, you’re perfect, Carol –”
And fuck, there really is no need for further evidence when Carol slips two fingers inside of her without any friction at all. They slide in, Zosia moans, and the world stops for a second before she begs for more and pulls at Carol’s tie, at the buttons of her shirt – some of which fall to the floor, under the bed, somewhere in the room. Who gives a fuck.
If there’s cosmic justice, payback for the times things didn't go the way she wanted, it feels like Carol is redeeming it all now, in this hotel room, with Zosia crying out her name under her – filthy, obscene, but just as sweet as the words of a poet.
She revels in the way Zosia clenches around her fingers, tries to reach deeper, to pull at strings that aren’t meant to be seen, that have no physical substance whatsoever – but she knows they’re there. She sees them in Zosia’s eyes, dark and piercing, and she hears them in her breathing, heavy, staccato.
“Fuck, Carol, yes – keep going, don’t stop –”
So, naturally, Carol stops, pulls her soaked fingers out. Just for a second, enough to reposition herself so that she hovers above Zosia, hoisted up on her arms – a bit shakily, maybe. And then she rolls her hips forward, the tip of her toy pressing against Zosia’s cunt.
“Oh God,” she says, reaching down to tug at it, to urge Carol to do something, anything. “Please, Carol –”
But Carol simply swats her hand away and presses herself flush against Zosia’s bare body, lazily trailing her lips down her neck, her chest, as she bites and sucks and then gently soothes the redness with her tongue.
She wants to feel this a little longer, make it last until Zosia is completely out of her mind. She’s close, but she’s not there yet.
“I love you,” Carol whispers. She takes a nipple in her mouth, tongue swirling around it before she releases it with a wet pop, and then she repeats it like a prayer. “I love you.”
“Fuck, baby, I love you too,” Zosia huffs, nails raking down Carol’s back. She feels them burn through her shirt. “I really do. But if you don’t put it in right now –”
“What? I don’t think you can do anything about it,” Carol smirks, confidence boosted by Zosia’s whimpers. She pointedly bucks her hips, still leaving her empty and wanting. “Besides begging for it, obviously.”
“Fuck you,” Zosia spits back, a challenge in her eyes.
Carol clicks her tongue and shakes her head, feigning disappointment. She pulls back, takes in the sight of Zosia’s breasts, well-kissed and marked, and then her hands are on her hips, fingers digging in as she forcefully turns her and holds her down against the mattress. Not that hard, but Zosia complies, only pretending that she doesn’t like being at her mercy.
It’s always like this. Zosia leads even when Carol thinks she’s got the upper hand. Even now that she’s got her ass up in full display for her, Carol knows that this is probably where she wanted to end up anyway. Still a win-win situation, because Zosia’s ass is just perfect.
She moves a hand up to it, feeling the soft, inviting roundness of her. Zosia lets out a soft breath, like she’s enjoying a moment of respite, before she pushes herself into Carol’s touch.
“You know, baby,” Zosia says as she props herself up on her elbows and glances back at her, spreading her legs a little. “I’m not made of glass. Figured you’d know by now.”
“I – I do,” Carol stutters, but she splays her fingers over her cheeks, nails digging in.
“Then just go ahead and fuck me the way you want.”
That’s all she needs. Words that send jolts straight to her core, where a deep seated desire curls low into something that she just can’t hold back any longer. Carol slides a hand up to her hip, gripping firmly onto it to keep her steady while she lines the toy up to her cunt. She’s fucked her like this before. But there’s something about being completely known, even if it’s for such things, that turns the whole fucking-Zosia-from-behind into something as intimate as it is filthy and erotic. Something about watching her cock buried deep inside of her lover, something about slapping her ass, leaving an imprint of a hand that’s just meant to be there, something about her asking for more, harder, deeper, faster. It makes Carol want to do this forever.
“Fuck,” she grunts, thrusting forward as she keeps Zosia steady by her hips. She’s moaning along to the sound of their skin slapping together, hair sticking to her temples and back beaded with sweat, and Carol has never seen anything more beautiful. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so good.”
She keeps panting, letting out sweet praise that only makes Zosia moan louder, push back against her to take her deeper –
“I – fuck, Carol, harder, please –”
“You’re mine,” Carol says, and with another thrust, as hard as Zosia likes, she hunches over her back, whispers against her shoulder. “Say it, Zosia. Say that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Carol, oh god, I’m yours –”
Carol’s breath catches in her throat, pulse spiking into mad hammering, and she can’t decide if she wants to kiss, touch, rub, lick, fuck her harder, because she wants Zosia with every fiber of her being, she wants to give her the world and do crazy things for her. Like a fucking cartwheel with no hands at the risk of breaking her own neck.
She reaches to Zosia’s front, grazing her tits as they bounce with the effort of her thrusts, and then moves further down until she’s resting her hand between her thighs. She finds her soaked, spread open and achingly ready.
After the first few strokes, Zosia loses it completely. It’s a sight to behold, a moment she’ll miss until the next, and only then, Carol remembers about the camera. She feels a thrill crawl up her spine.
“Look at the camera, Zosia,” she pants against her neck, damp with sweat, rubbing messy circles over her clit. Her abs ache as she picks up a sinful rhythm to guide Zosia to the edge and over. “I want you to look at it as you come for me. And let me hear you.”
And hear her she does. Zosia locks her gaze forward, cries out her name as she shakes, stills, and Carol fucks her through it until the tension in her body melts away and she lets out one last, drawn out moan.
She slows down on the thrusting once she feels Zosia relax under her, but doesn’t pull out immediately. Instead, she presses her forehead to her back, lays soft kisses on her sweaty skin, whispers sweet I love yous that are lost to heavy breathing and absolute bliss and only when Zosia taps her thigh she eases the dildo out of her, slowly, gently. Once it’s out, Carol quickly wriggles out of the harness and carelessly throws it to the foot of the bed. Then, she rolls on her back, panting and staring at the ceiling.
“Hmm, come back here,” Zosia says when Carol leaves the bed and walks to the camera to stop the recording at forty-eight minutes.
When Carol does get back, she just cuddles up into her arms and breathes softly against her neck until they both fall asleep, naked and spent.
*
Zosia returns the favor many times over the rest of the night. With her mouth, then her fingers. And when she asks Carol if she’d like to be fucked with one of the toys she packed, Carol nods with no hesitation.
They go at it slow, at first. Zosia is attentive as she coats the shaft in too much lube, gentle as she eases the tip inside and then bottoms out. And, when Carol nods and lets out a shaky breath that blends into a moan, Zosia picks up the pace, and it gets to a punishing rhythm pretty quickly after that.
It doesn’t even take a lot for Carol to come like this, with Zosia pounding into her while she touches herself, fingers trembling over her clit. One, two, three strokes, Zosia’s body slamming into hers, and her vision blurs, the low buzz in her stomach expands into something unreal, a thunderous stretch of bliss that she wants to feel for the rest of her days.
When it’s over, Zosia stops the camera once again and smirks.
“Fuck,” she pants, falling back on the mattress with a soft thud. “I’m going to need this one on my phone.”
*
The next morning, Zosia wakes Carol up with a devilish smirk on her face. She straddles her, camera in her hand, and plays back one of the many close-up videos Carol took while she fucked her.
“Here, baby,” she says, pushing the device in her hands as she slowly trails her lips down her naked body. Once she’s settled between her legs, she speaks with her mouth against the soft flesh of her thighs. “Let’s see if this gets the job done.”
So, Carol watches as many videos of last night as Zosia wants her to, and it turns out that they do get the job done. And, after proving her theory with excellent results, Zosia rewards her by fucking her again, and then again, until Carol has to either tap out or just accept that her heart will give out while the prettiest woman on earth has her tongue stuck up her cunt.
In the end, she decides that there are definitely worse ways to go.
Back in Albuquerque, they don’t make any more videos, but one afternoon, a few days before Christmas, Zosia sits in front of her laptop and actually stitches all the clips together, making an obscenely long director’s cut of their sex tape, which she even burns onto a fucking DVD.
Carol doesn’t find out about it until Zosia gifts it to her on the 25th of December, in a nice case with a small picture of them printed on the front and the words Carol & Zosia in San Francisco handwritten on the spine.
It’s not all she gives her, though. She hands her a small, unassuming square box as well, and when Carol opens it, she wants to laugh at the eagerness she reads on her lover’s face.
A brand new camera. And an expensive one, by the looks of it.
In comparison, the custom leather guitar strap and case Carol got for her feel a little underwhelming. (Zosia appreciates them, it’s just that Carol thinks she sucks at giving gifts).
She picks it up, and before she can ask about it, Zosia shrugs and says, “I thought you could use the upgrade.”
“Because we’re making a habit of filming ourselves having sex?”
“No,” Zosia frowns. “You’re a freak. This is for sightseeing.”
“Oh. My bad.”
“But maybe we should test it first. You know.”
They end up testing it in their bedroom that same night, and a few days later Zosia makes another DVD to add to their new collection. The jewel case is adorned with a picture of them posing in front of their Christmas tree, wearing Santa hats and holding mugs of hot chocolate. The title, handwritten on the spine, reads: A Christmas Carol (or when Zosia came to town).