Read this and learn the style "Throughout the car ride, we exist in a shared silence, my last utterance before I succumb to the city streaming by my gaze being an address I haven’t uttered in so very many years. As we make our way through the streets toward Soho, I steal a glance at my phone to note the missed calls and messages from my wife. Tina’s gaze lingers on me, and I sense rather than hear the delicate rustle of her fingers brushing against the leather of the seat, compelling me to hastily stow the phone and turn toward her. Her hand, a hesitant presence at the center of the seat, beckons to mine. Our pinkies graze—then clasp—her gesture igniting a connection we both yearn to deepen. United by clasped hands, our gazes lock on this small entwining, my grip encircling hers. I am consumed by a desire to feel her touch against my skin now, to stop the car and transcend space, teleporting alongside Tina. Our every contact sends peculiar jolts of electricity through my being; her touch is exquisite, both erotic and tender.

We maintain this connection, avoiding eye contact for the entire journey as the pop ballads playing on the radio fade into the background, overshadowed by the soft rhythm of Tina’s breathing, occasionally broken by a deeper inhale.

As the car comes to a stop in front of a building of red bricks and tall glass windows, I step out and approach Tina’s car door. I open it and extend my hand. She takes it with elegance, exiting the vehicle with an air of grace. Holding her hand firmly in mine, I key in the code to a glass entrance door. As it swings open, the building’s warmth envelops us and I guide Tina towards the elevator, standing side by side, our attention caught by the descending numbers until the doors part before us once again

Inside the elevator, as the doors close and we ascend swiftly toward the tenth and topmost floor, Tina’s eyes find mine, and for the first time in years I forget the numbers and I let my gaze land fully on her. Her interrogative look persists despite the rising tension and anticipation between us with each passing floor. Yet her lips curve into a smile, and she asks, “Where are you taking me?”

I let her question linger between us and then “Just a place from my past,” I reply gently, and the elevator halts, the doors revealing our destination. I move closer to the single door on this floor, my heart thumping audibly, my fingers trembling slightly with each number pressed on the electronic keypad of the lock. As the door opens, I turn back to find Tina still standing by the elevator, watching me intently, I switch on the entrance light, gently casting a soft glow across the living room while the rest of the apartment remains in darkness. Waiting by the door, I again reach out my hand toward Tina, who takes slow steps toward me and grips it. Then, as if leading her in a dance, I gesture for her to enter ahead of me.

I watch Tina navigate the entrance of the apartment with a tempered caution, “Would you like me to take your coat?” I ask, mindful to maintain the few steps between us which seem like an unspoken covenant. It’s a deference to her need to acclimate, akin to tenderly observing a new pet venturing into a home for the first time — anxiety over potential shock giving way to smiles at every new discovery. And so, I smile broadly when Tina turns to face me, offering up an honest yet sweet smile, echoing my own underlying nerves. She slips off her coat, smoothly passing it to me. I hang both her coat and mine near the door, then return my gaze to her. We remain fixed, our mutual stillness disrupted only by Tina’s inquiring voice, “When we danced on that train, I wondered how many gifts you have that I don't know about… so what is this one we are in?”

With that, I withdraw from the doorway, moving towards the kitchen situated in the vast openness of the living space. I illuminate only a few dim lights, just enough to offer guidance and allow Tina to acclimate to her surroundings — I remain silent to her question, choosing to let her curiosity first feast upon the environment, believing it will inevitably return to me, hungry for more.

The subdued lighting tenderly lights the sprawling open-plan layout; the kitchen with its marble countertop is seamlessly partitioned from the living room by a mere breakfast counter. The living area boasts towering windows spanning from floor to ceiling, framing a breathtaking New York vista. A sprawling rug lies just in front of an electric fireplace, creating an intimate space complemented by a sofa, a cozy armchair, and a reading lamp tucked into one corner.

From one of the cabinets, I retrieve the lonesome leftover of the pantry, a bottle of whiskey. As I sense Tina pivot toward me, I raise the bottle like a prized find, playfully gesturing towards her, “Do you?”

Her response comes with a tantalizing grin, “Oh yes, please,” as she advances to the counter and settles upon one of the bar stools. My search begins, rummaging through drawers with the conviction that some usable glasses must be left somewhere. Instead, I come across only a pack of plastic cups, which I seize upon with a hint of chagrin, pouring the whiskey into two. Presenting a cup to Tina, who takes it with an amused glint in her eyes, I can’t help but release a light-hearted “oops.”

“Soooo… what place is this?” she inquires, her silhouette backlit by the room’s amber glow, reminiscent of the whiskey swirling in the glass she brings to her lips with contained deliberateness. There’s a part of me that yearns to forever hold my tongue, to keep her tethered to my side with the sheer force of her curious desire. I find myself entranced by the graceful movement of her neck as she takes a measured sip, her throat contracting subtly with the liquid’s warmth, and my imagination kindles with thoughts of the whiskey’s heat lighting a path through her chest. There’s an alluring depth to Tina’s unvoiced thoughts, which I perceive behind the veil of her searching eyes.

“This used to be my home…” I say, the corners of my mouth curving into a discreet smile as I continue, “I haven’t lived here for so many years now; I’ve sold off almost everything, but I could never bring myself to let go of the place entirely. I have a life of happy memories within these walls…” My gaze wanders, getting lost in a reverie of faces, laughter, tears, and the myriad choices that have left their imprint here. I find myself wondering what Tina might see in this space, and then, feeling her intense gaze, I understand she’s curious for more, “Still, I come here sometimes, you know?… maybe a couple of times a year. Usually, I sit and read, smoke a cigarette, then leave again for months. I pay a sweet lady to take care of it and keep it in order…” I observe as Tina casts a quick glance at the armchair standing sentinel before the fireplace, then turns back to me with a lifted eyebrow, a playful tease. “Now it all makes almost sense…” she muses.

I navigate around the counter, closing the distance to Tina. Placing my hands on her thighs, I guide her to face me, positioning myself between her parted legs. I brush a rebellious lock of hair from her face, my fingertip tracing her profile as if I were rendering her into the world with my touch. She looks up at me, her head tilted slightly back — it would be so effortless to kiss her, to let my tongue savor her again after all this time. I search her eyes and glimpse something new, a nascent spark; I swallow before asking in a barely audible whisper, “What is it?” and her gaze drifts to my lips.

She moistens hers, an action not lost on me, and I understand that she too is abuzz with anticipation, yet she resists succumbing to our mutual longing. “This is what you usually do? Fancy dinners followed by a visit to the loft with glass walls?” she asks, her question tinged with a shade of jealousy.

I lean in close, our shared space crackling with tangible electricity, “No… you’ve not seen everything yet,” I whisper, my lips grazing hers. As she closes her eyes, on the cusp of our kiss, I pull away and stride toward the center of the room. Searching for a remote on the fireplace mantle, I find it, and with a click, life breathes into the electric fireplace. The flickering, choreographed flames dynamically light up the room, casting a warm, inviting sheen. I turn to face Tina, who tilts her head with a smile rippling across her features, and I say, “It was missing the glow of the fireplace. Better, don’t you think?”.

Tina rises gracefully from the stool and closes the distance between us, until we stand face to face And I feel the need to speak “I told you I’m not that kind…I don’t cheat. It’s just you Tina…”

She captures my hands with her own, fingers tracing mine with gentle intimacy, and when she lifts her gaze, I see the dynamic dance of the flames reflected in her eyes. Unconsciously, our bodies inch closer, our eyes darting rapidly between lips and irises in a silent choreography, the heat between us palpable. I feel my skin warm in response to Tina’s tension, born of feverish anticipation. It’s as if we’re poised on the edge, readying ourselves for a kiss that feels like the first.

But this kiss is going to differ profoundly, for it is not the uncertain meeting of strangers, but rather the deliberate reunion of two lovers who choose to reacquaint, to rediscover one another. And as we draw so near that I can feel the warmth of her breath mingling with my own, the whiskey scent a shared intoxicant between us, I whisper “I want to kiss you, Tina, may I?” My voice carries the weight of tenderness and passion. I want to be gentle, to preserve the unicity and rarity of our first moment. “Oh, please,” she responds, her voice laced with a nearly desperate hunger.

Then, it’s as if the world fades to black.

Our eyes close in unison, and I thread one hand through her hair, capturing silky strands between my fingers, pulling her toward me with a blend of fierce determination and yearning as our lips meet. I feel undone, her lips so soft, so ravenous—it’s as if no other kiss has ever existed before this moment, no other mouth, no other woman. It’s almost as if I’ve never truly inhaled until now, and this woman is the very essence of air, her breath filling my lungs.

Kissing Tina Kennard is an entirely distinct experience from kissing Tina. It sets my lips ablaze with longing, an insatiable need threatening to consume her. I delve deeper into the kiss and Tina reciprocates with fervor. Our lips part, tongues seeking each other out in a tentative yet passionate embrace. A moan escapes her, a sound that resonates deep within me, vibrating through my very core.

The warmth and moisture of her tongue against mine evoke a yearning so deep—I crave for her to be closer, to be a part of me My God, it has been an eternity since I allowed anyone to love me that way. The very thought stirs a tempest within me, electrifying my senses, but I harness my focus back to the kiss and the wish that it could be eternal.

I long for us to sustain ourselves on nothing but this moment, to regenerate our life force through the simple act of kissing. Tina’s arm encircles me, pulling me tighter to her, shedding every restraint, and I feel as though I might faint from the surge of excitement when she moans again softly into my mouth. I suck gently on her upper lip, then draw her insistently towards me, as if it were somehow possible to be closer yet. Delusional, of course.

The realization dawns that I couldn’t possibly kiss Tina any deeper, and with a passionate urgency, I clasp her tighter around her waist, her hands now enveloping my neck as if she’s holding onto me for salvation. With an almost angry frustration, I guide her backward until she meets the unyielding chill of the glass windows that soar to the ceiling and gaze out upon New York. The decisive contact of her back against the glass elicits a slight gasp, I feel her initially tense, then melt into the pressure of my body against hers. Her hands, once again entwined in my hair, do not relent but pull me closer.

I am consumed with a desire to touch her, to trace the contours of her skin, to explore further, to feel every inch of her with my fingers, to kiss her everywhere, to savor her with my tongue, and to cherish her with my lips. It is at this moment of engulfing passion that I grasp the need to stop, to interrupt this sweet agony. Thus, with a move that feels almost against my very nature, I step back from the kiss, separating our desire-thrumming bodies with a gentle firmness, and I stand motionless, beholding her. It feels as though I am reliving our first kiss within the narrow confines of that train’s corridor. I gaze at her—beholding her lips, now swollen and reddened from our fervor, our chests heaving in a reflection of the fever burning within us. The tension between us is palpable, like a bowstring pulled taut, teasing with the potential of a visceral release. I know I leave us both ignited, ravenous for a passion we seemed but a breath away from indulging. I read the same torment in Tina, apparent in the way her questioning eyes linger on mine, as though she might plead with me to resume our embrace.

We remain thus, she with her back against the glass, me a few paces away. Eye to eye, our breaths quicken, excitement and longing palpable in the charged distance between us.

But before I fully surrender to Tina, I must understand. I need to know if I am acting self-destructively by consenting once again to be merely a fleeting moment in her life.

“How long will you be in New York, Tina?” My words rush out uncontrollably like a river in flood, and a different kind of warmth floods through me. I am wrought with agitation, fearing her response. My question seems to cleave through the atmosphere around Tina like a summer storm, leaving us in a brief, weighted silence; she doesn’t answer immediately, and I feel the necessity to know everything—not just piece by piece, but the complete, overarching story. I shake my head, “Where do you live, Tina?” Silence descends between us once more, yet this time Tina relaxes, smiles, and reveals all I need to hear.

“I’m here on business; my company has transferred me to head several startup projects that they’ve heavily invested in. I lived in Paris until last year, then spent some months in Toronto, and now…I am here,” she shares. “I have a sister living in New York; Angie’s with her tonight, a chance for her to embrace the role of aunt, which delights her. Currently, I’m at The Plaza, room 734, on Shaolin Productions’ bill, until they find me an apartment to comfortably live in for the coming period. I’ve been in New York for two months…” My heart halts, thinking about how much time we’ve once again lost, and then Tina adds in a low, husky tone, “…and how long I’ll stay... I don't think I want it to just depend on my work, Bette…” My heart resumes its rhythm, one slow beat at a time. Immobilized, I am wordless and thoughtless, buoyed and suspended in a sea of possibilities that overwhelms me. Then I see her swallow; shadows and the light from the fireplace render everything less distinct, as though reality itself has become a canvas for our imaginations.

She goes on “Now, Bette Porter…” her voice becomes low, sensuous, her gaze locking onto mine with piercing intensity, “Since I’ve agreed to move to this city knowing I’d find you here, I wish for you to press pause on all other questions—which I assure you, I wish to answer and ask—and come here to kiss me as if you’ve never kissed me before. Please, kiss me as if we have all the time in the world, as if the woman you were with at lunch doesn’t phase me. Come back here and kiss me, not with questions but with answers” her tone is decisive, laden with sensuality, igniting more desire within me with each syllable pronounced.

I slip off my jacket and advance toward Tina. Her hazel eyes, seeming almost black, plead with me, “I want you come back here and wrap your arms around me because I… I want you, my sweet no ordinary lover, my tempestuous passion. Hold me cause I long for sleepless nights where we make love unrestrained, followed by endless conversations at four in the morning. I desire for you to come over here and kiss me because I crave your passion, your yearning. Because only you, Bette Porter, have managed to send tremors through my body from afar, with just one look and simultaneously draw closer to give meaning to all my shivers.”

The words Tina speaks convince me to forget all my questions, her statements unlike any I’ve ever heard from another soul. I relinquish my doubts, fears, the considerations of tomorrow, and the relentless tick of time.

I surge towards her and our lips meet fervently. We moan together, her hands grasping my face as if to prevent any possible retreat. But I harbor no intention of pulling away. I reassure myself that all answers can wait, because this is our time—mine and Tina’s. Our tongues converse in a language unique to us, our hands clench and embrace, our bodies arching into each other’s contours. I allow my hands to caress her face, then descent toward the neckline of the blouse she’s wearing. I peel away her suit jacket, letting it fall to the ground as our mouths feast upon one another. I draw back momentarily, gasping for breath, our eyes lock, and I begin to unfasten her blouse, one button at a time, observing her breath catch—a sensation that leaves me breathless as well.

I part the folds of her blouse, unveiling the elegant lace bra that caresses her breasts. Lowering my lips, I kiss along her décolletage, and I feel her head languidly tilt back against the glass, her breath quickening. Unfastening her trousers, I descend to assist her in slipping them off, leaving her standing before me in her delicate undergarments, the discarded clothing a testament to our fervor on the floor. She looks at me with raw desire, her head leant back.

As she watches me, I slip from my dress, and upon standing almost naked as she is, she whispers in an excitement-laden and breathless voice, “I missed you.” The sensation that cascades from my head to toe, invigorating my heartbeat, liberating my lungs, and stirring my arousal, is the most terrible, wrenching, and exquisite thrill of love.

Now, with our bodies stripped to near nakedness, we allow our skin to caress, to gently explore. I unhook her bra, and my fingers dance over her skin, leaving a trail of shivers. Her body trembles and I draw her close, pressing kisses to her neck and earning a moan. My hand journeys through her hair, gently tilting her head back, granting myself more space. I bestow kisses, licks along her neck, venturing to her ear, reveling in the sensation. Her hands clasp my hips, pulling me into her. Her leg entwines with me, and I can feel her warmth and moisture, even through the thin fabric of her panties, pressed against me. Everything is natural, everything is exactly as I remember—soft, warm, urgent—yet it feels all brand-new.

Nipping at her earlobe, I whisper into her ear followed by a delicate kiss, “You’re already so wet, and I’ve barely begun…” As my hands roam over her breasts, her nipples harden, eager under my palms. She surrenders further into me, and with a breath that holds the weight of time, Tina says, “Oh Bette… you’ve begun two years ago…” Her hands then traverse possessively down my spine, nails lightly scoring my skin. We kiss with tongues, lips, and unabated desire.

I can’t wait another minute and begin to journey her body with kisses and caresses. I kneel before her, grasping the edge of her panties without removing them completely. Lowering them slightly, I kiss the line of her oblique muscles, then the jutting hip bone, eliciting her enticing touch upon my head, which fuels my desire further. I lower her panties more, bestowing equal adoration on each side, before sliding them down completely. Bending to kiss her pubic bone, then easing them to the floor. Helping Tina to step free, I then turn to adoring her long legs, marked now with arousal’s telltale flush. I glance up briefly and see her bracing both hands against the glass behind her, seeking balance.

I desire to take my time, kissing the top of her thighs while her scent intoxicates and enthralls me. Simultaneously, my fingers journey along her legs, dedicating endless attention, caressing, kissing, and inching ever closer to where I know Tina yearns for those same affections. As my mouth grows bolder, her breathing deepens into something more profound.

“Bette,” she calls out to me, her voice laced with urgency, so I look up to smile, and there, Tina gazes down, her eyes squeezing shut, “Stop teasing…” As we maintain our gaze, I encourage her to part her legs a touch more, then I lift her thigh over my shoulder and let my tongue glide between her legs. She closes her eyes, bites her lip, and moans, thighs already trembling. Perhaps I tremble too, consumed by an ecstasy I feared would never grace my life again.

I close my eyes and taste Tina once more, letting other senses guide me; the flavor of Tina is utterly intoxicating. I swirl my tongue around her, finding Tina even more responsive, more ready than I could have imagined. Her heavy breathing, moaning, and leaning into my mouth grows more insistent. Her fingers seek a grip against the glass, and as my hand slides up her torso, over her stomach to cup her breast and pinch her nipple, she quivers violently, finding support with one hand on my shoulder. I burn with an excitement too fervid and throbbing between my own legs, mirroring the swollen warmth I am kissing, licking, and loving between Tina’s trembling thighs.

“Oh God,” she gasps, “Oh, Bette…”

And there’s something thrilling in the notion that if the world were only to pay close attention, it might bear witness to our love. The thrill of imagining Tina, yielding against the glass window, might seem like a mere illusion to a casual observer, while for me, it stands as the most tangible truth.

I moan against her, and I feel her body respond with a slight shudder to the vibration. Tina moves her hand from my shoulder to grasp mine, the one still caressing her breast. Her fingers weave into mine, her grasp growing firmer, resolutely leading me to satisfy her. As our hands come together, I delve my tongue as deep as it will go, trailing along her tender opening with an almost selfish slowness. Her hips writhing, she then, with a decisive gesture, guides my hand exactly where she craves it to be “Inside, I want you inside me” she begs me and as my fingers slip inside her, I first sense her retreat slightly before she resurfaces, pressing back with even greater intent against my mouth and now against my fingers. Tina releases an ecstatic cry, and in this moment, I open my eyes; I need to see her, to have all my senses wholly engaged by Tina. I watch her, and as I feel her tighten around my fingers, Tina tries to catch her breath and then manages to open her eyes just enough to let me see her—pupils dilated, dark, clouded with lust. She places a hand beneath my chin, silently coaxing me upward.

“Kiss me, Baby,” she utters in a voice fractured by exitment, and her leg gracefully descends from my shoulder, wrapping securely around my waist. Our mouths collide, a tempest unleashed, and our tongues clash together—hungry, slick with desire. Tina moans into our deepening kiss, and perfection imbues the air the moment our intimacy becomes something indefinably closer, endearments exchanged only in whispers. Baby I repeat to myself.

And Tina comes on my touch, her mouth upon mine, her back arching against the glass, her core pulsing around my fingers. Her whimpers become strangled; her body seems to seize for an instant, then continuing with the precise level of pressure she needs, she releases a sharp cry, her body quaking with aftershocks. She rests her forehead on my shoulder, my fingers halting their motion, and I plant a kiss on her clammy temple, warm with the light sheen of sweat. Slowly withdrawing my fingers, she gives a shiver at the loss, I stroke her hair, and when she looks up, she smiles—a smile of satiated contentment and dizzying fulfillment.

We’re both breathless, sharing a gaze that speaks volumes where words fail to tread. Then Tina seeks out my lips again, this time with a softness, her tender lips melding naturally with mine. Her hands roam up to encircle my neck and then cradle the nape of my head, drawing me into her, seeking a more profound kiss. And in this moment, everything is more exquisite than I could have remembered.

“That was intense,” she breathes out softly, her words weaving through the air bring a gentle smile across my face. Our bodies are entwined, gradually seeking to strive to recover a more serene rhythm of breath. I lean in closer, our lips meeting in a tender kiss, a languid exploration that feels like a conversation without words. The kiss lingers, a delicate exchange, as I share the taste of her — so vivid and so sweet — that lingers harmoniously on my tongue and now between us.

When Tina licks my upper lip, I can’t resist any longer the need for relief from my mounting desire. I close my eyes and kiss her neck, gently nibbling with the caution not to leave a trace, and now I am the one grasping her wrist and guiding her hand, pulling it decisively inside my panties. The mere proximity of her fingers to my core elicits moans of pleasure from deep within.

Suddenly, moved by an urge, “Oh, wait…” Tina gasps and withdraws her hand, leaving me adrift in my still-unfulfilled longing, and takes my hand. We move away from the coolness of the window; she leads me in front of the fireplace and then pulls me down onto the carpet with a firm grip around my waist. Tina guides me to lay back, leans over me with a kiss, and then startlingly retracts, a tender smile on her lips. Her hands rest on either side of my face, and I feel her legs maneuver between mine, inviting them to part just enough to welcome her closer. For a suspended moment, we simply gaze at each other, her eyes capturing mine, sparkling as the fireplace casts delicate shadows across the contours of her velvety skin. The warm, rhythmic cadence of her breath is an intimate symphony that pervades my senses. I feel the gentle weight of her body atop mine, each of her movements more intolerable than the last. I yearn for her, desire her; the moment is consuming.

With my hands, I gather her messy red hair away from her face, and in the silence punctuated only by the crackling flames, Tina is sliding my underwear down my legs, tossing them aside. My breath quickens into an unsteady rhythm as I watch her kiss down my chest, across my stomach, along the bones of my hips, inching ever closer to my intimacy. She invites my legs to bend as she continues to kiss up the length of my thighs.

“Tina…” escapes me, my chest heaving so rapidly that I fear my heart may burst.

Tina looks up and pauses her journey along my legs. Her eyes, laden with a silent inquiry for permission, as though they can read my thoughts I can’t even remember my last time.

Despite the fear of it being too intense to bear, I stroke her face and give a slight nod. The mere thought of Tina between my legs sends tremors through me, and I know she senses it because she returns to me, eyes on eyes and she kisses me gently yet hungry “You can stop me at any moment, If you don't feel comfortable,” she whispers, her breath caressing my lips.

I feel her pelvis move against mine; I lift my hips slightly seeking more contact, almost hoping—God, how I wish to do that with you, Tina. Maybe another time? Would you do that with me?

And watching her, feeling our heats meld together, we both exhale, “I’m just afraid I’d never want you to stop…” I whisper and Tina grins devilishly, kisses my mouth, and then retraces her way down my body. I surrender to the feeling of her body on mine, her hands coaxing my thighs apart as far as they can stretch, and finally, her mouth upon my arousal.

I shudder at her initial lick and let out a groan. Tina hums against me and I feel her tongue deftly circling the tender, swollen nub of my pleasure. My breath quicken, becoming labored. I eagerly accept the truth that Tina’s mouth is skilled, sensual, and bewilderingly addictive.

With a subtle shift, I rotate my hips further forward, and in response, Tina goes inside me and delves deeper. A profound sensation engulfs me as I feel her intimately within—so thorough, so encompassing, her presence pervades my body. Emotions ripple through my core, giving me the sense that Tina possesses the innate knowledge of me. She seems to understand, with experienced precision, the exact spots that unravel me, that transform coherent thoughts into a whirlwind of ecstatic disarray.

My fingers weave through her hair, gently pulling as though pleading for her never to stop, to quicken her pace. And her mouth, alongside her fervent tongue, becomes more confident, assertive, and deliberate. I squirm beneath her, emitting a soft, sweet sound, as Tina feasts on me. My thighs clench around her face, my body tingling with each pass of her tongue. She licks me with deep, prolonged strokes, coaxing a cry from my lips, “Fuck—” I gasp.

“I’ve dreamt of having you like this so many times” Tina murmurs against me, her voice a sultry whisper wh. “You taste so divine, Bette.” The words alone amplify my arousal and I find myself desiring her fingers inside me, yet the engulfing sensation of her tongue becomes so consuming that I surrender to it, realizing that Tina is always enough.

Every tactile response of my body is heightened: I feel the texture of the carpet brushing against my buttocks, Tina’s hands holding my thighs, her warm, steady breath on my sex, her tongue moving inside me. I turn my face slightly to the side, lifting my hips, pressing more firmly onto Tina, and then everything becomes… easier.

It’s effortless to moan, to revel in the release, to let go. It’s natural to keep Tina atop me, to tighten my legs and continue to rock my hips at her pace in synchrony. It’s with ease that I’m led into the most liberating climax of my life: I feel my body tense from within and shiver outwardly. My back arches, my head tilts back, and my nipples harden. It’s so easy to accept Tina’s hands searching for mine, grasping them as her mouth brings me through the tail end of my release. It’s effortless to let my quivering legs gradually stretch out. It’s easy to feel enriched by the fullness Tina has given me.

“Come here,” I beckon, coaxing her towards me, “Kiss me.”

Tina, feigning resistance, navigates up my body, coming to rest upon me “I was kissing you…” she says with a smile through the tender kiss we exchange.

“Yes… but kiss me like this,” I whisper to her.

I capture her mouth with my own in a languid, slow and deliberate kiss. Right now, it’s not the fiery heat of passion that I yearn for, but rather to savor the tender, soft exchanges of our affection. Tina’s tongue meets mine with grace, a gentle tango that keeps us locked in an embrace, unhurried and serene. We continue to kiss, lost in the gentle rhythm of our connection, as our bodies—slick with the sheen of shared warmth—meld into one another, each line and curve dissolving in an intimate fusion of sweat and heat.

I wrap my arms around her and guide her to lie next to me. Propping my elbow on the ground, my hand cradles my head. Tina slides her hand to the nape of my neck, pulling me decisively against her lips, kissing me deeply.

“You were so good at that…” I confess to her when our lips part from their tender dance.

"Can I ask you a question," she ventures, her gaze steady and piercing into mine.

"Didn't we say question truce?" I tease her with a playful lilt in my voice, then nod, granting her silent permission to proceed. In that moment, I lean in and plant a soft kiss upon the tip of her nose—an affectionate prelude—followed by a featherlight touch upon the tip of her full lips.

“How long has it been since you allowed someone close…like that?”

I give her a response, an artful evasion wrapped in words, that moves around the edges of the question without ever truly alighting upon it "That good? A lifetime” but the truth is that I do not answer; there is a kind of shame in laying bare these details of my life.

We shift slightly and remain facing each other on our sides, eye to eye. Tina too props her elbow on the ground, her head resting atop her hand. My fingers trace the contours of her face, brushing aside a lock of hair. I study her features, notice her lips still flushed from our intimacy. Leaning in, I offer a soft, gentle sweet peck.

“Can I ask you another question?” she inquires as I continue to stroke her bare shoulder, my fingers delineating the prominent outline of her collarbone, ascending to her neck, then back to her shoulder again. Every inch of her skin, her entire form, radiates a sensual and perfect beauty.

“Of course…”

“Have you ever regretted what happened on that train?” she asks, her voice tinged with apprehension.

I close the gap between us again, a faint smile punctuating my movement. Gently caressing her cheek with the tip of my nose, I whisper, “Regretting… this?” and I kiss her softly on the temple. “Or this?” I inquire, already kissing my way down to her jawline. Another kiss on her neck, slightly longer and more drawn out, prompts her to shiver, despite the still-blazing fireplace at our feet. Pulling back to restore the space that allows me to gaze directly into her eyes, I question, “How could I possibly regret any of this?”. Her smile in response is genuine, evident. I allow any lingering doubts to settle, to ensure nothing remains unresolved between us. But then I pose my own question, “May I ask you something?”

Tina’s eyes widen in response, and she nods, studying my mouth, my features.

“Why did you come to sit with me that morning for breakfast?”

A wistful laugh escapes her, “I wanted to get to know you…”

“Tina…”

“Bette…” she echoes my tone mockingly before her expression sobers, her voice dropping. “It was a time when… I felt lonely. I’d often accepted one-night stands – unencumbered, without demands or promises…”

“So, with me on that train, it was out of loneliness?” My heart feels as though it slows, and while I hold no right to presume more, I hope—against hope—that Tina chose me for a fairytale yet to be penned. Her gaze lifts skyward as if searching for just the right words, “Perhaps it started that way, Bette. Because I wanted to feel less lonely… but…” she hesitates, meeting my eyes directly, “but?” I encourage her with a whisper, my breath suspended “…the moment your hand brushed against mine, you became my necessity.”

Tina takes my hand and draws it to her face, gracefully turning it to kiss the open palm, then slowly traveling up to my wrist. She then moves closer, kissing the corner of my eye, my cheekbone, then the corner of my mouth. When she pulls away, leaving a hollow longing within me, she says, caressing my features, “I love these fine smile lines around your eyes,” and traces them with her fingertips. I surrender to her touch, closing my eyes to savor the sensation of her gentle explorations upon me.

“I’m just aging, Tina Kennard.”

“You’re aging sexier then, Bette Porter,” she retorts swiftly, drawing a smile from me before I click my tongue in jest, feigning disagreement with her view.

However, suddenly the weight of all the decisions that lay ahead, which both of us must address, starts to encroach, while my body yearns to yield again to this woman watching me, my thoughts drift elsewhere.

“Tina…I think we…”

“How long have you been married?” she asks, interrupting me, her tone losing some of its warmth.

“Many years…”

“Do you have children?”

“No, children slow your career” I sadly answer, mimicking my wife’s words, finding easily a way for resenting her for the family we didn’t have I could have not accepted it… I think and my voice cracks. Tina gazes at me with tenderness. Impulsively I resume caressing her shoulder, gliding my finger along the highlighted curve of her collarbone, back up to her neck, and then down to her shoulder once more and down along her side. Every inch of her skin, her body, is so sensuous, so incredibly beautiful.

“Of course…Are you happy, Bette?”

“Right now?”

“No, with her…”

“Oh…It’s not that straightforward. I don’t always know what I feel, Tina. And with her, it’s… complicated. There are days when I think I still love her, when I’m content with my life. And there are days when all I want is an escape. So, I don’t know if I’m happy, usually, I let go and let myself just be…"

“What’s her name?” I don’t know why Tina asks me this, but the mere thought of uttering my wife’s name in front of her paralyzes me. I find myself reluctant to relinquish the joy that now envelops me—a sentiment so real that the words to convey it to Tina elude me, my courage falling short of giving voice to such feeling, so I just let my hand trail from her hip to the center between her thighs. Tina moans, her eyes closing and her head falling back. I lean in closer to her.

“Do you really want to talk about her? Now?” I whisper, mouthing against her jawline.

And Tina’s hands gently but insistently presses my shoulders to the ground, persuading me down, her command whispered with a growl of assertive tenderness into my ear — “Lay back”. Obeying her directive, I feel the ground beneath me and her presence hovering above. Then, with deliberate intent, she straddles me, her silhouette a portrait of fervent desire silhouetted by the soft glow of the room. Her lips find mine in a possessive kiss, searing away any lingering thoughts from my mind. “No,” she breathes out, her voice laced with conviction as we break apart, her eyes locking onto mine, dismissing any concerns I have about the other in my life. “I don’t care about her.”"