Page 109 of Saving Graces
“I’ve never done that before,” she gasped in wonder. Kinsey held her close.
“Too intimate?” she asked, her face buried in her neck.
“Yeah.” Rosalie couldn’t seem to let go of her; she felt like she might never want to.
“Well,” Kinsey admitted, “me either. But I think mostly because I’ve never felt so in tune with someone I find this fucking hot.”
Rosalie smiled against her shoulder. She liked the idea they’d somehow still had a first left to share with each other.
“You like it when I call you baby,” she observed, as her breathing steadied.
“Mm,” Kinsey murmured against her skin. “It’s so… tender. Makes me feel like I’m yours.”
“That’s exactly why I like saying it.” Rosalie pulled Kinsey’s face up for a kiss. She loved the soft, vulnerable look in her eyes, the almost embarrassed pleasure on her face. “God,” she whispered, “you’re so pretty after you’ve come.”
Kinsey pulled her down on top of her, half to hide her face, half starting to work them up all over again, her hands already exploring, her kiss heated. Then she paused and pulled back, suddenly going still.
“I slept with someone else,” she said. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you again.”
Rosalie swallowed. She fought down the voice that said this was over before it started, that maybe she was never going to get what she wanted, that maybe in fact, she was crazy to be here at all, with a twenty-six year old musician on tour.
“Was it Cassidy?” she asked, pulling aside to lie next to her, but not letting go.
“No. We’ve never had sex. I thought about that too, though.” Kinsey wound the sheets tight between her fingers. “But our friendship is more important than that.”
“Okay,” Rosalie said, taking a deep breath despite the tightness lingering in her chest. “Well, we weren’t together,” she pointed out. “You were free to do what you wanted.”
“It was just a one off,” Kinsey said, “a random girl in Florida. And,” she bit her lip, “it made me so fucking sad. I just wanted so badly for it to be you.”
Her eyes were big. Suddenly Rosalie felt nothing but a rush of tenderness. Kinsey wasn’t putting up a barrier; she was letting her in. She reached across the bed, stroking back her hair and cupping her face.
“Baby,” she murmured deliberately, the first time she’d said it not in the heat of the moment. She watched it land, Kinsey’s lips parting. “It’s okay. As long as you’re here with me now and you can tell me that you want to be mine.”
“Oh,” whispered Kinsey, her voice adamant, “I’m yours.”
“I’m going to make sure of it,” Rosalie said softly, then kissed her way down her body. Kinsey gasped, her back arching, as Rosalie’s mouth claimed her and claimed her and claimed her some more.
Before
“Disgusting,” Rosalie said nose wrinkled at Savannah.
“Ew,” Savannah agreed, looking right back at her.
They both smirked. They were dressed identically, in bright red dresses cut for maximum cleavage and maximum glimpse of thigh, because who else could comfortably pull off full sex in her bridesmaids without a fear of being upstaged butCoral Sanchez?
“You’re definitely going to get laid at the reception,” Savannah informed her frankly as she surveyed Rosalie practically spilling out of the dress. Rosalie screwed up her nose.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’m good.”
Savannah shrugged. “Well I definitely am.” Her lower lip quirked with the confident anticipation of an extremely hot human being with an extremely attentive fiancé. Rosalie rolled her eyes.
“Well that’s a given,” she agreed. Savannah and Brynn always had that look about them, like the sex was not just good but goddamned holy.
It all seemed like an alien concept to Rosalie by now. It was almost two years since she’d last had sex and since she was pretty confident she was done with relationships anyway, she was more or less content to leave it that way. Maybe she’d become a nun. Maybe she’d be alone so long she’d turn into a virgin all over again. Probably she’d die alone. Maybe she wouldn’t even care. All of it seemed possible.
Savannah looped her arm through hers and together they wandered through the grounds of the sprawling Nashville estate Savannah and Brynn called home. Coral’s wedding was taking place in the vineyard.
“Son of a biscuit.” Savannah lost twenty years of sophistication in a heartbeat as they rounded the corner and saw Coral, just getting the finishing touches on her hair. Rosalie could only agree. She understood their dresses now; Coral was just trying to throw them a bone, so they didn’t look downright dowdy. Coral outshone them by about eight miles of gleaming sex-drenched couture.
