Purple Panties - Page 73

Serena’s eyes snapped open when a soft, yet husky voice asked the question.

She followed the sound of the voice and instantly felt her heart slam against her chest. Serena’s breath caught in her throat as she stared for what seemed like an eternity into the face of one of the most beautiful people she’d ever laid eyes on, standing behind the bar counter with a smile on her bow-shaped, pink lips.

Serena’s gaze traveled over the bartender. Over her close-cropped, inky black straight hair, multi-pierced small ears, to her whiskey-colored, almond-shaped eyes, which were fringed by lashes so thick and dark, so long, they appeared unreal.

Her nose was aquiline, small, with just a hint of a tilt at the end that added to her overall beauty instead of distracting from it. Her skin, which was the color of warm honey, was flawless, without a hint of makeup to mask her natural beauty. A small mole graced the corner of her mouth, and as she smiled at Serena, her small white, even teeth flashed.

Three of the top buttons on the white, starched uniform blouse she wore were undone, the crests of her plush, creamy breasts exposed, and Serena saw the outline of her small nipples pressed against the blouse, and realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.

When Serena didn’t answer, but continued to gaze at the bartender, a look of concern appeared in the bartender’s beautiful eyes and she pulled the corner of her lower lip into her mouth by her top teeth.

Serena’s tongue snaked out to lick suddenly dry lips.

With a start, she realized she was staring with her mouth slightly open and quickly snapped her lips shut and cleared her throat.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” she croaked out the response and released a nervous sounding, dry laugh.

“Hard day?” the bartender asked, smiling at Serena as she reached out and took her empty glass.

Without asking, she refilled Serena’s glass, her small hands wrapped around the neck of the bottle of wine, and images flashed in Serena’s mind like a slideshow of the woman’s small hands wrapping around Serena’s breasts, her short nails scraping over her nipples as the two of them writhed together, bodies entwined, on the bed in her room upstairs in the hotel.

The image came out of nowhere, as startling in its intensity as it was appealing. Serena shook her head to clear the ridiculous images away, surprised and somewhat uncomfortable with the responding wetness she felt between her thighs because of her wayward thoughts.

What in the hell was wrong with her, she thought, shaking her head, forcing the hot visual out of her head.

She wasn’t into women.

Once, in college, curious, she’d experimented with one of the other girls in her dormitory after a frat party, high and feeling reckless. Neither she nor her partner had known what the hell they were doing as they’d fumbled their way to orgasm, and in the morning they’d woken up, embarrassed and vowed to never talk about what they’d done the previous night.

But that had been the sum total of her experimentation and one she’d never repeated. She’d forced to the back of her mind the way it had felt to have a woman’s soft body and sweet curves beneath hers, the way it had felt to taste another woman’s essence.

“What’s your name?”

“Serena. And yours?” Serena asked and laughed sheepishly when the bartender pointed a small, neatly manicured finger to her name tag. Cree.

The name fit her. Unique, somehow exotic. Just like her.

Not knowing what else to say, she glanced around at the empty bar. “Is it normally this quiet around here?” Serena asked, reluctantly turning away from the bartender’s—Cree’s—mesmerizing eyes.

“Actually, it can be pretty lively around here; especially during conventions. But the Hilton booked the last two conventions, so we’re a bit slow. Plus, it’s closing time.”

Serena whipped her head around, her eyes going to the mirrored Heineken clock mounted above the wine rack over the bar. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! You probably want to get out of here. Didn’t know it was so late,” she said and hastily moved to stand from the barstool, a sting of disappointment flooding her.

“No, you don’t have to go. I just need to lock up, so no one else comes in,” Cree quipped with a small laugh and a wink, and Serena felt a curious happiness, despite the butterflies that settled in her stomach. For some reason, the thought of being alone with Cree sent shivers of fear—and anticipation—racing down along her spine.

When the main lights in the bar flickered off, leaving the only luminosity from the lit bar, Serena turned around and took a fortifying drink of her wine.

Moments later, she felt fingertips feather down her neck and turned in her stool, her mouth open, and stared into Cree’s smiling face.


You’re tense. Why don’t you let me help you get rid of that headache,” she murmured. Serena’s heart pounded a little harder against her chest and her mouth went dry, yet she turned back around and allowed the woman to run her fingers over her neck and shoulders, her small hands surprisingly strong as she kneaded Serena’s tense muscles.

“Hmmm,” Serena murmured, closing her eyes.

“Feel good?”

“Yeah, really good,” she answered, feeling her body melt under the woman’s talented fingers like hot butter.

Tags: Zane Erotic
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