Updated: Jul 21, 2019
from London by Patricia Jordan Evans
Jaq tilted the last of the wine in her glass and looked into the fire. The wind rushed around the outside corners of the cottage and scraped against the windows. The rain that had started as they were walking back from the beach pelted the roof with a dense, staccato urgency. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, as if she was holding the memory in her hand, slowly studying the shape of it.
“When you stepped up to me last night and unbuttoned your jacket,” she paused, her eyes still on the fire, “It was the most turned on I’ve been in my entire life.”
Bronwyn paused for a moment, then moved onto Jaq’s lap, facing her. Jaq leaned her forehead into her chest, breathing her in before she lifted her sweater over her head, letting it fall onto the couch, Bronwyn’s thighs tensing against hers. She ran her hands under the silk camisole she’d found under the sweater, letting it slip through her fingers like water as she dropped it to the floor too, leaving Bronwyn bare to the waist. The raw denim of her jeans was a rough contrast to her skin, and Jaq drank her in, then slid her hands from Bronwyn’s hips to her ass, pulling her close.
Bronwyn’s body had always been lean and sculpted, but there was a soft fullness to her breasts now, her nipples a caramel pink that Jaq longed to watch flush and harden, then tremble as an orgasm swept through her body. She traced the outside curve of Bronwyn’s breast with her tongue, feeling her breath catch and hold as she got nearer to the center. She stopped and laid her hand over Bronwyn’s heart, the warmth of her palm soft over the center of her chest.
“Take a breath, baby,” she whispered.
Bronwyn closed her eyes and breathed, her heart racing under Jaq’s hand. Jaq looked into her eyes when she finally opened them, her words soft. “We don’t have to do this.”
Bronwyn shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulder and around her face. “I want it. It’s just surreal.”
Jaq slid her hand gently across the back of Bronwyn’s neck and pulled her close until she felt the warmth of her breath. Jaq bit her bottom lip softly then tipped her chin up, keeping it there with her thumb while she ran her tongue down her neck and between her breasts. She paused over Bronwyn’s nipple, her breath warm and still on her skin. She circled it with her tongue, stopping just short of pulling it into her mouth. She knew how sensitive her nipples were; she’d watched Bronwyn have her first orgasm in her bed the night she’d touched them the first time.
“Jaq,” Bronwyn whispered, “Please.”
Jaq held her hand against the small of Bronwyn’s back to steady her, then just touched her mouth to Bronwyn’s nipple, so lightly it was more breath than skin. She held Bronwyn’s eyes as she drew it into her mouth, stroking it with her tongue. Bronwyn took a sharp breath, tightening her hands on Jaq’s shoulders. Her breath deepened, and she raked her fingers through her hair. Jaq leaned back and ran the back of her hands over both of her nipples, the texture a rough contrast to the slick warmth of her mouth, using just enough pressure to catch and turn them slightly as the moved her hands across them.
“Oh my God,” Bronwyn said, the words soft and lost in breath.
Jaq turned one hand over and worked that nipple with her fingers, then pulled the other hard into the heat of her mouth. Bronwyn shuddered, her breathing quick and shallow, her hips moving against Jaq’s. Her fingers tangled hard into Jaq’s hair as Jaq worked Bronwyn’s nipple with her tongue, creating almost enough intensity to push her over the edge. Almost.
Finally, she stood, Bronwyn’s legs around her waist, and walked over to lay her down on the bed. Dusk had turned to dark, the fire the only light in the room, close enough to paint shadows onto Bronwyn’s skin. Jaq leaned down to kiss her, standing as she trailed a fingertip down to the button of Bronwyn’s jeans.
Jaq pulled a zippo out of her pocket while she walked away and lit the ivory candles dotted around the room, then placed each on the windowsill under the tall stained glass panes; the flames cast shapeshifting shadows onto the rough stone walls beside them as Bronwyn watched from the bed. Jaq looked thoughtful, unbuttoning her shirt as she walked, then laid it on the back of the sofa before she picked up their wine glasses. There was something rough about Jaq if you didn't know her: the definition in her arms and broad shoulders, her husky voice like the scrape of gravel and her steadfast tendency toward silence. But Bronwyn did know her. Knew the way her eyes fell when she thought, and the gentleness of her hands as she touched her as if she was made of the thinnest sheets of glass, fingertips moving like seawater over her skin.
She handed Bronwyn her wineglass and sat back against the headboard, made from the inner panel of an old confessional. Both of them wore only jeans, the angles and softness of their bodies more contrast than reflection. The wine shimmered with the undulating light of the candles on every side of them, and Jaq ran her hand through her hair, leaning back, her eyes moving slowly over Bronwyn’s body. The storm blue of them had deepened, like pools of dark water on a cobblestone alley.
Bronwyn moved toward her and Jaq’s hands wrapped strong around her back as she laid her down on the bed underneath her. Bronwyn felt her breath, then the barest scrape of her teeth across her shoulder as Jaq brought both of her hands above her head and held them with one of hers. She lowered her mouth to the curve of her breast, just brushing it with her lips, then moved down to the sensitive skin just above the button of her jeans. Her touch was warm and insistent, and she held Bronwyn’s eyes as she unfastened each button, then followed her fingertips with her tongue. After the last button, she paused, then sat back and watched Bronwyn slide the jeans down her hips and push them off the edge of the bed.
Bronwyn closed her eyes as she raised her hips to let Jaq slip her panties off, then listened to her take off her own clothes and drop them to the floor. After what felt like forever, Jaq’s hands moved slowly down the inside of her thighs, but she stopped after just a few seconds. Bronwyn didn't realize she was trembling until Jaq already had her arms around her, leaning back into the headboard and pulling Bronwyn close.
She whispered into her ear, her hand stroking Bronwyn’s hair. “I don’t want this unless you do.”
Bronwyn shook her head. “I do,” she said, her cheek warm against Jaq’s bare chest. “It’s just…intense.” Bronwyn paused, unsure of how to describe it. “You were the last girl I was ever with. I missed you so much I made myself forget how it feels.”
“I know,” Jaq said, her thumb tracing the outline of Bronwyn’s lip. Bronwyn felt the rise and fall of her breath several times before she answered.
“I did the same thing with my heart.”
Jaq turned Bronwyn’s face toward hers and looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, then held her face as she kissed her, sinking down onto the length of her body and pulling Bronwyn’s knee up beside her. She ran her tongue over the base of her neck and across Bronwyn’s shoulders, stopping every few seconds to return to her mouth, as if it was the only way she could draw a breath. Bronwyn closed her eyes, soft moans replacing words, her fingers tightening on Jaq’s shoulders. Jaq’s hand moved down between their bodies as she slid her mouth down to bite the soft skin between Bronwyn’s breasts, circling her nipples, then drawing them deep into her mouth, feeling them tighten against her tongue. Bronwyn’s hips pressed harder against Jaq, her breath raw.
She found Jaq’s wrist and pulled it close, then held her breath as she felt Jaq’s fingertips slide across her clit. Then time stopped as Jaq’s fingers slid slowly into the liquid heat of her body. Bronwyn arched, her breath deep and quick. Jaq’s knee held Bronwyn’s thighs open as she moved her fingers inside her while sliding the slick heel of her hand gently over the tight bud of her clit.
“You’re so wet,” Jaq whispered, bringing her fingers to her mouth. Bronwyn watched as she drew them into her mouth, then slid them slowly back inside her.
Bronwyn arched as Jaq slowly stroked both inside her and across her clit. Just as her orgasm threatened to spill over the edge, Jaq paused, holding her eyes as she slid deeper inside. Bronwyn’s walls tightened around her fingers. Jaq’s other hand held Bronwyn lightly against the bed at the base of her neck as her eyes swept across Bronwyn’s body; an uneven flush had bloomed across her chest, and her breath was sharp and ragged, as if she’d been underwater too long and just broken the surface. She closed her eyes, begging with her breath, desperate to feel more of Jaq inside her.
As her climax started, she fell silent, then arched her back harder and moaned deep, hands tangled in her hair, her hips meeting every thrust of Jaq’s hand. Each wave of her orgasm was stronger than the last until she tightened her thighs around Jaq’s wrist, breathless and hoarse.
“Jaq, I can’t,” she said, “I can’t take any more.”
Jaq stilled her hand until Bronwyn started to relax, then moved up her body and pulled her into her arms.
“Bella,” she said, her voice a rough whisper, hands smoothing her hair away from her damp forehead. “Tell me I didn't hurt you.”
“God no,” Bronwyn said, finally catching her breath somewhat and looking up at Jaq. “I just forgot. I forgot how you make me feel.”
Jaq brought the duvet around their bodies and held Bronwyn in her arms, her face soft against Jaq’s chest, her breathing slow and deep as she fell into a dark sleep. Someday she’d tell her that for the first time in her entire life, she knew what it felt like to be home.
A Note from the Author
A sex scene is a sacred space between the writer and the reader... it's secret and intimate, space where it's safe to tell the truth. You, the reader, and I, the writer, have created something that no one else has, and because of you, every character is a bit different, richer, more layered than I wrote her to be.
When you read one of my books, you and I work together to bring these characters to life, and they just don’t exist without you. I can write all damn day but if I don’t have the reader’s imagination, in the end, nothing is actually created. I respect that connection and I’m humbled by and grateful for the readers who immerse themselves in the stories.
People have always asked me why I write about graphic lust, painful relationships, and sensitive issues. Isn’t it all just a little heavy? The answer is yes. Life is heavy. Shouldn't we be writing about it honestly?
About the book
Bronwyn Charles had everything she’d always wanted; a handsome fiancée, a career she loved, and a brilliant group of friends she adored. That is until she ran into Jaq Bailey, her first love from boarding school, during a classmate’s wedding in the English countryside. Suddenly, her perfect life started to seem like it belonged to someone else.
Jaq came from a trailer park in east Texas but attended Stratford Academy in London on a math scholarship, where she met and fell in love with Bronwyn. Despite being forced apart by Bronwyn’s wealthy family when their romance was discovered, Jaq never forgot the first girl she’d ever loved.
After the wedding, they returned to the lives they once knew, but then are brought back together as dangerous secrets emerge and Bronwyn’s life starts to unravel.
Are they strong enough to resist the forces still trying to keep them apart or will they lose each other again, this time forever?