Read Online She's With Me by Vanessa Cardui - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vanessa Cardui
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room lurch and sway like she was the one who'd had more to drink, more quickly than she was used to. "Look at me," said Izzy, and Meeka's chin came up, with no hesitation this time, just a dreamy intensity. "Shoes off." And they hit the floor, one after another. Meeka's stockinged toes wiggled. "Hands in your lap. Back straight. Spread your knees, just a little... there."
Meeka wasn't flashing the whole bar the way she was sitting—although Izzy was forced to consider the possibility that she would, just as promptly, if Izzy told her to right now. Then Izzy had to have a steadying sip of her screwdriver. It wasn't as steadying as she'd hoped, and she passed the glass over to Meeka. "Finish this for me too. I don't think I need it. You can take one hand out of your lap," she added as Meeka started to bend toward the glass with a look of bright inquiry. That bend showed off a lovely little bit of cleavage and Izzy could see a slice of pale thigh inside Meeka's skirt. Not that she was looking or anything.
Izzy watched Meeka drink until she was licking the last drops from the rim of the glass and swaying slightly on her bar stool. Well, Jake wasn't going to come by for a night of quick and dirty sex and takeout pizza, and it looked like there wasn't going to be an evening of hanging out with Meeka and bitching about boys and movies either. But something had happened, even if Izzy couldn't say quite what it was. "C'mon," she said, sliding down from her own barstool. "Let's get you home."
"'Kay," said Meeka. She had to steady herself with one hand on the bar, and it took her longer to get back into her shoes than it really should have. Meeka stiffened at first when Izzy started to help her into her jacket, but then snuggled up close enough that it was hard to get the jacket on. Izzy didn't mind. Meeka was soft all over and smelled like orange juice, vodka, and some sort of herbal shampoo.
Meeka leaned heavily on Izzy for the whole three-block walk back to her apartment. Izzy put an arm around her waist to help hold her up. It felt nice.
"Well, here you are," said Izzy when they got to the door of Meeka's building.
"Keys're in my front pocket," Meeka mumbled without making any move to retrieve them.If that was an invitation, Izzy didn't have to be asked twice. She reached over with the hand that wasn't holding Meeka up, and rummaged in her pocket while Meeka clutched tighter and muffled her giggles in Izzy's shoulder. Apparently she was ticklish.
Izzy got Meeka in the building, up the stairs, and into her apartment without incident. Her roommate was out, which was good because Izzy didn't feel like explaining. Not that Meeka coming home a bit tipsy on a Friday evening after going out with a friend needed explaining. Did it?
She steered Meeka into her bedroom, where she toed off her shoes and climbed into bed. Izzy tucked up the covers around her chin. Meeka yawned and said, "G'night," and Izzy stifled a crazy urge to kiss her on the forehead.
Setting the keys down softly on Meeka's bureau, Izzy let herself out into the hallway, illuminated by the faint spill of a nightlight in the bathroom. Meeka probably wouldn't be getting up and her roommate probably wouldn't be getting back for another few minutes. And if they did, there wasn't anything strange about Izzy using the bathroom.
She locked the door and leaned back against it for good measure, fumbling with her button and zipper and yanking her pants down around her knees, followed by her underpants, which were a sticky mess. It smelled like Meeka's shampoo in here too, and Izzy closed her eyes and remembered the nervous wiggle of Meeka's butt on the barstool, the lust-dark, envious eyes of the douchebag at the next table. She drove two fingers into her cunt, slick, warm, and effortless, then out again to grind against her clit, and she heard Meeka's shoes hitting the floor, saw her toes dancing in the air, the way she'd smiled and said, "I'm with you, right?" Izzy slid to
Meeka wasn't flashing the whole bar the way she was sitting—although Izzy was forced to consider the possibility that she would, just as promptly, if Izzy told her to right now. Then Izzy had to have a steadying sip of her screwdriver. It wasn't as steadying as she'd hoped, and she passed the glass over to Meeka. "Finish this for me too. I don't think I need it. You can take one hand out of your lap," she added as Meeka started to bend toward the glass with a look of bright inquiry. That bend showed off a lovely little bit of cleavage and Izzy could see a slice of pale thigh inside Meeka's skirt. Not that she was looking or anything.
Izzy watched Meeka drink until she was licking the last drops from the rim of the glass and swaying slightly on her bar stool. Well, Jake wasn't going to come by for a night of quick and dirty sex and takeout pizza, and it looked like there wasn't going to be an evening of hanging out with Meeka and bitching about boys and movies either. But something had happened, even if Izzy couldn't say quite what it was. "C'mon," she said, sliding down from her own barstool. "Let's get you home."
"'Kay," said Meeka. She had to steady herself with one hand on the bar, and it took her longer to get back into her shoes than it really should have. Meeka stiffened at first when Izzy started to help her into her jacket, but then snuggled up close enough that it was hard to get the jacket on. Izzy didn't mind. Meeka was soft all over and smelled like orange juice, vodka, and some sort of herbal shampoo.
Meeka leaned heavily on Izzy for the whole three-block walk back to her apartment. Izzy put an arm around her waist to help hold her up. It felt nice.
"Well, here you are," said Izzy when they got to the door of Meeka's building.
"Keys're in my front pocket," Meeka mumbled without making any move to retrieve them.If that was an invitation, Izzy didn't have to be asked twice. She reached over with the hand that wasn't holding Meeka up, and rummaged in her pocket while Meeka clutched tighter and muffled her giggles in Izzy's shoulder. Apparently she was ticklish.
Izzy got Meeka in the building, up the stairs, and into her apartment without incident. Her roommate was out, which was good because Izzy didn't feel like explaining. Not that Meeka coming home a bit tipsy on a Friday evening after going out with a friend needed explaining. Did it?
She steered Meeka into her bedroom, where she toed off her shoes and climbed into bed. Izzy tucked up the covers around her chin. Meeka yawned and said, "G'night," and Izzy stifled a crazy urge to kiss her on the forehead.
Setting the keys down softly on Meeka's bureau, Izzy let herself out into the hallway, illuminated by the faint spill of a nightlight in the bathroom. Meeka probably wouldn't be getting up and her roommate probably wouldn't be getting back for another few minutes. And if they did, there wasn't anything strange about Izzy using the bathroom.
She locked the door and leaned back against it for good measure, fumbling with her button and zipper and yanking her pants down around her knees, followed by her underpants, which were a sticky mess. It smelled like Meeka's shampoo in here too, and Izzy closed her eyes and remembered the nervous wiggle of Meeka's butt on the barstool, the lust-dark, envious eyes of the douchebag at the next table. She drove two fingers into her cunt, slick, warm, and effortless, then out again to grind against her clit, and she heard Meeka's shoes hitting the floor, saw her toes dancing in the air, the way she'd smiled and said, "I'm with you, right?" Izzy slid to
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