My Stepsister Moved Into the Guest Room at Thirty novel · Chapter 24 of 24
Chapter 24: Ours
We got home at nine, snow melting in our hair, with a bag of leftover quiche and Flora's mother's gloves.
I locked the door and turned around.
Flora had already put the bag down on the hall table, and she stood there with her coat open, looking at me.
"Bedroom," she said. "Lights low."
"Yes."
"No hurry tonight."
"No."
I lit the lamp on the dresser, and she took off her coat and hung it on my hook, next to mine.
I had put the hook up for her on Tuesday.
She saw it, and she smiled, and she did not say a word.
She took my hand and led me to the bed.
"Undress me first," she said. "Slowly."
I knelt on the mattress in front of her and unzipped her green dress from the back.
I eased it off her shoulders, and it slid to her waist.
Her skin was freckled and soft under the lamp, and warm.
She smelled like snow and soap and the sweetness she always had behind her ears.
I kissed her collarbone.
I kissed the top of each shoulder, the dip of her throat, the curve of her breast above the bra.
She stood still and let me, with her eyes closed and her hands in my hair.
I unhooked the bra and kissed each breast, the pink tips, the underside.
She sighed.
I pushed the dress down over her hips, and it dropped.
I lowered her underwear, and she stepped out of it, and I sat back on my heels and looked at her.
"I love your body," I said. "I love every inch."
"You always say it like a report."
"It's true like a report."
She laughed, soft, and cupped my jaw.
"Now me," she said. "Undress you."
She did it.
She peeled off my sweater, my slacks, my socks, one at a time, with a kiss for each new patch of skin.
When I was bare, she turned me onto my stomach.
She sat astride my thighs, and I heard the cap of a bottle.
Warm oil hit the small of my back.
Her hands began to move, strong and slow.
She worked the knots under my shoulder blades, thumbs pressing, the heel of her palm sliding down my spine.
The muscles I had clenched through a hundred twelve-hour shifts let go one by one.
"God, Flora."
"Shh. This is the part where you get to be soft."
She massaged my neck, my arms, my hands, and then my calves and my feet.
She moved up the backs of my thighs and lingered, her thumbs spreading the oil in tight slow circles near the place where my legs met.
My hips pushed up into the mattress.
"Not yet."
She kissed the base of my spine.
"Turn over."
I turned.
She straddled me again, this time facing me, and poured oil in her palms and spread it across my breasts and belly.
She rubbed my nipples with her thumbs.
She slid her slick hands over my ribs, down to my hips, and around the front of my thighs.
I was trembling, and the lamplight shone on my wet skin.
"You're so beautiful," she said. "Do you know that? You never believed me."
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