Read Online Can't Get Enough by Harper Bliss - Free Book Online Page A

heavy petting can easily morph into foreplay and more. Ellen doesn’t appear fazed at all by my reluctant confession, if anything she seems to possess a new energy now we’re approaching the naughty well of darkness. I shuffle behind her in silence and my eyes are drawn to the couples scattered along the grey walls. A heat starts tingling in my body and I wish I was cruising the maze with Giselle instead of Ellen.
    “Check them out,” Ellen whispers and fixes her gaze on the next corner where a guy is going down on another guy. The deeper we go, the more daring the people become. The moans are louder and the atmosphere more intense.
    “Lesbians at two o’clock,” Ellen says and I can’t stop watching them.  
    The only thing I see are tongues slipping in and out of mouths and hands roaming across breasts. It awakes something inside of me, something untouched for months. How easy would it be to grab Ellen’s hand and push her against the wall? Too easy, I conclude, and not right. Also, no matter how iconic, I don’t want my first time in Berlin to take place in the dark room in Berghain. I’m not the most romantic of souls, but I do have certain standards. I let the sensual vibe wash over me, until it all becomes a bit too melancholic—and something between my legs is pulsing for attention.
    “I need to get out of here.” I tap Ellen on the shoulder and she barely notices, her gaze transfixed on the two women against the wall. “Maybe you should join them,” I joke.
    “Maybe I should.” She turns around to face me. “As I won’t be getting any from you tonight.”
    “I’m sorry—”
    “I’m kidding, Ada. Come on, time to dance our asses off.” 
    We hurry out of the labyrinth, meandering through a thickening crowd of frisky people and find our way to the dance hall. Max and Andreas are going wild on the floor, twisting their head left and right, as if in unison, to the droning bass beats. Ellen and I join them and we shake and grind all night. Dawn is breaking when we exit the club and by the time I fall into my empty bed, my apartment is flooded with bright weekend light. I cover my eyes to block it out and sleep, exhausted and alone.
    * * *
    Next Friday after class, while I stuff my books deep into my bag with a small sigh of both reluctance and relief, Giselle suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder.
    “Care for a drink?” she asks and I am dumbfounded.
    “Sure,” I say quickly, before she can change her mind and withdraw the invitation. “Where’s your watering hole of choice around here?”
    “I have a bottle of wine open upstairs. If you don’t mind…” 
    I have to stop my chin from dropping down. Maybe there is a god, I think. Or maybe some deity is playing a real mean trick on me. I follow Giselle upstairs. She lives and teaches in a gigantic pre-war building with no lift, just endless staircases and the sound of footsteps clattering on polished wood. Her apartment is on the third floor and is mainly beige with touches of bright blue and orange to liven the place up. I had expected more purple. I scan the living room for obvious signs of lesbianism, but once I draw a blank on all the stereotypes I let it go. I’ll find out soon enough.
    “You’ve been studying, haven’t you?” she asks as she hands me a glass of Riesling.  
    It’s true. After shaking off my Berghain coma on Sunday afternoon, instead of settling on a terrace to watch people go by while listening to Max’ comments on their attire, I excavated my text books and drilled German words into my head. Knowing I was doing it for Giselle made the experience not entirely unpleasant.
    “Is that why I get a glass of wine after class?”
    “I expect you to respond positively to such an incentive.” 
    “Excellent teaching methods.” 
    She sits down next to me. Our arms balance on our knees and our glasses—and hands—nearly touch. We both stare ahead.
    “If only I’d thought of that sooner.”
    “That alcohol is the