Was It Something I Did?

Rachael Cavalli feels the doubt hit her chest like a slap. She phones her younger girlfriend, voice tight, telling Gabbie to come over now. No explanation on the call. Gabbie hears the edge and leaves immediately. Minutes later Rachael sits her down and drops it. She wants them finished. She claims the years between them will rob Gabbie of clubs, travel, some girl her own age. Gabbie’s eyes widen, then steady. She lets the words settle before she answers. Nothing about clubs interests her; nothing about her peers pulls her away. What she has with Rachael already feels more real than any chorus line of twenty-somethings could offer. She loves the long silences, the shared bourbon, the way Rachael’s hands know exactly where to rest. Gabbie says so without drama. Rachael studies her, sees the certainty, exhales the fear she carried all day. They stand. The hug lingers, then changes shape. Mouths open. Clothes drop. Rachael lowers Gabbie onto the couch and takes her time—lips sliding over breasts, teeth scraping nipples until they stand tight and wet. She drops between spread thighs, tongue working steady circles, one hand reaching up to thumb the other nipple. Gabbie moans and grabs fistfuls of Rachael’s hair. Fingers replace the tongue, two then three, pressing deep and curling until Gabbie arches, voice cracking, coming hard and quiet. Rachael doesn’t stop. She crawls up, lets Gabbie taste herself on her mouth, then slides her thigh between Gabbie’s legs. They move together, slick skin sliding, clits kissing with every slow grind. Orgasm rolls through them in turns, bodies locked until the shaking stops. Afterward they stay tangled, breathing the same air, pulses even, certain they still fit perfectly.