A bigail’s eyes were red and swollen with saline tears. She could’ve sworn the tinted water covering her body was a puddle of her internal pain and not due to her physical wounds.
She played with the ebbing water mindlessly, watching it move this way and that way much like her thoughts.
Earlier today Preston had called her a thief because she’d stolen something that wasn’t hers to take. She hadn’t known what the cryptic message had meant until he’d cradled her in his arms and made his way to his bedroom. At that moment, she knew what she’d taken from him because he’d taken hers, too.
It all happened so fast, she hadn’t the time to process her thoughts, especially with Lauren lurking in the background.
When Preston started his rant, she felt his declaration on the tip of his tongue. And although her eyes were nowhere near Lauren, she knew she felt it, too. Saying her safeword had been the only way to stop him. Her alliance was with Preston, nevertheless, she’d built a sisterhood with Lauren. She wouldn’t dare break their pact again. It wasn’t fair for her to see the man she’d loved for over five years declare his love for someone he’d only known for a few months.
However, in her attempt to salvage Lauren’s feelings, she’d hurt Preston’s. She felt trapped inside her own mind. On the one hand, she wanted to reassure him his feelings weren’t as one-sided as he thought. She might need time to reciprocate the words he wanted to say but she felt just as he did.
Abigail’s dilemma steered when she felt the need to get out of the bathtub and run to him, but she didn’t know how to do so without hurting the friend who was currently taking care of the wounds Preston couldn’t take care of.
And so, her tears were uncontrollable, feeling like Odysseus—stuck between Charybdis and Scylla.
“It’s okay,” Lauren soothed, weaving her fingers through Abigail’s braid.
She drained the bloody water before filling it up again with a much bearable lukewarm temperature. She scooped a gradual amount in a plastic cup and poured the water over her shoulders.
Her soft hands lathered Abigail’s body in antibacterial soap. The fresh citrus smell had her closing her eyes, enjoying Lauren’s feathery touch on her skin. She used relaxed strokes to knead her sore muscles. Although the touch was meant to remain clinical, her body was hyperaware after being denied pleasure.
Her nipples charged with sexual need as Lauren washed under her breasts. The soap left a trail down her stomach, which Lauren quickly washed away with her thumb. Abigail spread her legs as she cleaned between her thighs. Her breath hiked at the feeling of her hands in such an intimate spot.
She felt Lauren’s hot breath on her cheek as it caressed her jaw and slowly moved toward her lips. A familiar blush crept onto her cheeks as Lauren tilted her face and captured her lips. Although Lauren’s lips were thin, they were soft and firm at the same time. She tasted like summer and rain—warm and full of life.
Right now, she needed what Lauren offered, and what she offered was something Preston couldn’t give her, so she accepted her kiss. She opened her mouth to hers, engrossed in the feeling of being protected.
Together, they found their own rhythm.
Lauren’s hand hitched higher on Abigail’s legs. She quivered in the water when her finger found her opening and pushed inside. When she found that special spot, she stroked it in a come here motion that had her seeing stars.
Her touch was expert, languid, and unhurried. It amazed her how Lauren touched her in the way she liked to be touched. She didn’t have to tell her to push deeper or go faster, or even beg her not to stop.
As her thumb continued drawing exquisite circles on Abigail’s clitoris, Lauren dipped her head and sucked her right breast into her mouth. She ran her teeth on the sensitive nipple before giving it a tug that had her on the precipice of orgasm.
Like a parched vagabond, Lauren swallowed her moans with a kiss. She splashed water on the floor as waves of pleasure ran through her body. They stayed quiet long after her release. Their foreheads touched as they both breathed hard.
Pacified by orgasmic bliss, Abigail rested her head on the side of the tub and closed her eyes. She felt Lauren’s hand push aside her bangs as she ran her thumb over the light scar on her forehead.
“Why can you accept my love but not his?” Lauren asked, her voice sultry and angelic.
Abigail raised her chin. In her eyes, she saw no malice just pure curiosity and a means to help. Whether Lauren wanted to help her, or Preston was the question she couldn’t answer.
“I don’t know what you mean. He doesn’t love me.”
Lauren kissed her temple. “Oh, my sweet Abby. Don’t insult my intelligence with your lies. That hurts more than the fact. Now, come on, let’s get you dried. Your skin has turned prune.”
Abigail tried to stand but failed. Her eyes too swollen to guide her steps. Her soles too sore to sustain her weight.
Lauren hadn’t the strength to carry Abigail, so she did as best as she could guiding her to bed. She massaged her body with medicinal cream and offered her the rest of the tea. It was when the tea had dried, that Lauren called it a night.
She tucked her in and kissed her forehead sweetly.
The motherly gesture reminded Abigail of her own mother. Every night for the first eighteen years of her life, Mrs. Sinclair had tucked her daughter in, given her a kiss on the forehead, and laid by her side. She’d snuggle close to her and told the best bedtime stories.
These stories weren’t generic fairytales. The princess never needed to be rescued, on the contrary, the princess always rescued the prince. Love at first sight didn’t exist. And the women were curvaceous with large breasts, stretch marks, and cellulite.
“Where’s my bedtime story?” Abigail joked as Lauren got under the covers.
She giggled, nuzzling into the crook of Abigail’s shoulder. “I could tell you a story, not sure it will fit into the fairytale genre. It’s along the lines of horror.”
“Eh, I’m into unconventional romance, anyway.”
Lauren opened her mouth, but Abigail stopped her. “Wait, I don’t want to have nightmares, either.”
“I’ll give it a fairytale ending just for you, okay?”
Abigail nodded, biting her lower lip.
Lauren’s golden hair rested on the pillow in perfect tresses that looked professionally done. Her blue eyes painted a full moon overlooking the sea. Abigail couldn’t stop staring at her, feeling like she’d seen her before but couldn’t quite place where.
“Men are detestable creatures. They create war, not caring many will die because their ego is more important than innocent lives. And society approves of their appalling behavior. They say, ‘boys will be boys,’ ‘he’s a man, what did you expect?’”
Lauren laughed wickedly, seeing no humor in her words.
“I expect respect. I expect equal opportunities. I expect my stop to mean stop and my no to mean no. Unless I’m in a consensual D/s relationship, I shouldn’t need a safeword. Rarely is there a man in the rough but occasionally one appears, and when you find him, you don’t ever want to let him go because he listens when you say no and stops when you say stop. This story takes place in a land not too far away. Everyone would see it if they’d gaze out their windows. I am going to tell you about a girl and how the love of her life came after the biggest tragedy in her life. It starts as all fairytales do. Once upon a time…”
