Christmas morning was a whole ticker-tape parade of shredded wrapping paper and tortured ribbons. Oscar and Cam ignored their innumerable toys and tossed Anna's new sunhat like a Frisbee.
When the time came, Anna dressed, taking care not to appear to be taking too much care. She was unlikely to feel comfortable, but she could at least dress comfortably… a striped gray t-shirt dress. And because it was Christmas, red sandals and the corny musical earrings Oscar had picked out.
She smooshed a little product into her hair and pulled at the ends. She should have got a haircut this week. Red lipstick would work best with the shoes, but she usually wore pale, invisible colors. Red would draw attention. Today would be hard enough without an audience. Disappearing into the background was the goal.
Upper Crust was decked out with a cornucopia of lights and poinsettias. Anna had finished her first glass of champagne even before Frida and the Lafoluas arrived. The boys were told they couldn't have a second sparkling grape juice straight away, but Anna got a refill without question.
She put it safely out of immediate reach—on the table, beside platters of Prosciutto and green beans with cherry tomatoes and pine nuts, shredded mozzarella, slivers of nectarine, a drizzle of balsamic, and bright green basil leaves curled like little rainbows, shiny and festive.
Anna joined the boys, who were wrapping party favors. She passed them short pieces of tape, as required, and admired their handiwork.
She was still overseeing gift-wrapping when Frida walked in.
Like perfect strangers they exchanged civil 'Merry Christmases' and then Anna turned back to ribbon-curling.
This was the closest they'd come to speaking to one another since that first morning. Once so much to each other, now nothing.
Sophie brought Adam over to meet Anna. He was lean, and maybe shorter than Sophie, but only just. "Ah, the Anna in all the books. Pleased to meet you."
"Books?"
"The inscriptions, in some of the books at the house."
"Oh."
"We have similar taste—well, assuming you liked all the books your mom gave you."
Anna found herself smiling a real smile. "Yeah, she had pretty spot-on judgment."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize," he said, noticing her use of past tense.
"No, it was a long time ago." It had been nearly ten years. A flood of guilt threatened to take Anna's legs out. She'd been so busy lamenting her history with Frida that she hadn't even thought of her mother all day. And Christmas had been her mother's favorite day. Next Christmas, it'd be ten Christmases.
Thankfully, Adam and Sophie had drifted toward appetizers, and Anna was free to feel dreadful without an audience. She found and finished her second glass of champagne.
Frida was charming Cam and Oscar, fashioning a pirate-meets-cowboy hat out of three crepe Christmas cracker crowns and a menu.
There was perhaps twenty feet of distance between them, but it was impassable. There had been a time when, of all the couples in this room, they were the pair who would have found it most impossible to be apart, to cease talking to each other. With the sole possible exception of Sophie and Adam, there could have been no pair more captivated by one another, more open and enthralled and in sync. And now they were strangers—worse than strangers, because they could never become friends.
The conversation rushed from one topic to another, fueled by food and drink and excitement. The Romanos were more au fait with celebrity gossip than world politics—they knew little about the situations Adam and Frida had covered with pen and camera. Even Charlie, the self-described fan, was only familiar with a limited selection of their work. But everyone was eager to hear stories of danger and daring, and between them Adam and Frida obliged—of course they did.
Frida ribbed Louis when he confused Iran for Iraq. Adam laughed off Marian's concern about where they had slept in Senegal, and Dominic's horror at what they had eaten in Nicaragua.
"There are hotels! Even in the most backwater of backwaters, you can usually get cash out of the wall. And most of the time, the local food is the safest stuff going."
Adam nodded. "If it's popular, you know it hasn't been sitting in the sun all day."
Anna remembered having similar conversations with Frida, when she had been planning on taking Anna with her on her travels. Anna had never had the same hunger for adventure as Frida, nor the same blind courage and reckless confidence, but she'd said yes—she'd planned to go with her. She had felt equal to it, solely because she would be with Frida.
Frida had never needed Anna in the same way. She had gone alone.
"But a bit of rough living is good—makes you appreciate the clean sheets and hot showers when they come around. Plus," Frida licked balsamic vinegar off her thumb, "part of the job is imagining what it's like to be in the situation, to live there—can't do that from the ninth floor of the Hilton with the spa bath and all-night room service."
"Spa baths do wonders for my imagination," Hannah said, then giggled and blushed. The bubbly couldn't take all the blame.
Marian was sitting beside Anna and leaned in closer, "I'm so glad you came to stay," she said kindly. "Mere—everyone's happier, more relaxed. I don't know what you do, but keep doing it." Anna gave Marian her full attention and willingly let the rest of the conversation pass her by.
When she came back to it, Louis was looking up the Maguindanao massacre on his cellphone. "Holy fuuuuu..." He clamped his lips together and looked guiltily at his father. "You went there. You, a journalist, walked into a country that killed all those journalists."
Frida tilted her nearly-empty glass in a kind of shrug. "Well, I didn't tell them I was a journalist. I told them I was a wildlife photographer looking at their frogs and crocodiles. I had a fake commission and contract drawn up to make it look like I was working for Random House, doing art for a book." Frida grimaced, looking at Sophie. "I was a tad reckless, but not completely stupid."
Sophie was shaking her head. "Mona still hasn't entirely forgiven me for not stopping you. And forgiveness is her whole bit."
"And we hadn't even heard of it," Hannah said. "Doesn't that bother you—you risked your life for a story and we don't even know about it?"
"Hey, it did the trick. Reuters bought the photos. I was in every major paper in the world."
"You were lucky." Adam gave a nod.
"Oh, I'm aware. If not for that, I would have run out of money, fast, and the last thing I wanted to do was come back to New Zealand. I was hungry to see the world—see everything, experience every… I was young. I wanted to save the planet, one photo at a time. And after Maguindanao, I had the money and connections to keep moving, chase whatever story caught my fancy. I hardly stayed in one place for a week."
"It's the classic tale," Adam said. "Young, single, hungry journalists throw themselves into the job head-first. No spouse, no kids to make them hesitate. If they don't get themselves killed, more often than not they do pretty well."
Frida lounged back in her chair. "I had a few close calls. I was meant to take a bus on the Tuesday, but took the Monday night one on a whim, and missed the militia by hours—they did a sweep looking for foreigners. I got to the airport safely and went through security as soon as they let me, slept in the airport lounge. But if not for that snap decision, you'd never have heard of me. And I couldn't begin to list all the other times seemingly unimportant choices saved me from trouble or worse."
Anna stared at the bubbles rising in her glass and hoped her expression gave away nothing of her feelings. Selina had warned her, back then, had told Anna that Frida would be better off single, unfettered, free to chase whichever story took her fancy. And that wasn't all Selina had warned her of: being left behind, waiting for news, dreading a phone call just as much as the silence, not knowing if the love of her life were alive or dead.
Hannah shook her head, expression full of horror. Louis said, "You didn't know they were coming? You just happened to… that is too close. Too close. Too unpredictable! How can you do it, again and again?"
"Half the fun is defying the odds." Frida gave a jaunty smile and raised her glass to Adam. "I was supposed to be visiting Deepwater Horizon the actual day of the explosion, but I wanted to go to a music festival, so I harassed them until they gave in and let me get in early. And then..."
Anna took a long drink. She'd known about that one already—had seen the photos online immediately after the disaster and done the math herself.
Adam leaned forward. "You were in Haiti before the quake weren't you? Can you predict seismic events or was there some other draw?"
"Doctors Without Borders. I took some photos for their fundraising materials."
"Wow, that's so cool." Hannah touched Frida's arm. "I'd love to work for a charity that really helps people like that."
"I bet they didn't pay like the big papers." Louis gazed at Frida with open admiration.
"They do open doors though. Even if there hadn't been a quake, I'd have sold a few on the side. But then the seven pointer, and we were just out of Port-Au-Prince, so it was all hands on deck. I made some very good friends there. Harvey and Janine, Nicky—friends for life. Nothing like a tragedy to make you…" She interlaced her fingers and stared blankly at the table.
"I remember Haiti—Angelina Jolie did a thing, didn't she?" Hannah was transfixed by Frida, her gaze unwavering, even while Oscar was scrambling across her knee to get to his grandfather.
"There were loads of celebrities but we didn't really spend time with them… they do some good, don't get me wrong, but they're actors, not builders, not doctors or engineers. They get media attention, but they get in the way as well."
"Surely any willing, able-bodied person can help move rubble and look after children, cook a meal, comfort someone."
Frida nodded, but only just. "Comforting someone who's dealing with that level of trauma… it's possible to do more harm than good. And cooking for several hundred people—the last thing you want is a gastro outbreak. It's more complicated than it sounds."
"Sounds plenty complicated." Dominic hoisted Oscar up over his shoulder. "Right, must be time to plate up some dessert. Hope you all saved room."
"Dessert goes in a whole other stomach, right?" Charlie patted his belly.
Mere looked disgusted.
Sophie also looked unimpressed, but not because of Charlie's endless appetite. "You're a photographer, Frida. No more an engineer than Angelina Jolie."
"Right, but this wasn't my first rodeo. And the press attention, that's the best thing you get from the celebrities—and that's what I was doing, taking photos."
"Not all day, every day, you weren't."
"Harvey put me to work building temporary housing. I'm good at doing as I'm told—better than most movie stars. Think what you like, Sis. It's easier to be useful when people aren't asking you for selfies every other minute. And I'm used to living rough. One Angelina Jolie or the like can add a heap of strain to the infrastructure."
"I've been following Adam around for years, in and out of disaster zones. Am I just getting in the way, putting unnecessary strain on the infrastructure?" said Sophie.
"You know that's not what I'm saying."
"Just you wait—when you fall for someone, you won't give a flying f… frog whether or not they're useful in a crisis. You'll want her with you regardless. I'd put money on it, you'll charter a plane, do whatever you have to, hang the infrastructure."
Cameron was at the far end of the table, playing a game on Charlie's cellphone, and the sing-song sound of it rang out.
Adam was nodding, a smug look on his face. He was Team Sophie in this battle.
Frida finished off her drink. "Well, once happy couples start with You'll see, when you're married… I can only insist I will not, and then you'll say Yeah you will and we're stuck in a loop. So," she dabbed at her lips and left bright lipstick on her napkin, "I'm going to try for a go on Cam's game."
Anna felt the sudden increase in distance yawn between them. Was that relief or longing?
Marian turned to Sophie. "So you've been traveling for... how long?"
"A long time."
"With new people every month or two? You didn't miss having friends, a job, a home of your own?"
"I think Adam craves that stuff more than me. No, I was fine. As long as we're together—and we make friends, we have our little home-making rituals. We have our own pillow cases. It's silly, but it makes it feel like our place. And I do this thing with my scarves, throw them over lamps, or ugly hotel room art, or across the end of the bed like one of those posh blanket things."
"She's an artist at heart," Adam said. "They beg her to go back to Y&R every time they hear she's in town."
"There was one time I was ready to throw it in." Sophie batted away the compliment. "I was stuck in London—ash from that volcano in Iceland grounded all the planes. And you," she pointed a scolding finger at Adam, "were in Greece covering riots. I had nothing to do but watch TV and the news coming out of Greece was… bad. I'd rather be in the danger myself than watching it, I guess. But no, the key ingredient," she nodded to Adam, "was that I was home so long as we were together. Sorry, Christmas makes me sappy."
Adam smiled, eyes full of love. "Let's just wait and see if the key ingredient does the trick when we stay put for three months together."
Marian picked up the story-baton with a tale about Charlie and Dominic going on a cycling trip, and how she worried for Dominic. Charlie always pushed himself and Dominic would want to keep up and she waited every day for bad news. But none came. The story fell flat.
The afternoon passed, though it had felt like it never would. Anna beat Cam at checkers several times over and tried not to glance at Frida, who was stretched out on a pool-lounger just outside the open French doors. But Anna didn't have to look to hear: Louis was half in love, discussing the merits of Nikon and Canon for a first SLR. And Oscar, still dripping from the pool, must have leapt over Frida to get at Louis. Frida's squeal and laugh hit Anna like a spray of water from the pool, sent shivers down her arms and rippling across her scalp.
"Your turn, Auntie Anna," Cam said.
The checkers board swam in front of Anna's eyes.
Hours later, the kids fell asleep in front of Elf. Anna carried Oscar up to bed, closely followed by Charlie, who had Cam carefully cradled in his arms. When they came down again, the TV was off, Hannah and Louis were showing off their musical talents, and Anna was cajoled into joining them on her guitar.
Marian wanted to dance, and soon everyone joined in. Anna lost her band-mates but she played on, happy to have something to do with her hands. The tunes were familiar, easy, and her eyes wandered. The way Frida moved, hips only just above Anna's eye level, hands swaying, fingers curling and stretching, hovering around Hannah one moment, Louis the next.
At one point, Anna could have sworn Frida was watching her. Anna looked up just as she turned away.
But why would Frida be looking at her? She had Louis and Hannah's undivided attention. Both of them were so totally mesmerized by her—and who could blame them? Frida was… irresistible.
Happy. She was so happy. And why shouldn't she be? Everyone loved her.
Of course they did.
Anna let her mind wander while she played. What would she say if she and Frida were ever left alone? She really had no idea. No ready apology or simple acknowledgment, nothing about the past. Maybe she could ask how Mona was doing. Yeah, that would be less awkward than most conversation openers.
The dancers had drifted to the kitchen for drinks. Anna took her chance and removed herself and her guitar to the deck. She gulped the cool night air, closed her eyes and felt the breeze caress her cheeks.
"Want one?" Hannah said, holding up her own cider.
"Sure."
Hannah darted off to get Anna's drink as Louis and Frida came out the other door. They didn't see her. Anna had an awful premonition she was about to witness something she'd replay later instead of sleeping. She let her fingertips graze the strings of her guitar, made up a tune as she went. If they looked over, she didn't know it—she wouldn't know it because she was fixedly staring out at the dark garden beyond the pool.
"That'll improve your picture," Frida was saying. "But there's only so much you can do with these settings. The lens, it's too small to pull light out of the dark."
"Yeah, I figured. But sometimes it surprises me, you know. I'll take a photo in real low light, expecting a dim blur, and it'll turn out beautiful."
"Our eyes adjust, so sometimes we'll perceive more light than a camera will."
"You don't know what you've got till it's gone—hey, Anna, know that one?" Louis broke into song, "On and on it seems to go..."
Anna had to look at them now. Frida met her gaze. For the first time in such a very long time her look was soft, almost tender.
Anna couldn't speak, but she could finger the tune.
"If we had a real camera I could show you the difference." Frida's voice barely wavered, just enough to make Anna wonder what she was thinking. "What your eyes perceive to be similar can be really—wildly—different."
Anna couldn't trust her own perception, in other words. She imagined her own feelings in Frida's tones and gestures, but they were wildly different.
They'd always been wildly different. That was the problem.
"Charlie's got real cameras. He won't mind." Louis dashed inside.
Anna held her breath. They were going to be left alone. She and Frida, in the dark, on Christmas, several drinks in.
Frida sat down on the same cushion, only just out of reach. Anna lost track of what she was playing.
"So, you're still teaching?" Frida said.
"Yeah." Anna scrambled for something to say. "How's Mona?"
"Good. Happy."
Anna looked up, met Frida's gaze. "Good. She deserves it."
Frida's crooked smile deflated. "Are you happy?"
A gust of wind filled the silence. The enormous oak on the near lawn thrashed, dropping a couple more leaves in the pool.
Hannah came out with Anna's drink. She plonked her gorgeous, young self down between them. Anna was suddenly, painfully aware that she paled in comparison to her friend. Hannah's long auburn hair and fresh complexion, her goddess-like curves, open, friendly smile, and sparkling eyes…
Maybe Anna should go to bed. Let the others flirt in peace.
Oh, but she'd just been given a drink. It would seem strange—it would seem like running away. And that's exactly what it would be.
Louis came back with the camera and, under Frida's tutelage, experimented with the low light settings. He took pictures of Hannah and Frida, poking faces at the camera, then at each other, then arms around each other, then falling back onto the cushions, squealing with glee.
Frida inspected the photos, played with the settings and then took one of Louis. Louis played the part, posing against the railing. "Is it hot in here?"
Hannah looked over at Anna, sharing a smile and rolling her eyes.
"Hannah, get over here." Louis held out a hand.
Anna started playing guitar again, essentially muting his conversation with Frida.
But Louis' voice carried over: "Nah, Anna doesn't like being photographed."
Frida gave a slow nod, as if this answered a question she'd asked—one Anna hadn't been able to hear over the guitar.
Hannah gave a deep, happy sigh. "We should swim." She turned to Anna, eyebrows up, all good humor and friendship.
"I'm happy here," Anna said unthinking. She didn't want to swim—not with the three of them. In that sense she was happy where she was, but Frida had asked if she were happy: happy in her life, in her job, her situation. Happy with her decision to let Frida go eight years ago?
That's not what Frida was asking. She was just being polite, making small talk. It wasn't fair to layer ancient history over every word she said now.
The three of them disappeared to get changed—the twins lived in the tiny apartment above the restaurant, and Hannah could lend Frida a swimsuit. Too soon they returned, Louis in board shorts, Hannah and Frida in bikinis. Anna tried desperately not to stare at them—at Frida. She did look different—from how Anna remembered her. Softer. There was a small round scar on her thigh, Anna noticed—and a few minutes later, so did Louis.
"Is that a bullet wound?"
Frida laughed, a sound that cut Anna between the ribs and stole her breath. "Cigarette burn."
"You smoke?" Hannah accused.
"It was someone else. Being an idiot. Hurt like fuck."
"I bet." Louis pushed off the side and floated on his back across the pool, away from Frida. Frida dove under and came up under him, rolling him over.
Anna started playing guitar again. She needed to not watch them.
"Take a photo of us!" Hannah called, swinging an arm around Frida, and the other around Louis. "Since you got all the settings set, it should come out alright, yeah?"
"Do you know how to use it?" Louis ran his fingers through his hair.
Anna caught Frida's eye. Anna only knew how to use it because Frida had taught her. There was a momentary expression on Frida's face, a glance of her bright eye, curl of her beautiful mouth, which convinced Anna that just for a moment Frida was suffering the same onslaught of memory.
It was so tempting to believe Anna could read Frida's true feelings, her private thoughts. She was suddenly certain that Frida remembered everything.
Anna took half-a-dozen photos and then excused herself to go to the toilet. In the mirror, she stared at her tired face, her far-from-fresh complexion, her dark eyes. She gave herself a silent but stern talking-to. She could do this. She could look her past in the face, own it, stand strong. Perhaps Frida was long lost, but Anna was not the same weak, persuadable woman she'd been eight years ago. She had nothing to be ashamed of now.
Or she could go to bed and hide.
No! Perhaps it was the booze, but she was feeling strangely robust, determined, as if someone had laid down a personal challenge.
She pressed her lips together to pinken them, slapped herself in the cheeks—for color, but not just for color—and pushed her shoulders back.
Outside, Frida was wearing a towel and cradling Anna's guitar, picking out the only tune she'd ever been able to play—Blowin' in the Wind. Frida looked just like a young Joan Baez, and she could sing too. She'd always been a much better singer than guitarist.
Hannah joined in on the chorus and Louis grabbed the bongos, but they didn't know the words beyond the chorus. Frida kept going on her own.
Her gaze fell on Anna, watching from inside.
Frida stopped singing. The guitar strings continued vibrating, barely buzzing. "Sorry, this is yours."
"No, it's fine."
Frida put the guitar down on the seat. She jogged toward the pool, dropped her towel, and dove in. Hannah and Louis followed close behind.
Anna felt cold. A door slammed in her face, a gust of rejection pushing her back a step. Why was she doing this to herself? Punishing herself for what had happened eight years ago. Regret was a scab she kept on picking at, sitting here, watching them all.
She slipped the guitar into its case and touched the strings to quiet their echo. If only she could hold her hand to her stomach and still the vibrations there.
She downed the rest of her drink. "Goodnight." She waved when Hannah popped her head up, and turned away before anyone else answered.
Eight years ago…
In the busy cafe, Anna perched on a bar stool. She felt like she was getting in everyone's way. Frida was late. That, on top of an argument with Max about a casually racist comment, had her tense. It was something Anna would usually have let slide, but ever since Frida had been on the scene there was a fire in Anna's belly. She liked it—at least until Max fired back and Dad, when he came in, took Max's side, throwing cold water on the fire.
But the fire hadn't gone out. That was new.
Frida was thirteen minutes late. The fire in Anna's belly was getting lower by the minute. She needed Frida to show up. Too much. Anna checked her phone, thumbed down their text conversation—nothing new popped up. Scrolling, the flames leapt again, hungry for oxygen. Frida's words, late night messages, a photo of something she was working on in class, a funny thing that happened on the bus—she had to tell someone and Anna was her go-to.
This wasn't all in Anna's head. Frida would have a reason for being late. Anna wasn't the only one falling.
It was like driving over a lump in a country road at speed, the lurch of her stomach, the earth dropping away beneath her. Anna realized how far she'd fallen, how vulnerable she was. She was still reeling from the realization when Frida knocked on the window and mouthed, "Sorry!"
Anna faked a smile and rushed outside to meet her.
"I got dragged into a conversation," Frida held the door open. "We can go back inside."
Anna shook her head. She didn't have an alternative lined up—all she knew was that she couldn't share Frida with a whole cafe full of people right now.
"You okay?"
Max and Walter were out at some networking thing. The house would be deserted.
"We can walk," Frida said. "Fresh air—are you sure you're okay?"
"How about a swim?"
"A swim?"
"At my house. My father's house. The pool is slightly heated so..."
"Sold."
Frida borrowed a swimsuit. And made it look completely different.
Self-conscious, Anna dove straight into the water. She came up in time to watch Frida descending the ladder, wide hips and a narrow waist. She looked strong, confident in her skin. Sexy, so sexy.
She took a short, sharp breath. "I thought you said it was heated."
Anna made lazy breaststrokes, one toe trailing along the bottom of the pool, meandering toward her as if by accident. "Just to keep the chill off."
"Nope." Frida grimaced then kicked off the wall and splashed in gasping. She stood up, her nipples peaking at the water line. She looked up at the house.
"It's kind of ridiculous," Anna said.
"It's amazing. Fair enough you haven't left home—after this, where would you even start?"
"On a teaching salary? About an hour's drive from here."
Frida laughed. "Makes me feel better about mooching off my sister."
"Mona loves having you."
"Loves keeping an eye. There's not much space for… privacy."
"Plenty of privacy here," Anna said, then heard how it sounded—a total come-on. Not that she was opposed to the idea, but brazen wasn't exactly her style. "I mean, if anything I get too much space here, too much time by myself."
Frida swam deeper, not away from Anna, but adjacent. "Is that the harbor I can see?"
"Yeah."
"You grew up here?"
Anna followed her to the deep end, to the best harbor view.
"How are you so normal?" said Frida.
"Am I?"
"Well, no." Frida faced her, "You're spectacular."
Anna laughed in her face.
Frida swam up against her, skin to slick skin. Every nerve lit up. Not a whisper between Anna's nose and Frida's cheek, and the direct look, straight into Anna's eyes, hypnotic, totally focused.
Waiting.
Anna kissed her slow, holding her breath, totally absorbed by the tiny touch. The shape, the texture of her lips, the way Frida answered, tentative, teasing, trying, tasting, savoring. It was everything, in the tiny motion of a kiss.
Then, without warning, everything changed. A kiss was no longer enough. The space between them, unbearable. The light touch, infuriating. Anna grasped at Frida's elbow under the water, pulled her closer, but they bounced off each other in the water.
Frida's foot slipped around Anna's foot, hooked around Anna's leg, smooth skin and soft thighs and solid hipbones and taut muscle. Anna felt herself encircled, trapped. Home.
She held on, her muscles tight, Frida's small, full breasts pressed to Anna's softer chest. The languorous tasting of that first contact was a distant memory; Frida dove into the kiss, eager, unabashed.
Anna ran her hands across Frida's back, pressed every inch of herself into the embrace, body humming, hungry for more.
Their legs were interwoven. She could feel the heat in Frida's core against her thigh. Surely Frida could feel hers, thrumming with need.
The kiss slowed. Frida inched her face away, but their bodies were still interlocked. Her eyes were dark. "Too fast?"
Anna shook her head, trailing her fingers up Frida's back and down again, teasing at her waistband.
Frida shifted her hips, looking Anna right in the eye.
Anna gripped her waist, relishing holding this strange, wonderful body in her hands. She pushed down, tracing the hem of the bikini.
The hard plane of Frida's thigh caught between Anna's legs, a flash of pure sex, stealing her breath.
Frida shifted her leg again, watching Anna react, watching her straddle it, arching and helpless. Frida kissed Anna's throat, her neck, her chest. She pushed aside the swimsuit, licked at Anna's breast, grazed her teeth across it, panting against the nipple.
Anna was close, so close, but she wanted to savor this, stretch it out. She ran her fingers around Frida's stomach and down. Heat. Slick. Softer than silk.
Frida's breath shuddered against Anna's chest.
Anna's body roared, demanding more. The bare reality of Frida's open, wanting flesh; or perhaps it was the raw need in that shaky breath—Anna's aching clit took charge, rocking her hard and wild, gripping at Frida's thighs and hips as she tumbled over the edge. A deep pulse echoed between them, radiating out to her extremities and ricocheting back into her core.
Frida clamped her thighs around Anna's hand, but Anna's only thought was to make Frida come just as hard as she had. Anna slid down Frida's body, touching her with every part of her self, then caught her mouth in a kiss, full and open. Frida relaxed, let her thighs part. Anna explored her, gentle, curious. She looked into her eyes, delving deeper, teasing, watching Frida's response. Frida's hips began to buck. Anna threaded her fingers in long extravagant strokes, watching Frida's eyes close, her lips part, her head fall back. Anna felt her own need rise again, pulsing in anticipation. She worked tighter circles, pressing harder, trapping Frida against the side of the pool. She was afraid for a moment that Frida mightn't like it—but Frida looked up, looked her right in the eye, and came, moaning, arching, gasping for breath.
It was dusk when they slipped into bed. Cool sheets and warm skin, tangled together. Anna traced her fingers around Frida's cheek, then down her neck, over her breast, circling till it peaked. She circled her belly button, traced the crease at the top of her thigh. "We're so different."
"Mm." Frida pressed her face into the nook of Anna's neck. "How do you smell so good?"
They'd showered together. Anna would never forget how Frida looked, head back, eyes closed, water sluicing down her body. "All clean?"
"Not," kiss, "at," kiss, "all."
Anna laughed. She traced the crease up from Frida's thigh, to her glorious hips. "I think this bit's my favorite.
"How could I choose? Your neck tastes almost as good as you feel down there. But these," Frida ran her tongue down Anna's chest. Her hair fell forward, still damp but warm from the hair drier. She ran her hand up Anna's side, cupped her breast, then spread her fingers down Anna's stomach, slow and breathless. "I want you again already."
Merry Christmas! Hope you have a lovely day of it, wherever you are, and that the end of this ridiculous year brings you a little peace. xx Amy