"I think I just came a little bit then," Jacquie pants, "I feel so sensitive everywhere, so full."
Natasha isn't ready to be done with fucking Jacquie. There's still tension in her shoulders she needs to release. She wants Jacquie to feel it in her fingers and toes, feel it in her spine tomorrow. She's way too tight to pull out and push straight back in, but she can certainly twist her fist around in slow circles inside Jacquie. Jacquie's walls are fluttering around Natasha's hand arrhythmically while she chants, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god" under her breath.
Natasha keeps going until Jacquie's hips slow down, and she flops her forearm across her eyes. She lightly kisses Jacquie's thighs, tasting the salty tang of her sweat. When Jacquie's breathing has come back to normal Natasha tells her to clench and release so she can pull her hand free.
As soon as her hand is free, she realizes again how fucking turned on she is. She gets to her feet with shaking feet, and stumbles onto the bed. Jacquie rolls on to her stomach and slithers up between Natasha's legs. Natasha's wet from front to back and Jacquie attempts to lick it up. Natasha can't cope with it, she clutches at her own hair. Every lick makes her tremble. Jacquie's tongue is light and soft and yet Natasha's reacting like it's a fiery whip.
Lucia settles herself on the bed, moves down a little so her and Natasha aren't head to head on the pillow, but she can still feel the tickle of Lucia's hair on her forearm. Natasha sees Jacquie reach out to Lucia and attempt to rub her clit. She can just about keep up the rhythm on both of them for a minute or two, and then slackens on one or the other. Natasha tolerates it, even Jacquie's breath or the soft bridge of her nose is enough to stimulate her, over stimulated as she is. Lucia isn't so generous, she pulls at Jacquie's hair and moves her hips back and forth to frustrate her.
Natasha closes her eyes, focuses all her attention on her throbbing clit. She can barely stand Jacquie's tongue now. Natasha’s usually very vocal in bed, but she can’t make any noises other than a low, droning groan. Jacquie brings two fingers to her entrance and pushes them smoothly in, and that finally pushes her over the edge.
Natasha jerks awake. She’s not sure how long she’s been out, but Jacquie is on the other side of the room pulling her bra on. Jacquie’s walking a little stiffly and she’s got a soppy smile on her face.
Lucia’s speaking to Jacquie, sat up in bed like fucking Scarlett O’Hara. She’s wearing some grey horn-rimmed reading glasses that Natasha's never seen before.
“I tend to think,” Lucia says, “That the main problem with crowdfunding is the fact that 85% of backers are friends and family, and that leads to saturation point quite quickly.”
Jacquie shrugs, “But there are campaigns I’ve seen where you get free tote bags and shit like that for backing projects, which means it’s not purely a donation.”
“But you’ve got to factor in the cost for that, it gets complicated. And it all lets the NEA, the National Endowment for the Arts, off the hook,” Lucia says. Natasha’s heard this argument many times between Gillian and Lucia.
Jacquie is fully dressed now. She’s wiped most of her makeup off but there’s still a ring of black liner around her eyes. She says, “I’ve just had a text from my taxi driver, he’ll be here in five.”
Natasha says, “I’m going to go as well, Luce. You know I can’t sleep in other people’s houses.”
Lucia yawns, “That suits me. I’m opening up tomorrow,” She checks the clock next to her bed, “Going to at least get four hours of sleep in.”
Jacquie pockets her Virgin Mary pendant from where it landed on Lucia’s floor.
“I’ve got a hotel room downtown and my car is there. Driving back up-state for the funeral tomorrow and then home to New York from there.”
Natasha throws on her fishnets and body.
“Natasha, how are you getting home?” Jacquie asks.
“Walking, I’m just a few blocks away.”
“No,” says Jacquie, “I’m not letting you walk home at dawn looking like a hooker. You can come in my cab and we’ll drop you off before he takes me into town.”
Natasha opens her mouth to argue with Jacquie about her choice of words and inform her that she’s lived in Boston all her life, but what comes out is, “I’d be grateful for a lift.”
All the muscles in her legs are aching and the thought of sitting in the back of a dark car sounds luxurious and relaxing right now, even if it’s just a ten-minute drive.
A car horn beeps from outside and Jacquie shoulders her purse.
“Nice meeting you, good luck with getting that funding. Thanks for the dance, and the fuck,” Jacquie winks at Lucia.
“And you. Hope the funeral goes okay. Natasha, you’ve got your lunchtime express class haven’t you?”
Natasha nods, picks up her heels and waves goodbye to Lucia.
“See you at 12, Luce.”
“Yeah, see ya,” Lucia sinks further down into the bed sheets and clicks her bedside lamp off.
Jacquie is silent in the taxi. Natasha looks out at the lightening sky. It’s turning a cerulean blue; the sort of blue that makes the whole world seem new and quietly optimistic. She thinks about telling Jacquie how the light makes her feel.
“It’s a shame
