A Brighter Palette Read online

  “Leaving without saying goodbye?” Siobhán’s voice was husky. They’d left the curtains partially open and a stripe of sunlight illuminated her breasts and gave her face a warm glow. Her hair was dark against the white pillowcase. The duvet was white too, with bright streaks of color from flowers that looked almost hand-painted. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Like a woman painted by Titian or Botticelli in a sea of impressionist flowers.

  Annie gestured to the nightstand. “I left a note. I didn’t want to wake you, but I did tell you I hoped to see you again and left my number.”

  Siobhán dragged a hand through her hair, then wiped under her eyes where her eyeliner was smudged. “Ugh. I must look a mess.”

  Annie stared at her for a long moment, then shook her head. “You look beautiful. God, I don’t want to leave,” she blurted out.

  “So don’t.” Siobhán gracefully shifted so she was on her hands and knees. She crawled toward Annie, her gaze never leaving Annie’s face. “Stay in bed with me.”

  Annie laughed faintly. “All day?”

  Siobhán straightened until she was kneeling on the bed and slid warm hands under Annie’s blouse. She leaned in and nibbled Annie’s neck. “All day. All night. Until we’re starving and have to venture out. Until I’ve given you so many orgasms you’re too weak for another. Until we’ve had our fill.”

  “What if I have somewhere to be?” Annie said weakly, but she tangled her hands in Siobhán’s thick hair and guided her mouth to the spot that always made her knees go wobbly.

  “Do you?” Siobhán flicked her tongue against it, and sure enough, Annie’s knees sagged. Siobhán used the opportunity to pull Annie down onto the white sheets. She went willingly.

  “Do I what?” Annie gasped. Siobhán had made short work of her blouse and somehow her bra was unhooked, and then, oh God, her warm hands toyed with Annie’s nipples.

  “Have somewhere to be?”

  Siobhán looked her in the eye, and Annie thought of the errands she should run and the blog post that was due and the laundry piling up. The only words that came out of her mouth were, “Here. In your bed.”

  Siobhán grinned and reached for the waistband of her pants, but Annie shook her head and slid down Siobhán’s naked body. Throughout the night, they’d gone down on each other too many times to keep track of, but Annie was dying to feel the soft, wet flesh under her tongue again.

  Siobhán let her knees fall open and Annie took a moment to appreciate the gorgeous view in front of her. Siobhán had the most beautiful pussy Annie had ever seen, pinky-brown with folds that invited Annie to explore deeper. Annie kissed the soft patch of hair above, then licked her way down Siobhán’s smooth lips. They were plump and full, parting to reveal darker inner lips that always seemed to be slick with moisture.

  The sweet, musky scent of her pulled Annie in to taste, and she gently slipped a finger inside. Siobhán moaned, her thighs tensing against Annie’s ears as Annie began to move, the soft, wet flesh enveloping her thrusting finger. She hadn’t been sure if Siobhán would like it. Not all women did, and some lesbians were especially put off by any kind of penetration, but Siobhán seemed to enjoy it. Her fingers tangled in Annie’s hair, pulling her in and directing her mouth to her clit.

  “Oh, yes,” Siobhán moaned. “Oh, Annie.”

  Annie traced firm circles around the pearl of her clit, feeling the little jolts of pleasure that went through Siobhán’s body when she hit just the right spot. Annie worshipped Siobhán with her tongue and fingers, coaxing her through several orgasms until her skin glistened with sweat and she trembled underneath her.

  “Annie.” Siobhán murmured something Annie couldn’t translate in soft, lilting Irish and drew her up so they lay tangled together on the bed, their heads resting on the same pillow. “Mo álainn.”

  Annie had known what that meant at some point, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of what it was.

  Annie cupped Siobhán’s cheek and stared into her blue eyes. It felt like she was drowning, tumbling head over heels, and yet she’d never felt more clear or sure that this was exactly what her life had been missing.

  Chapter Three

  Annie awoke sometime late in the morning and reached out for Siobhán, only to find herself alone in the bed. She burrowed under the covers for a moment, feeling content and happy for the first time in months. She flipped onto her back and stretched, feeling the pull of long-neglected muscles in her thighs and abs that ached from the orgasms. It put a smile on her face.

  The air smelled of coffee, and Annie ventured out of bed to investigate.

  She found a T-shirt folded on the nightstand that hadn’t been there before, so she slipped it on. Although clearly freshly laundered, Siobhán’s scent still seemed to cling to it, sweet like milk and honey, and warm like fresh baked bread. With a womanly, earthy undertone that made Annie want to bury her face between Siobhán’s thighs and never leave. Annie smoothed the thin, soft fabric over her body and glanced at herself in the mirror hanging from the closet door. Her legs were thin, but long, and strong from the running she did. In Siobhán’s shirt, she felt sexy. Or maybe it was the hours of orgasms that brightened her normally pale cheeks and gave her that soft, contented smile.

  The bathroom was empty, although there was a toothbrush—still in the package—on the corner of the little pedestal sink. Annie brushed her teeth with the toothpaste she found on the nearby shelf crammed full of beauty products.

  When her teeth were clean and her mouth no longer tasted like sleep, Annie finger combed through her shoulder-length blonde hair, wiped away a stray smear of mascara from under her eyes, and gave herself another critical glance. “It’ll have to do,” she muttered.

  She followed the scent of paint down the hall and found Siobhán in the small, sunlit living room. Although maybe art studio with a couch was a better word. One wall was mostly taken up by windows. Plastic drop cloths were set up underneath them and an easel, stool, and table took up most of the space. The couch—loveseat really—was crammed in a corner opposite a small television on an antique-looking wooden dresser. A fabric ottoman, covered with newspapers and books, sat between.

  Everything was done in warm, neutral tones with little splashes of color from the tumble of pillows on the loveseat and the canvases on the walls. The look was slightly Bohemian but sophisticated.

  Siobhán stood with her back to Annie, painting. She wore a loose, gray tank top that had slipped down one shoulder and her black hair was twisted up in a messy bun, held in place by what looked like a paintbrush. Annie watched her for a few moments, enjoying the sight of the smooth, firm strokes that left a trail of red paint in its wake.

  “Are you going to gawp all day or come give me a kiss, love?” Siobhán teased, her back still to Annie.

  She felt an odd jolt, like a sense of déjà vu. Or a premonition of what it would be like to be Siobhán’s partner. To wake up every morning and see this. The moment was new, yet somehow familiar, and it left Annie with a funny feeling in the center of her chest.

  She crossed the room to Siobhán, who craned her neck and offered her lips to Annie. Perched on the stool, she sat a little lower than Annie, who had to lean down to kiss her. Siobhán tasted of coffee, and when she drew back, she smiled up at her.

  “I see you found the shirt and the toothbrush I left.”

  “I did,” Annie said with a smile. “Thank you. That was thoughtful.”

  She refrained from asking if Siobhán had so many overnight guests it was routine, or if that had been just for her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. A woman like Siobhán would have no trouble finding lovers.

  “I’d offer to make you coffee or tea but I’m afraid I’m covered in paint,” Siobhán said apologetically. “You’ll have to either make it yourself or give me a few minutes to finish and clean up.”

  “I’ve got it,” Annie said. “Just point me in the direction of your kitchen and tell me what kind of coffee maker you ha
ve.”

  “Through the French doors there, and the cafetière is on the counter. I’m afraid you’ll have to clean the pot before you make yours,” Siobhán said. “The ground coffee and the sugar should be on the counter though, and cream is in the refrigerator.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure I can handle it.” Annie smiled and pressed a kiss to Siobhán’s cheek.

  She stepped through half-open French doors into the tiny kitchen. A small bistro table and two chairs took up the spot under the window. Plants hung in front of the window and dotted the sill in between colored glass bottles and fancy tea tins.

  Annie found the coffee press on the counter beside the sink and a tray with all the necessary ingredients near it. She located the trashcan below the sink, scraped the used grounds into it, and then rinsed the pot. She hummed tunelessly to herself as she filled a kettle with water and turned the burner on to heat it, then poured the coffee into the press.

  While she waited for the water to heat, she looked around the room. The kitchen was barely large enough to turn around in, but it was charming. Red, turquoise, and green Fiestaware dishes lined the open-shelves above the small stove and a red dishtowel was looped around the handle of the refrigerator.

  From what she’d seen, the entire apartment was old but bright and clean. The clutter seemed homey, and when Annie mentally compared it to her own cramped apartment that she shared with three roommates, she frowned. She hardly ventured out of her own bedroom when she was at home, and although the kitchen was an ample size, she was always disgusted by the dishes that were left on the counters and in the sink. Half the time, she didn’t even want to be at home. When she could afford to, she took her laptop to a nearby coffee shop to work just so she could get out of the house and away from her roommates.

  Annie peered at the photos scattered across the fridge and smiled at the sight of Siobhán on a beach with a pail full of clams next to her and a broad grin on her face. There was also one of her with an older couple. Siobhán wore a thick, white sweater and looked barely out of her teens. Given the green fields behind them, Annie would guess it was from when she was still living in Ireland. And from the couple’s resemblance to Siobhán, it was probably a picture with her parents. Annie could see the shape of Siobhán’s eyes in her father’s face, but the rest of her seemed to have come from her extraordinarily beautiful mother.

  The whistle of the teakettle pulled her away, and she clicked off the gas. Unable to find a potholder, she used the dishtowel to pour the water into the pot to brew. “Do you want some coffee, Siobhán?” she called out as she retrieved a turquoise mug from the hook on the wall.

  “Not right now, thanks, Annie!”

  “Want me to make breakfast?”

  “Oh, sure. That would be grand.”

  Annie smiled and stirred the coffee before putting the lid on and allowing it to steep for a few more minutes. She found eggs, butter, and chives in the refrigerator and a partial loaf of bread on top of it.

  She was sipping coffee and scrambling eggs when Siobhán appeared in the kitchen. She gently bumped hips with Annie when she passed on her way to the sink. “You look good in my kitchen wearing my shirt,” she said with a little wink as she scrubbed her hands to remove the paint.

  Annie smiled down at the pan of still-runny eggs and gave them a gentle stir. “Glad you don’t mind me taking over.”

  Siobhán dried her hands and sauntered over. “I’d be a fool to turn down a beautiful woman making me breakfast. You can take over any time you’d like, álainn.” She slid her palms along Annie’s sides and up under the cotton T-shirt. Her hands were warm and damp as they roamed across Annie’s skin. Annie closed her eyes and let the spatula clatter into the skillet as Siobhán toyed with her nipples.

  When Siobhán slid a hand into her panties, Annie reached out with shaking fingers to turn off the gas.

  “Wet already,” Siobhán said as she delved between Annie’s lips. It sounded like she was smiling. “I like that.”

  All Annie could do was moan. Her hips rocked in time with Siobhán’s gentle motions and when Siobhán pressed deeper into her, she had to grab for the edge of the counter to anchor herself.

  “Oh ... oh, God, Siobhán ... I’m close,” Annie said with a gasp. The incredible number of orgasms from the night before had left her ultra-sensitive and right at the edge.

  She could feel the hard pebbles of Siobhán’s aroused nipples against her back and the warmth of her breath against Annie’s neck. It made her shiver and clench around Siobhán’s fingers.

  Annie let out a small cry as Siobhán fingered her to a shuddering climax, and after the release ebbed from her, she sagged against Siobhán’s body.

  She turned her head to kiss Siobhán, feeling weightless from joy.

  After they disentangled their bodies. Annie finished cooking, with weak knees and a full heart.

  They enjoyed their breakfast at the small table near the window and sat around talking for a long while after. When they finished the coffee, Siobhán made a pot of tea, and Annie accepted a mug with a thank you. She didn’t drink it often—mostly because she didn’t know what kinds were good—but she’d enjoyed drinking it when she was in Dublin. Annie felt a sense of contentment steal over her as she sat across the little cream-colored wooden table and listened to Siobhán talk about her art. She glowed—from more than just the sun streaming in the windows—and she gestured with her arms, her smile so bright it made Annie feel warm all over.

  Siobhán stopped suddenly, and Annie blinked in surprise. “Ugh, listen to me go on,” Siobhán said. “Me ma always said I had the gift of the gab, and I’m probably boring you to tears.”

  Annie chuckled. “Not at all.” She paused struggling to find the words to explain why just sitting here and listening to Siobhán talk was enough. “I like this,” she finally settled on. “I like being here with you.”

  Siobhán reached out and squeezed Annie’s fingers. “I like it too. My home feels right with you in it.”

  She stood and gathered the plates, but when Annie tried to help, Siobhán waved her off. “You sit and enjoy your tea. I’ll do the washing up.”

  Annie propped her feet on the other chair and watched Siobhán move gracefully around the kitchen as she put away the dishes and they talked. The scene felt comfortably domestic, and Annie was surprised by how quickly she felt at home in Siobhán’s apartment. If Siobhán felt right with Annie in it, Annie could say the same. She felt right being there.

  Siobhán gave Annie an apologetic kiss after the kitchen was tidy. “Do you mind if I paint for a bit longer? I’m feeling inspired this morning, and I’d love to keep going for a while.” She kissed Annie again, then murmured against her lips, “I think you could be my muse.”

  “Well how can I refuse that?” Annie commented with a smile.

  “You’re welcome to anything on my bookshelf or you can borrow my laptop.”

  “I might do both, thanks.” Annie frowned. “Oh, and do you mind if I plug my phone in? I’m sure it’s nearly dead.”

  Siobhán captured her around the waist and pulled her closer. They were both still dressed in just shirts and panties and their bare legs slid together enticingly. “Please, make yourself at home.” Unlike when most people said it, Annie had a feeling Siobhán meant that wholeheartedly. It was more than lip service to her.

  Siobhán kissed Annie a final time, deeply, then let go with a little sigh. Annie retrieved her phone—completely dead as it turned out—along with the phone charger she always kept stashed in her purse. After plugging it in, she perused Siobhán’s bookshelf before settling on a novel by an Irish mystery writer she wasn’t familiar with.

  She curled up on the couch and drew a soft, cream-colored knit wool throw over her bare legs. Annie had seen similar ones in Ireland, handmade on the Aran Islands, and had been tempted to bring one home with her. She liked the little touches of her birthplace that Siobhán had scattered through her apartment. It was such a beautiful, homey litt
le place.

  Annie cracked open the book, but before she began reading, she stole another glance at her new lover. Siobhán gracefully perched on the stool in front of the canvas, staring at it with a look of serious contemplation. She was in profile to Annie, and the sun streaming in the windows lit her from behind and gave her dark hair and pale skin a warm glow. Annie felt like she could stare at Siobhán forever, gorging on her beauty and delicate strength without ever getting sick of it.

  Afraid she’d be caught staring or that she’d disturb Siobhán’s work, Annie dropped her gaze to the book on her lap. Thankfully, the story was engrossing, and she quickly got lost in it. It wasn't until Siobhán stirred that she looked up again.

  "How's the painting going?" she asked quietly.

  "Quite well," Siobhán answered, rolling her shoulders as if she’d been sitting hunched over for too long. "I'm pleased with it."

  "May I see?" Annie was eager for a glimpse of what she'd been working on, but Siobhán shook her head.

  "Not quite yet. I'll show you when it's ready.” Siobhán turned to look at her. "How's the book?"

  “Not bad. Not nearly as nice as watching you though.”

  Siobhán gave her a half smile. “You flatter me, álainn,” she murmured.

  Annie smiled. “Sorry, I'm probably distracting you.”

  “I don’t mind.” Siobhán stretched her arms overhead and leaned forward a little, which made the tank top gap at the neckline, offering Annie a glimpse of the top curve of her breasts. “It’s good for me to take a break occasionally.”

  “I know what you mean. Sometimes, I get so focused on my writing that I lose all track of time, and when I finish, I have knots in my shoulders and a crick in my neck.”

  Siobhán gave her a smoldering look. “If you’re angling for me to give you a massage sometime, it’s working.”

  Annie chuckled. “I wasn’t, but I’ll keep that in mind. And that goes both ways.”

  “Mmm.” Siobhán’s low sound of contentment made Annie’s skin tingle, but to her disappointment, Siobhán turned back to the canvas. “I’ll paint for a bit longer, then I promise I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon with you.”