Impact of Collision Ch. 06

"Fucking good luck with those nerds," Kathy barks as she batters her toilet paper roll and wipes herself. "What a bunch of divas."

"Cum for me mon amour," Claire pleads in my ear, her voice deep and full of longing.

I can't help but picture Kathy's piss wet pussy hair and pale fat ass as I cum.

"Ah." It's loud enough to be heard, loud enough that Claire responds with a long moan of relief, but thankfully Kathy is banging open her stall and Jen is running the tap.

Claire's moans sound almost sing-song. I want to laugh and tell her how wonderful she is, but even if I could, I can't. My orgasm is neverending. Cum is filling my hand.

"Sarah, oh my beautiful Sarah, je veux ta belle bouche, je veux que tu me lèches," she gushes softly.

"I asked that little bitch whatsherface to help out on the PowerPoint so Keith wrote that email to all departments, saying they 'weren't photoshop'! Seriously, what assholes."

My ass is clenched painfully as I climax. My eyes are watering and I'm biting down viciously on my lip - desperate not to cry out.

"I remember that email Kathy and you're right, that was nerd-diva assholery, but Keith was also under a deadline, so... whatever."

"Whatever my ass. Seriously, Jen, it was extra, and onl-."

The door slams and they're gone. I'm bent over, my elbows braced on my knees, my panties stretched between my ankles, cum dripping down my leg.

"Oh Jesus Claire," I moan as I fall back and land hard on the toilet seat. "God Almighty!"

"You are my bold Young Sarah. You can't pretend you don't enjoy an audience. You wanted them to hear you cumming... for me."

I'm watching my legs quiver, trying hard to catch my breath. The terror is retreating from my breast - but I'm not sure if Claire is wrong.

"Did you fall asleep?" Ben asked. He and Keith were eating pizza, Keith pushed a pile of napkins and a ginger ale my way.

"No," I told him, glancing at Keith and picking up a slice. "I just did a lap, needed to stretch my legs - but got trapped in the ladies room - overheard Jen and Kathy from Style, they think we're nerd-diva assholes and that I'm a bitch, but need us to bail them out. So yeah, they're going to email you."

Keith looks gob-smacked. His computer pings with a new email and Ben bursts out laughing.

Tuesday and Wednesday nights kept us all at work super late. Keith pretended to be annoyed with Ben and me, that we weren't leaving, but I could tell he was proud.

We ate takeout together all week - pretty much three meals a day - which got super old, and our little office started smelling like a boys locker room but by 10PM on Wednesday we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Ben ran out and got us beers while Keith did yoga in a meeting room. I texted Claire a selfie of the dark circles under my eyes.

Zut alors! You're still at work?!

I know. The teams we're working with in London and Kabul keep sending changes - it's maddening.

Oh, my poor Sarah. This week has been so hard.

How about you, how was your day?

I met Carl Andre. For a man who threw his wife out a window, he was très charmant.

Wait, what?

Another time. What about you, are you almost done?

No, an hour or two more. But we are in good shape. Keith told them no more changes after midnight, so he thinks we'll only have one or two major changes tomorrow. LOL - I'm in hell.

This is too much! Tomorrow night you put Afghanistan to bed then you take a car to me and I put you to bed.

No, I don't know what time it will be. I don't want to keep you up.

No. I miss my Young Sarah. When you are done tomorrow you will come here and have a proper dinner.

I thought about telling her, no, but I felt a thrill of joy seeing that she missed me. And the truth was I missed her terribly. I liked the idea of sleeping in her bed and told her so.

"Hello beautiful!" she says, greeting me at the door. Her expression turning to concern at the sight of me. "Oh Sarah, you look like you're about to fall over, come in."

"I fell asleep in the car," I whine. One of the perks of working late is we get sent home in Black Cars. I live so close to work I never usually have enough time to fall asleep in the cars. Claire bustles around while I take off my jacket and boots, then comes back to give me a beautiful glass of red wine.

"A syrah, pour ma Sarah!" Claire says as she hands me my glass, turning her French accent on full blast.

I give her the withering look her dad-joke deserves, but she smiles back at me unfazed. She looks so pleased with herself.

"Come on, working girl!"

"I don't think that means what you think it means," I tell her.

"Yes, yes," she hushes, leading me to the bathroom where she has lit a candle and filled the tub with a bubble bath.

"Take as long as you want," she tells me. "It will make a new woman out of you, and there's no rush because the food won't be ready for another 30 minutes."

"Oh, Claire this is lovely, but I told you not go to any trouble," I say looking around her bathroom, the candle, the big fluffy towel waiting for me. "I didn't-"

"No! No trouble," she assures me, with a wide smile.

I unbutton my blouse and take a sip of the wine, it's delicious.

My muscles ache. It's almost 11. Keith sent me home, but he and Ben are still working. I try not to feel guilty. I can hear Claire banging around the kitchen as I strip down and climb into the tub. She's right, the temperature is perfect, almost too hot, but not.

I feel myself unwinding in the tub. Claire is playing music, a relaxing playlist, made better by listening to her sing along as she bustles around opening ovens, closing refrigerator doors, stacking plates, gathering flatware.

"How are you going in there? she calls out. "Do you need anything?"

"Nooo," I call back. "I'm starting to prune..."

"Dinner is ready whenever you are."

As I get out of the bath, I hear the song I think she was singing after the night at Puerta Roja. I wrap myself in the towel and stand at the bathroom door, "Claire? What is this song?" I ask.

"It's just a song for lovers' comparisons and completions." She tells me. Hearing me climbing out of the tub she calls, "the robe is hanging on the back of the door!"

"What do you mean 'completions'? Like a breakup?" I ask. Pushing the door back I find her toweling robe. It's impossibly white and thick, very much like a robe you'd find at a hotel. It's big enough for a man, but so soft and plush.

"No, like telling someone how compatible you are. Think of Jerry Maguire 'you complete me' but then unlike Jerry actually telling them in all these comparisons how they complete you."

"I seriously only picked up something about guitars and bass, bouquets of flowers, Beauty & the Beast" I admit, padding barefoot into the living room wrapped in the world's softest robe, and holding my empty glass. "Can you tell me some of the words?"

"Toi la guitare et moi le basse. Is saying you are the guitar to my bass" she confirms with approval, approaching me with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, she refills my glass and raises hers. "Santé!"

Claire's hair is tucked behind her ears and she's not wearing makeup. Her ears stick out a little, but not too much. Just enough to be adorable. Her brow meanwhile is clear and smooth, the bones of her face are definite. There is a masculine sharpness to her, that her cheekbones entirely subvert. But it is her enormous hazel eyes and full lips that soften her face, making her face almost child-like. Her neck is long and has a graceful curve. I think of sucking at her pulse as she stretched it for me.

"Santé!" I reply as we touch glasses.

I watch her sip her wine and wonder at her, wonder at what we're doing. Part of me is afraid, I feel like I'm falling for Claire. I'm afraid she'll set me aside, an American experiment... a casual plaything... or maybe I'm afraid she won't.

She wrinkles her nose and smiles. Taking me by the hand and leading me to the sofa.

"T'es le bouquet je suis les fleurs. Means you are the bouquet and I'm the flowers."

I admire her from behind, waifishly thin. Her narrow rib cage and waist drawing down to the flair of her hips, her pert derrière, curving into her powerfully muscular thighs. I think of my dream, of kneeling behind her and licking her ass.

I shiver just as she turns, she studies me, then presses me down to the sofa, her thick blonde hair, draping over her shoulders, flowing down and framing at her décolletage almost guiding my eyes. I know what lies below, that tanned complexion leading to her rounded breasts, her dark upturned nipples. I can't help but steal a glance.

"Tu es la Belle et moi la Bête," she continues, leaving me the bottle. "You are the Beauty & I'm the Beast."

I sit back and raise my glass to my lips and take a slow sip of my wine, my lips curving making a tight 'o' sucking in air with my sip, almost like sucking on her dark nipples. Savoring the wine like she had shown me. She smiles at me as if she can tell how shamelessly I'm savoring her presence.

'She's definitely the beauty, so I must be the beast,' I think. But she's looking at my chest. The robe has fallen open, and I feel a thrill of pride at the idea of her staring at my breasts.

"That's really cute," I tell her, shrugging my shoulders to open the robe more as I curl my feet under me, next to her on the overstuffed sofa.

Her nose is straight and, pixie-like, adding to her child-like appearance, her eyes are perfect almonds, thick lashes that give her expression a perpetual seductiveness - not at all child-like. I imagine a man buying a painting from her, watching her talk the way I am.

"My favorite line is Tu es le verre je suis le vin," she explains, careful to look in my eyes. "You're the glass and I'm the wine."

She's so convincing, she must be an excellent saleswoman. There is a conviction in her manner, but also a playfulness. As she continues to explain the song, the corners of her mouth curve up, I think of her lips on mine.

"I mean who doesn't like wine?" I naively ask. The robe is almost off my shoulders displaying my cleavage. But she doesn't look down, instead, her eyes flare with excitement, go wide with a passion.

"Non, il y a plus que ça! There's more to it than that. If someone is telling you that you are the glass and they are the wine. They are saying that they need each other. You need the glass to drink the wine, and at the same time the glass without the wine is empty, incomplete."

"You can drink wine right from the bottle," I tease.

"Quelle horreur! Now you're teasing me! We're not animals," she sputters, feigning horror with her hand at her mouth. She laughs before her brow furrows a little giving way to a more serious expression. "You know that they make glasses in different shapes for different wines. I like to think that it means that there's someone perfect for each of us, our companion glass."

"That's a beautiful analogy," I reassure her. She's rushing away, something is chiming, calling her away.

"It's true, yes?" She asks as bangs the oven open with a yelp. She comes back over, her hands wrapped in oven mitts, and carrying a piping hot casserole. "Do you know cassoulet?"

"No," I admit, "but oh my gosh, it smells delicious!" It was in a deep dish covered in a thick layer of toasted breadcrumbs. I could smell the aromas wafting around, rich with garlic and herbs.

"Well it's traditionally made with duck and sausage, but I've made you a vegetarian cassoulet!"

"This is amazing! I love that you made this for me - I know how busy you are-"

"No, don't be silly," she says with a wry smile. "It's nothing at all."

Waiting on the table is a green salad, another bottle of wine, and a warmed baguette.

"Claire, this is beautiful, but it's too much! You've gone too far, this is madness!"

"De rien, it's nothing for me. I want to do this for you."

I was teasing, and I could tell she was enjoying it, that she's proud and glad to see how happy I am. I want to say something romantic, to tell her how much I love this, how wonderful she is, but something is holding me back. I think of us sitting at brunch, pretending nothing is happening, sharing a glass of water in the kitchen before bed as if nothing is happening, and I hold my tongue. Dinner is wonderful, but I start to nod off before she can serve dessert.

"Come," she tells me as she helps me up, pushing her hands under my arms and supporting me.

"I'll help clean up," I mumble.

"No," she says crisply, moving me away from the table.

I'm shuffling and moaning in protest but she guides me to the bedroom, untying the robe and slipping it off my shoulders as we reach her great big bed. Pulling back the duvet she lets me plop down and slump over, covering me and tucking me in.

Claire turns off the lights, and I hear her moving around in the dark undressing. It strikes me how familiar and comforting this all is. Only a few weeks ago this was all so strange and exciting; that first night in Claire's bed, waking up in the dark, pressed against her, my face in her hair. But my tired mind leaps to the night she asked to touch me. I feel a thrill at the memory. Thinking about how it had felt to undress for her in the light, to have her see me naked, how pleased she had been to see my shaved pussy. How I came the moment she touched me. I feel her climb into bed next to me, her naked body sliding against mine.

"Is this good?" she whispers, draping her arm across my torso, my big spoon. I had been so tired a moment ago, so entirely at the end of my rope, but now I'm wide awake and all I can think about is Claire touching me. I feel a flush of heat spread up my abdomen as I remember feeling her fingertips grazing my lips, how she teased me, barely pressing in, refusing to go further... until I told her what I wanted.

"This is more than good," I tell her, holding her hand and wrapping her arm in tighter. I want to say something, I need to. My breath is short, with little sips of air.

"This is all I've wanted all day, all week." Her mouth is very close to my ear, her voice is soft as she tells me, "I liked last weekend very much."

My mouth goes wet. She wants me to eat her pussy. I imagine masturbating for her, spreading myself while she watches me finger myself, kneeling over her face, over her mouth. Her hand, under mine, is cool against my belly. She moves it - just tiny changes, more pressure, less, pulling up, pulling down - but it's enough. I wonder if she can feel how hot my belly is getting. I feel my skin prickle with sweat. I want to beg Claire to touch me. I'm starting to shake. I want her fingers in me so bad it feels like a hysteria. I need her.

'Did I ever need Danny to fuck me,' I wonder. 'Did I ever even want him to fuck me, ever once?'

"Is this ok?" she asks, her voice in my ear. I'm thinking of that orgasm, how it had ambushed me. How totally unprepared I was for it crashing over me; for its force. I feel like I've never wanted anything more.

I'm making a whining noise for her, hardly a sound at all, as my hand begins to guide her hand down.

"Sarah..." she breathes as her fingertips touch the smooth skin of my mons. I feel a stab of guilt. She sounds so unsure, so hesitant.

We are so different. I consider Claire's wavering. She usually knows what she wants, she's so brave, unafraid to ask, to demand what she needs.

'She's doubting me,' I realize.

I push her fingers into my soft skin. Her nails feel delicious. I want her to gouge me. I want her to tear me open. I lift my leg obligingly. Her breath is shaking in my ear. As I feel myself open to her touch.

"Please," I moan.

"Are you sure?" she asks gently.

My hand is still over hers, my fingers over her fingers, I curl them inward forcing her fingers between my lips. I'm wet. I press her fingers into me.

"Take care of me," I plead.

Remembering the way she had me tell her what I wanted, ask for it. I beg her,

"Oh God please Claire, please put your fingers in my pussy. Please fuck me, Claire. Please"

Releasing her hand, I stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers before sliding them to the back of her head pulling her in for a kiss.

We kiss as she pushes her fingers into me. Our lips sealed, tongues moving against each other, and nostrils flaring with hot breath pushing in and out. She's pushing two fingers into me, she's going slow, gentle, and restrained, but behind it, I feel so much force. Keeping her tongue in my mouth Claire breaks the seal so we can both huff and catch our breaths. The sound of it, almost as if we share one tangled mouth. The two of us breathing together like this is so erotic I imagine I might cum just listening to us, especially as Claire's breathing speeds up, driving my own to grow ragged from excitement. I've never been kissed like this, never enjoyed kissing anywhere nearly as much. I bask in the attention, Claire's tongue in my mouth, her fingers moving in me.

She pushes her lips against my neck, I feel them open, and her tongue against my skin.

Her fingers move through me. I am wet and open as she slides them in and out, moves them over me, and turns them. She's exploring and I open my leg further, turning towards her, moving onto my back as she finds my clit and begins to circle. Her fingertips are slippery and soft. I've soaked her flesh.

Her mouth is moving down to my chest, I reach up with both hands and squeeze my breasts, offering them to her. My eyes are squeezed shut as her lips find my nipple and begin to suck.

"Oh, Jesus God Claire!" I call loudly, shocking myself. I've never been demonstrative during sex, something Danny complained about - and even with Claire, she makes me call out, but only as I cum. I think of Claire calling out; of the beautiful sounds she makes and feel my throat open for her. "Ohhhh!"

Raising herself up and supporting herself on her elbow Claire pushes her free hand under my neck and grips me tight. My head tips forward watching her suck my nipple. Her lips shined with saliva as her cheeks draw in and out, pulling hard at me.

"Eeey! Oh, Claire!" I whine. "Mmmmmnnn! Oh yesss. Please, Claire!"

Her fingers are fucking me faster and faster the heel of her hand is bearing down on my clit. Smearing it as she pumps in and out of me.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! OhGodYes!" The sounds are ripped from me, I can't stop myself. Claire is staring into my eyes as she sucks. Her eyes glitter, challenging me, goading me on.

"OHGODOHGODOHGODOHCLAIREYES," I scream, my voice rising in pitch and volume as she continues.

My hips rolling to meet her hand, pushing, grinding. I moan loudly into the darkness, begging. "OHPLEASSSSEGOD!"

"Cum for me young Sarah," she husks,

"EyH!"

"EyH!"

"EyH!"

"EyH!"

"Now!" She commands. "I want you to cum in my hand!"

"OH GOD PLEASE!" I explode, shocking myself with both my obedience and my outburst. "OH CLAIRE YESPLEASE! OHGODCLAIRE!"

My hands are clutching at her hand, pushing her fingers deeper, pressing her palm harder. I'm grinding against her. Her eyes are open and bright and hungry, watching me, she is eating me with her eyes as I cum.