Claire crosses the line. Nina opens the floodgates.
The living room was dim. Just the fading lavender glow of dusk slipping through the blinds, and the soft whirr of a ceiling fan stirring the silence like breath on skin.
Claire sat stiffly on Nina's low-slung couch, her knees tucked neatly together like a schoolgirl in church. Her palms were clammy. Her breath shallow.
She wasn't here for tea. Or gossip.She was here because something inside her had finally snapped loose.
And Nina? She knew it. She had seen that crack forming the moment Claire knocked on her door earlier that evening in a green silk blouse and subtle perfume that spoke of sex barely remembered.
"You okay?" Nina asked, handing her a glass of wine.
Claire took it, sipped. "I shouldn't be."
"But you are."
Claire nodded. "Terrified. And turned on. In equal measure."
Nina didn't smile this time. She just watched. Claire had never been watched like this — not like a trophy or a duty or a respectable woman — but like a promise.
"Tell me the truth," Nina said gently, settling beside her. "When was the last time someone made you come?"
Claire opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I don't... I mean. Tom—he... not for years. Not really."
"And when was the last time you made yourself come?"
Claire closed her eyes. Whispered: "This morning."
Nina leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Did you think of me?"
Claire didn't answer. She didn't have to. Her thighs pressed tighter.
Nina reached out slowly, fingers grazing Claire's knee — light, deliberate, seeking consent without words. Claire shivered.
"I want to taste the years you buried," Nina whispered. "I want to unwrap you."
Claire's chest heaved. Her nipples ached under the thin blouse. "Then do it," she gasped.
What followed wasn't gentle.
Nina pulled Claire's blouse open with expert patience, one button at a time, dragging her knuckles across skin as she exposed it.
Claire's bra was plain. Functional. But when Nina eased it down and drew one breast into her mouth, Claire arched — her body betraying every decade of silence with one wet, guttural moan.
"Ohhh fuckkk…"
It tore out of her like a confession. And Nina feasted on it.
She kissed lower. Lower.
When Nina's lips found Claire's belly, Claire trembled. "Don't stop."
"Oh, honey," Nina murmured, fingers sliding up under Claire's skirt, "I haven't even started."
And when Nina kissed her pussy — really kissed it — Claire sobbed.
Not from pain. Or fear.But from being seen.
From being touched like she still mattered. Like she was worth devouring.
"Oh my god," Claire gasped, clutching the couch. "No one's ever… licked me like this…"
Nina just groaned into her, tongue circling, flicking, teasing every fold like it was sacred. She slid two fingers inside — slow and deep — while her tongue worked the swollen, neglected clit.
Claire came screaming, legs shaking, fingers tangled in Nina's locs.
"Fuck—fuck—I'm—"
"Let go," Nina urged, voice soaked in lust. "Let all those fucking years out of you."
She did.
Claire came again. And again. Loud. Wild. Ferocious.
Later, draped naked across the couch, Claire laughed softly.
"I didn't know I could still feel like this."
Nina kissed her shoulder. "You're not dead, Claire. You were just waiting for someone to resurrect you with their mouth."
Claire turned, her lips trembling. "Is this... going to be a thing?"
Nina kissed her — slow, wet, claiming. "It already is."
Across the street…
Gloria had been watching.
Not out of malice.
But because she saw Claire walk into that house wearing perfume she hadn't worn in years.
Because she recognized the walk of a woman about to be reborn.
Gloria sat on her own couch now, hand deep between her legs, eyes locked on the dark window across the street — her own hips rolling as her fingers worked in rhythm to the fantasy of what she imagined was happening inside.
And Marlene's voice echoed in her memory.
"I didn't know it could feel like that with a woman…"
Neither did Claire.
But now she did.
And Gloria wasn't far behind.