Chapter 12: Sea Glass and Honey and Seeing Stars

Jane's POV

You exhale shakily at the sensation of leisurely hands running over your naked body, tenderly tracing your side, scratching feather-light patterns across your taut stomach.

You don't need a moment to orient yourself; you instantly know it's Maura because no one else's hands have ever felt so delightfully good against your skin; and you would recognize the softness of her palms in a heartbeat.

You blink your eyes open; you are laying on your side, head turned towards her, and she breaks into a brilliant megawatt-smile as your eyes lock on hazel pools specked with shimmering specks of green. Sea glass in the sand, a perfect day at the beach, the sparkling reflection of sunlight dancing on the water's surface.

She leans forward and lightly nibbles at your lip. "What are you thinking about?", she asks, barely above a whisper, while her hand gently slips between your thighs.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you part your legs automatically, granting her better access. "The – sea", you mumble with an audible sigh between your words, "its colors..."

Her hand stops at the waistband of your panties. "Oh, that's really interesting, Jane!", she perks up. "Did you know that oceans mostly appear blue because water tends to absorb the red part of the light spectrum? Of course, oceans can also seem green or even reddish to the human eye – the water contains other properties that the light bounces off of, like algae or mineral sediments-"

Her fingers move in a slow circle above your waistband, and you lean forward to capture her lips in a sweet yet bruising kiss, taking the opportunity to press your naked bodies flush together. You lazily swirl your tongue around hers, which has her react quite fervently, her nipples stiffening against your torso as she moves, sensuously, against you.

When you pull apart after a while, you husk: "I am quite impressed that you can recall so much information even in the middle of the night..."

"It's hardly the middle of the night, Jane." To your surprise, she kicks away the duvet that has only been covering your feet at this point anymore anyway; tossing her hair back, she reaches to her nightstand to look at her digital alarm clock. "It's 4.23am, to be exact."

"Ugh", you moan, "why are you waking me up so early? It's not even a workday", dramatically flopping your head back onto the pillow.

"I'm sorry", she mumbles, drawing closer to you. She places a finger on your lower lip, her breath tickling your ear as she whispers: "I just wanted to keep my promise, Jane. I always reciprocate."

You stiffen as your skin prickles in anticipation and your cheeks blush furiously. "Maur, you don't have to-"

Her finger traces the outlines of your lips. "I know I do not have to, Jane", she mumbles against your mouth, before her tongue hotly starts to follow the lines of your lips, too. The kiss is sloppy and urgent, spiked with a hunger as her hand between your thighs moves and pulls down the sticky wetness of your slip in one fluent motion.

Rolling on top of you, she finally breaks the crushing kiss as she splays her hand across your belly, your abdominal muscles rippling beneath her, a tightness already forming in your lower belly at the sheer sight of her, naked, honey-blonde hair still tousled from sleep, nipples standing erect as she bends down. Her lips ghost over the sensitive area of your neck and it takes all your willpower to tug at her hair lightly in order to halt the ministrations she is undoubtedly prepared to deliver.

"What's wrong, Jane?", she asks, her perfectly arched brows furrowed as you squirm underneath her.

"Maura, I – I really know to appreciate it, but what you said before we went to sleep – umm, about the oral-", is all you can manage, embarrassment tinging your cheeks a bright shade of reddish-pink. She doesn't seem to get the hint, so you add: "It's just – I, umm, I won't be able to come. So. Err. There really is no need to, y'know..."

"Oh, Jane." Her face softens in sudden understanding. "Are you trying to tell me that you cannot reach climax through oral stimulation by a partner?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at what must be one of the most uncomfortable conversation you have ever had in your entire life. "I... guess so?"

A moment of silence lets your galloping heart twist painfully in your chest. Of course she wouldn't react in a good way. What did you expect? You try to keep everything related to sex very neatly apart from the rest of your life, but by going to bed with your best friend, you have utterly thwarted your own rules and the burning humiliation you feel at your pathetic admission probably is the least frightening part of your punishment.

"Jane... open your eyes, please?" Maura's voice is gentle and nonjudgemental which somehow makes it even harder for you not to keep your eyes shut. You peer up into the face of the kindest human being you have ever met, and she leans down and nuzzles your nose with her own: "While I would very much like to bring you to orgasm by performing cunnilingus on you, I mainly want to make you feel good, and if you let me, I intend to show you that I am not at all upset about any ability or inability to reach orgasm. Sex is not just about coming, but mainly about connecting and enjoying". How does she manage to keep her voice sexy like this while uttering terms like cunnilingus you will never know, but you force yourself to continue: "It's just – you were so perfect last night, and I'm not as – uninhibited as you. And... I just generally take a long time and... well, no one has ever really been keen on, umm, going down on me, so – I just don't want to disappoint you", you finish somewhat lamely but what can you do? You are lame, compared to her. She's basically a sex goddess with a vast anatomical knowledge she can put to practical use in such situations while you have perhaps tried out four or five different positions in all your life and have never even orgasmed with anyone else present, only when you were on your own, in the sanctity of your bedroom or the shower, giving in to your carnal needs but never fully without shame or the remnants of religious guilt about your furtive rubbing and stroking.

"Oh, Jane." She brushes a dark strand of hair behind your ear. "You could never disappoint me", she says earnestly. "Being here, with you, like this – that, to me, comes quite close to perfection." You are grateful that she can't tell a lie without breaking into hives. She doesn't sport any signs of them now so she is telling the truth.

"Do you want to know what the best part was – last night? For me?", she asks and you are surprised at the nervous blotches of color appearing on her face, giving away her anxiety. You cannot hide your curiosity. "Sure", you reply, biting down on your lip, wondering if what she is about to say will be something good or something – well, embarrassing maybe?

Her words are so quiet you have to strain your ears in order to hear them. "When you were... massaging my breasts... touching my body... bumping against my clitoris-", she takes a deep breath as if to steady herself and your lower abdomen reacts to her with a needy pang of wetness that gushes out of you, unhindered by fabric now, "well – everything was so beautiful and intense, and you were being so gentle and you felt so soft, but-" She bites down on her lower lip, hard, as her gaze meets yours, moist eyes pleading for understanding and something more, something even deeper. You only get it when she finishes her sentence hoarsely, "-but the best part was that I could feel – your scars- the rough tissue", her eyes roll upwards as the memory seems to overcome her and she has to grip your arm, quite hard, before she is able to continue: "-and I know that it is an awful thing to say because of course I wish you wouldn't have them, but it – somehow increased my desire." She hangs her head in shame and possibly regret at having shared with you a preference so intimate and perhaps morally twisted about herself, but you won't allow her to wallow in misery, not even for one second.

"Maura", your voice cuts through the quiet of her bedroom with surprising strength, "I know that these scars will always remind me of one of the worst events of my life, but nowadays – they mostly make me think about you." Her head snaps up at this, bewildered.

"It's true", you confirm with a chuckle, "because of how well you took care of me afterwards, tending to my wounds... you helped me to recover... and you somehow always knew when they hurt and when you offered to – massage them, that first time... well, I would never have allowed anyone else to... but you made me feel safe enough. You make me feel safe enough", and who knows who is initiating the next kiss, hungry and smoldering and deep? You allow Maura to hover above you and massage your nipples with skillful hands while she caresses her way down your body, dipping her tongue into the small depression of your navel, thoroughly peppering every inch of your lower abdomen with small, almost chaste kisses. You notice that she kisses the area where a faint scar remains of the bullet that once pierced your body with even greater caution, like she is afraid of hurting you somehow. She isn't hurting you at all. In fact, her ministrations affect you deeply, not only physically, but also by the sheer force of emotions they elicit. It is like an avalance of feelings finally let loose. Love and affection are very much present, but so are fear, self-doubt, an overwhelming protectiveness you have never allowed yourself to feel so fully before, there's awe and raw, nerve-wracking vulnerability and confusion as to what all of this means for you, for your own identity, for the very essence of your being: You have never considered yourself a lesbian despite the very tender, not strictly platonic feelings for Maura that you harbored for such a long time, but refused to unpack or even just properly acknowledge. Instead, you pushed them as far away as possible, focused on your career, your family, on dating guys that never truly meant a whole lot to you. Being around Maura all the time somehow made it all easier, more bearable in a way: Because she was always there, so close to you, and you told yourself that it simply would not be right to act on any of the sudden impulses that from time to time you had to suppress fiercely so as not to do something stupid. You told herself that her scent was enough for you, that seeing her everyday at home and at work was enough, that making her laugh or sharing a blanket was enough...

But this – being with Maura, here, like this, it doesn't feel stupid or wrong at all. You know that you want her, know that you need her as she makes her way all down your legs to kiss and suck and nip her way upwards.

Long, thin limbs part as if of their own free will; you can feel the stickiness as you spread your legs and a panicky thought crosses your anxious mind: What if Maura is... repulsed by your odor? By the heady, earthy smell that already hangs in the room but will certainly get even stronger the closer she gets to her intended destination?

She is kissing the insides of your upper thighs, showering them with affection; she does not seem to want to miss even the smallest spot. The sensation of her hot mouth against your sensitive skin is heavenly, and you just have to lower your hands to wrap them in honey-blonde, no, almost golden hair, you want her closer you want her so badly but oh God what if she won't enjoy it it would be so humiliating and are you really ready to let her have you like this, to let her taste you like this -

The smallest tug you give is enough; she instantly pauses and looks up from between your legs; her eyes hooded, dark, her mouth a perfect sensual pout.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. "Maura, I just want to reiterate that I am not expecting you to – well – I mean, you just don't have to, okay?" You cradle her cheek with a large, calloused palm and she shudders at the contact in what you realize must be another wave of arousal washing over her. You get even wetter herself thinking of how you filled her, how you pumped into her, how much she throbbed and pulsed...

"Jane – trust me. I want to do this. And I don't want to pressure you into thinking that you have to do the same thing for me. I like it, Jane, and -"

"You like it?", you interrupt her, a little surprised. "How can you be sure?"

She blushes but keeps her gaze on you, steady, unwavering. "I've done this before, Jane."

"Oh." Although over the course of your friendship there had been situations where you could have asked her about potential female lovers, you never did. You don't even know why. Maybe you were afraid of the answer. Maybe you already knew, deep down. Maybe you were just trying to keep your own jealousy under control. You were never exactly happy when Maura was with a guy, although you suspected the same thing was true for her, too: You both always seemed reluctant to enter a romantic relationship with someone as it cut away from the precious free time you could spend with each other, just sitting on the couch and watching a documentary about the Irish Potato Famine (her choice) or some dumb romantic comedy with action elements (your choice) together or going to the hardware store together or you helping Maura to re-arrange her flower beds or her teaching you how to pronounce some fancy-ass French words you never had the intention to speak out loud anyway.

"Jane – does this bother you?" Maura's voice, small and high-pitched, pulls you back to the present.

You don't know if it does. You don't even know where to go from here, with all the lines that have been crossed, with your fear of losing your best friend by making the transition from platonic love to something decidedly more... sexual. You also can't really picture Maura with some faceless, shapeless, nameless woman although you are quite certain that females can't be immune to her classic beauty, to flawless porcelain skin and the graceful way she carries herself either.

"Nah", you finally settle on replying. You even attempt a joke to diffuse the tension that has built between you. "Maybe it's good at least one of us knows what they're doing."

She gives you one of the smiles you love so much in return, dimples and pure honey. It's like stepping outside and being suddenly wrapped into warm rays of sunshine. Feeling alive again after a long, dark winter.

She settles between your legs once again, not touching you yet, but her eyes asking for permission while simultaneously signaling to you that it's okay to relax, okay to let go.

And you do, lowering yourself back into her luxurious, sinfully soft sheets, and when you feel her kiss your inner thigh again, there is a wilder edge to it, like she's trying to leave the imprints of her mouth on your body, like she's trying to mark you.

Excitement rushes from your head to your core and you spread your legs for her, wider, as wetness gushes out of you. Have you ever been this wet before?, you wonder. Her hand has skipped the part of your body that must be swollen and ripe and now gently brushes through dark patches of coarse pubic hair.

"Mmmh", she hums and when you force yourself to support some of your weight on your elbows so you can look down your slender frame, you see her just in time as she lowers her head and plants an open-mouthed kiss to the fuzzy triangle of hair.

Your clit throbs in feverish need as she bypasses it for the time being, only the faintest of exhales from her reaching it as she moves her head downward, exciting the nub proudly protruding from its hood only further.

"Oh, Jane", you hear her mutter against your wetness and then it happens, nearly impossible for you to process in its entirety, sensations almost overwhelming you, making you grip the bedsheets as hard as humanly possible: She licks your entire length, from your slit to the underside of your clit, thoroughly, not only tasting, but savoring you, hot tongue pressing so deliciously flat and all-encompassing against you, and your brain almost short-circuits at the thrillingness of it all, because this is Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner, walking encyclopedia, femme fatale and probably every man's at the precinct secret fantasy, and here she is, head buried between your legs, some of her long hair ever so faintly brushing against your inner thighs, and how come this is really happening?

She is lapping at you, patiently, lovingly, drawing more and more of your juices out of you in the process. You bite back a moan, writhing with pleasure (and almost too much of it, that is), wanting to increase the friction while at the same time you're afraid that any moment, you are going to pass out now. Her tongue is teasing you, tormenting you, and at the same time it couldn't be any better, you don't think so.

You can feel gentle fingers now also running through slick folds; and a surprised little yelp escapes you as she uses them to part swollen lips and lick and lap at every possible inch.

You need more, so much more of this, of her, of everything.

"Mauraaa", you whimper and your own voice sounds strange to you. You have never begged. You are not sure you want to start now but what she's doing is – it's so maddening and arousing and you need her to -

"Oh fuck oh yes oh yes", you hear yourself pant as your legs fall impossibly wider apart to grant her access when she suddenly delves her tongue into your opening, making you almost see the proverbial stars. She can only tease at penetration, of course; but the whole act is so incredibly erotic, her tongue slipping in and out of you while her hand is still massaging and stroking and teasing overheated flesh.

Your hips start to gyrate against her; searching for more sensation, more friction, more Maura, but she seems to know exactly what it is you want her to do: Moving upwards, her tongue flicks over the hardened bundle of nerves and when you release a throaty moan at the contact, she dips her fingers into abundant wetness and brings them back up, to your clit, coating it in your juices and then there's a new sensation, one that you have possibly been aching for all the time: two fingers slipping inside of you, finding tightness and heat and reaching so so deep inside of you how does she even do that how does she know how to move her fingers inside you so perfectly, scissoring them and twisting slightly and then she's slipping out of you again only to fill you once more, setting a steady rhythm for your hips to follow, her face still pressed so intimately against your sex and then her mouth is on your clit again and that is the best feeling of all if you had to choose – her mouth, hot and eager and working hard to build you up, to make you reach that sweet promise of something great and profound and wonderful awaiting you -

She sucks your clit into her mouth, while her fingers are pumping, hard and yet with the tenderness that is so her so Maura and now she is releasing you again but only to lick and suckle and flicker over your throbbing bundle of nerves, all the while her fingers are thrusting into you and finding all the sweet spongy spots inside of you and you have given up any attempt on holding back your natural reactions by now, moaning her name and Oh fucks and Oh Gods and Oh Yesses loudly and unabashedly -

One last, firm stroke with her tongue, one last, forceful thrust into you, and you go rigid for a split-second as time slows, stops, expands. Then you are clenching around her, making it hard for her to continue the movements to prolong your pleasure, but you can feel her trying as your walls tighten around her while your hips jerk erratically and one of your hands has somehow ended up on the back of her neck, pushing her closer into yourself, her mouth still working against you, coaxing every ounce of pleasure out of you.

When it is almost completely over, when only the smallest waves of aftershock wash over you, she slips her fingers out of you but places soft kisses on your sex – on your slit, the folds of your labia majora and minora, before you feel the faintest ghost of a kiss on your clit that twitches in a combination of overstimulation and renewed arousal.

"Mauraaa, com'ere...", is all you can mumble, spent, with a light tug on her hair. She wastes no time and is face to face with you after only one moment, and you hesitate for only a fraction of a second before you lean in and capture glossy, slightly swollen lips between your own, tasting yourself on and in her mouth.

Your hands wander down to massage large breasts, gently pinching her nipples, teasing them, hungry to connect once more, insatiable with want.

She is the one to break the kiss first, nuzzling her nose against your ear. "Jane", she mumbles, and you inwardly brace yourself for a lesson on the clitoris' thousands of nerve endings or something along the lines, but the lecture never comes.

Instead, she simply says your name once again, or rather, breathes it: "Jane... my darling Jane..." and your mouth searches for her lips, the term of endearment affecting you so greatly that you cannot really come up with the words to convey it and soon, you start to move on top of her in a rhythm that seems to be the language most suited to tell her - to show her – what she means to you.