Where did the time go?

Alicia’s hand pressed flat against Stacy’s sternum, pushing her back into the cushions. The couch springs groaned. Stacy’s sweat-slick skin stuck to the fabric, her thighs still trembling from the aftershocks.

“Now it’s your turn.”

The words hung in the air—low, husky, threaded with a need that made Stacy’s stomach clench.

“Lick me. Make me come.”

Stacy’s internal voice detonated. Oh god. No. Not this. I can’t. I can’t do this. This is too far.

Alicia shifted above her, one knee on the cushion, the other foot planted on the floor. Her cardigan had fallen open. Her tank top clung to the curve of her breasts. She looked down at Stacy with an expression that was half hunger, half hesitation—as if she too was surprised by the words leaving her mouth.

But if I stop now, she’ll know. She’ll know I was faking the whole time. The trance. The compliance. The orgasm.

Stacy’s throat tightened.

And if I do this—if I actually do this—there’s no taking it back.

Alicia waited. Her breath came in shallow pulls, her fingers trembling against Stacy’s collarbone.

The debate lasted three heartbeats.

Can I?

A memory surfaced: the slide of Alicia’s tongue against her, the way her hips had bucked helplessly, the raw cry that had torn from her throat. She had wanted that. She had chosen that. And now the choice was mirrored back at her, clear and terrifying.

Yes. Yes I can.

Her head lifted from the couch. Slowly. Deliberately.

Alicia’s eyes widened—just a flicker—then sharpened into something triumphant.

Stacy’s hands rose, finding the hem of Alicia’s tank top. She pushed it upward, the fabric bunching at Alicia’s ribs. Her fingers brushed the bare skin of her friend’s stomach, warm and soft. She pulled the top over Alicia’s head and tossed it aside.

Alicia’s bra was pale blue, simple. Stacy reached behind her, fumbled with the clasp. It came loose. The straps slid down her shoulders. Alicia shrugged it free.

Her breasts were full, her nipples already hard. Stacy’s mouth went dry.

I’m doing this.

She sat up fully, her legs sliding off the couch, and Alicia shifted to make room. For a moment they faced each other—two women in a sunlit living room, half-dressed, breathing hard.

Alicia’s hand found the back of Stacy’s head. Fingers threading through her hair. Gentle pressure downward.

Stacy didn’t resist.

She lowered herself, her lips brushing the curve of Alicia’s stomach. The skin tasted faintly of salt. She trailed kisses lower, over the waistband of Alicia’s jeans. The button. The zipper. She tugged them open.

Alicia lifted her hips, and Stacy pulled the jeans down. Black underwear appeared—damp at the center.

She’s as wet as I was.

The thought sent a pulse of heat through her own core. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and drew the underwear down Alicia’s thighs. The fabric slid away, revealing dark blonde curls, and beneath them—

Stacy hesitated. Her face hovered inches away. She could smell her. That intimate scent, musky and warm.

I’m about to taste my best friend.

Alicia’s fingers tightened in her hair. “Don’t stop.”

Stacy closed her eyes.

Her tongue touched her.

The first contact was tentative—just the tip, tracing the outer fold. Alicia gasped above her, a sharp stutter of breath. Encouraged. Stacy pressed deeper, parting the slick flesh with her tongue.

She found the center, the small bundle of nerves, and circled it slowly.

This is real. This is happening.

Alicia’s hips rolled forward, pressing into her mouth. A low moan escaped her throat. Stacy’s hands gripped Alicia’s thighs, holding her steady, and she worked with a focus that surprised her. She remembered what Alicia had done to her—the rhythm, the pressure, the way she had teased before building—and she replicated it.

Her tongue flattened, broad strokes that covered the whole of her. Then narrowed to a point. She dipped lower, tasting the entrance, then returned to that sensitive peak.

Alicia’s breath came in ragged bursts. “Yes. Yes. Don’t—don’t stop.”

Stacy’s jaw ached. She didn’t care. She pushed a finger inside Alicia, then a second, curling them upward the way Alicia had done to her. The moan that answered was guttural, raw.

She’s close.

Stacy pressed harder, her tongue flicking faster, her fingers moving in a steady rhythm. Alicia’s thighs began to shake, her hands gripping Stacy’s hair with desperate strength. The sound of her breathing filled the room—a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to the slick sounds of Stacy’s mouth.

“I’m—I’m—”

The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking. Her back arched, a cry tearing from her lips, her body clamping down around Stacy’s fingers. Stacy stayed with her, tongue gentling, fingers slowing, until the tremors passed.

She pulled back, breathing hard, her chin slick.

Alicia collapsed onto the couch, chest heaving, eyes closed.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Alicia’s hand found Stacy’s, pulling her up. She kissed her—deep and tasting of herself—and Stacy let herself be kissed. When they broke apart, Alicia’s voice was hoarse.

“Again.”

They didn’t stop for an hour.

They learned each other—the places that made the other gasp, the pressure that made her hips buck. Stacy discovered that Alicia liked her fingers curled just so, and that she moaned when Stacy whispered her name. Alicia found that Stacy’s neck was sensitive, that a trail of kisses down her spine made her shiver.

They moved from the couch to the floor, from the floor to the armchair. They tangled and separated and came together again, sweat-slick and breathless.

At some point, Stacy lost count of how many times they made each other come.

When it was over, they lay on the rug, the afternoon sun slanting across their naked bodies. Stacy’s limbs were heavy. Her thighs ached. The taste of Alicia lingered in her mouth.

Alicia stirred first.

She sat up, her hair a wild golden halo. Her eyes found Stacy’s still form—the blank expression, the fixed gaze.

“Right,” she whispered. “The trance.”

She helped Stacy stand. Her hands were gentle but efficient, gathering the discarded clothes. She slid the bra back over Stacy’s shoulders, clipped it, pulled the blouse down her arms. She buttoned it crookedly, then smoothed it. The skirt she yanked back into place. The underwear she held for a moment, then stuffed into her own pocket.

She guided Stacy to the couch and positioned her—legs crossed, hands folded, head tilted slightly to one side. Like she had just been sitting there, relaxed.

Alicia knelt in front of her. Her expression was torn between satisfaction and guilt. She leaned in, her lips brushing Stacy’s ear.

“Wake up.”

Stacy blinked.

Slowly. Deliberately. She lifted her head, her eyes refocusing, a small frown crossing her face. She looked around the living room—the afternoon light, the familiar furniture, Alicia kneeling before her.

“Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “I must have totally zoned out for a second. Sorry—did I fall asleep?”

Alicia laughed, a little too bright. “No problem. You were just staring into space.”

Stacy stretched her neck. “Coffee? I think I need it.”

They walked to the kitchen together. Stacy’s legs felt like rubber. The coffee maker sat where she had left it, the carafe still half full. She poured two mugs, handed one to Alicia.

They sat at the kitchen table.

“So, what were we talking about?” Stacy asked, taking a sip.

Alicia shrugged. “Your husband. I think.”

“Right.” Stacy laughed, the sound hollow to her own ears. “Tom’s been stressed about a project at work. He thinks he's missing something.”

“Mike’s the same way,” Alicia said. “Always second-guessing.”

They talked. About work. About the upcoming barbecue. About the new restaurant downtown. Normal words. Banal. Every syllable felt like a lie wrapped in cotton.

Stacy’s mouth still held the taste of her.

She took another sip of coffee, hoping to wash it away. It didn’t work.

Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. Over an hour had passed. Her entire lunch break.

I have to get out of here.

She set down the mug with a clink. “Oh crap! Is that the time? We talked through my entire lunch break.” Her voice came out too bright, too quick. “I have to get back to work!”

Alicia blinked, then nodded. “Of course. Go. I’ll let myself out.”

Stacy stood. Her legs wobbled. She forced a smile and walked toward the office, her steps too fast. She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind her.

The latch clicked.

She leaned against the wood, her forehead pressed to the cool surface, and sucked in a breath.

I did that.

Her hand drifted to her mouth. She pressed her fingers against her lips.

I wanted to. And I would do it again.

A chill ran down her spine—not fear. Anticipation.

She looked at her desk. The spreadsheet glowed on the monitor. The numbers made no sense.

She didn’t care.

For the first time in years, she felt fully awake.