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“Oh god,” Kinsey moaned. Her hands gripped tight to Rosalie’s hips to balance them both, so Kinsey could only watch, pressing hungry kisses to Rosalie’s breasts as she moved against her.
Rosalie was beyond turned on as she watched Kinsey - always so bold and confident - start to lose control. Her mouth against Rosalie’s breasts lacked any finesse for once, as she began to pant with need, but the sensation was almost sexier for it, haphazard licks and sucks as she moaned and rolled her hips against Rosalie’s fingers. Kinsey’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed with pleasure; her moans turned to gasps and she began to tremble for several long intense seconds before she threw back her head and cried out, pushing herself against Rosalie’s hand, her hips bucking. Rosalie soaked up every second of it. Kinsey was so fucking sexy it felt indecent. Then she collapsed back boneless on the bed and lay gasping, her arm flung over her face.
Rosalie stayed sitting astride her hips and watched her, both aroused and somewhat smug.
“You look good this way,” Rosalie said, a gentle throwback to their first time together. Kinsey started to laugh, but it took another minute before she removed the arm from her face and gazed up at Rosalie. Her expression was soft and slightly goofy with pleasure.
“God,” she said. “I was not wrong when I figured you’d be hot in bed.”
Rosalie bit her lip and looked down at her. Kinsey, lazing back naked against the pillow, was giving her that look again, like she was literally the sexiest sight she’d ever seen.
“And when did you decide that about me exactly?” Rosalie wanted to know.
“Approximately two minutes after we first met,” Kinsey said. “There’s just something about you…” she trailed off. “I think it’s your eyes.”
“My eyes?” That was not what she’d been expecting.
“You have the most incredible fuck me eyes I’ve ever seen,” Kinsey said. “And,” she considered, “the most incredible I want to fuck you eyes too.”
“You’re just saying I’m obvious,” Rosalie said, still somehow unwilling to get off her perch, straddling Kinsey’s naked waist. “No poker face.”
“No,” Kinsey said, “that’s not it.”
She reached up and pulled Rosalie down on top of her and kissed her mouth. Bare skin on bare skin, both bodies flushed and heated with desire. Rosalie was barely keeping it together. They rolled so they were face to face, pressed together from ankles to hips. Kinsey pulled back just enough to look at her. “It’s definitely your eyes. Though, if we’re talking transparent,” she gave a small smile, “you’re also sexy as hell when you blush for me.”
“That,” Rosalie’s eyes narrowed, “is a definite lie. It’s the curse of a redhead; I look like a tomato.”
“Mm-mm,” Kinsey murmured, her head shaking slightly. She reached out and gently traced her fingers over Rosalie’s cheek, her throat, her collarbone. “Your skin is gorgeous. All creamy and delicate and then, all of a sudden it’s like I can see your blood. You’re hot blooded, Rosalie, and it makes me desperate to fuck you.”
Rosalie made a small, inarticulate noise at that and Kinsey kissed her, heatedly.
“Well,” she continued. “Thank you for being sexy as fuck.”
She dropped a kiss on Rosalie’s shoulder and extricated herself, slipping to the edge of the bed and pulling her tank top and boy shorts back on. Rosalie went still. Kinsey, fully dressed again, did some kind of ridiculously sexy crawl back over the rumpled sheets toward her and kissed her mouth, thoroughly.
“Goodnight, Rosalie.” She pulled back and got up. She was at the door before she paused, just briefly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Rosalie just nodded, dumbly, from where she lay in the sheets, nowhere near fully sated and just like that, Kinsey was gone.
Before
The Summer of Rosalie’s senior year felt like the best and worst time of her life. Rachel didn’t show up and she didn’t send word. Rosalie missed her like a limb. But all of a sudden, she had Savannah back. The two of them spent long lazy days together, whenever Savannah wasn’t at work. They prowled through the streets, exploring parts of Nashville she’d never known, watching the buskers and sneaking into movie theaters. They hung out at Coral’s parents’ diner, Rosalie reading a book in a booth seat during the quiet stretch of the afternoon, getting hooked on thick black coffee and watching Savannah flirt with the customers. Savannah made a small fortune in tips with her pretty hair swooshing and her thousand watt smile. They spent hours at Savannah and Coral’s apartment, lying on the floor, listening to CDs and avoiding Rosalie’s house for at least eight reasons. It felt great to have a space without parents and Rosalie was jealous, desperate for her own freedom.
Sometimes being around Coral made Rosalie want to cry, so she fought to keep her at arm’s length. Coral was one of the lucky ones, a trans girl with parents who saw her, loved her and supported her the way parents should. It made her heart ache every time she saw Coral with her mom and dad at the diner. She was two years older than Rosalie and intimidatingly glamorous. She and Savannah were thick as thieves and sometimes the vibe between them reminded her of the way Savannah had been with Rachel too, all inside jokes and shared friends that Rosalie didn’t know. It made her jealous, but eventually she realized Coral felt the same way about her, the tightness between her and Savannah entirely impenetrable to others.
Savannah saved every single cent she could and one day she and Coral bought a beat up old Chevy together. Coral had gotten her license back in high school and she taught Savannah to drive, Rosalie in the back seat dying of both laughter and terror as the wheels spun in an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of town.
It took a while, but Savannah eventually got her license. It had been the paperwork that took the longest, she and Rosalie eventually figuring out how to order a copy of her own birth certificate, having otherwise no documentation to prove who she was. Savannah stared at it, when it arrived. It stated her mother’s name, Bethany Grace, while the space next to where her father’s name should be was blank.
“She always said he didn’t stick around,” she said frowning, “but it’s another whole thing to see it written down.”
It was worth it though, Savannah arriving at her house after work, beeping the horn and Rosalie running out to jump into the front seat. The two of them drove around Nashville for hours, blasting their favorite music and talking about the whole damn world. One night, as they drove through the suburbs, lit up only by passing streetlights, Dixie Chicks playing loud on the radio, Rosalie frowned and turned the sound right down.
“Keep singing,” she ordered Savannah, who had ignored her anyway and kept belting out the song, flicking her indicator on as they paused at the red light. “Holy shit,” Rosalie told her, her eyes wide. “You can really sing. Did you know that?”
“My mom and I sang all the time,” Savannah said, with a shrug, “until she married Randy. She’s got a great voice.”
“No,” Rosalie said. “You have a great voice.”