Cat bucks her hips but Kara will not be hurried. Huffing with impatience, Cat tries to pull at the apron string that Kara used to tie Cat’s hands behind the dining room chair, but there’s no give. Cat’s discovering a lot of things this Sunday afternoon, including the fact that there’s an apron in her house, and that Kara apparently has the knot-tying skills of an experienced sailor. Or at least a Girl Scout. Wherever she learned her way around ropes, Kara is quite content to straddle Cat’s lap, both of them entirely naked.
Only instead of making Cat come so hard she screams, Kara’s mouth is occupied with a piece of fluffy banana pancake, and Cat is more than a little jealous of some goddamned fruit and flour.
“I’m sorry!” Cat blurts eventually. “I promised I would take you to brunch and then I went into work instead. I… would probably do exactly that again, honestly. I landed an exclusive with Michelle Obama for my news division. But I am sorry.”
Kara chews thoughtfully.
“You know what this was,” she accuses. “It was our coming out brunch.”
“And I have begged you all week to stop calling it that.”
“All I wanted today was to have pancakes, in public, with my girlfriend,” Kara sighs. “I even tipped the paps off myself, to make sure the story landed this time. I did not want a repeat of the gal pals on a yacht attempt. I rubbed that sunscreen in for a good hour and they still thought we were platonic friends.”
Cat shrugs. “You have me here now. We’ll go to dinner, tonight. I’ll have you on the table at Mario’s new place. He’ll love the publicity.”
“Nice try,” Kara wags a finger in dismissal. Cat taught her that exact gesture. “But I wanted pancakes. And pancakes means syrup.”
She reaches for something on the table next to Cat. Not one of the hand-tapped imported syrups that Cat selected specifically to make Kara happy every time she stayed over and got to have breakfast, but rather a squeezy bottle of something store-bought. Her glare must be noticeable, because Kara dips her head to claim a soft kiss.
“I like this flavor best,” Kara admits against Cat’s cheek. “I bet it tastes even better on you.”
“Oh,” is all Cat can think to say as the first drizzle is swept across her collarbone. A moment later Kara’s mouth follows, her tongue painting broad strokes and the hum of contentment at the taste of syrup on Cat’s skin is a strong vibration that does little to ease Cat’s frustration. Kara is thorough, and she finishes her chasing of sticky sweetness by kissing Cat on the mouth. Cat tries to play along, to taste the syrup on Kara’s tongue, but there’s already a new trickle careening down her right breast, and there’s very little point now in denying how much she likes the sensation.
Kara wriggles off Cat’s lap to finish this syrup interlude, kneeling in front of Cat as she flicks repeatedly at the hardened nipple, all traces of syrup already well licked clean. Cat spreads her legs a little wider, her back arching thanks to Kara’s relentless tongue.
“Syrup’s nice,” Kara announces. “But it’s not my favorite taste.”
And then oh God and thank fuck and the muscles in Cat’s thighs are already rippling at the first whisper of Kara’s lips against where those thighs are already slick. The polished wood of the chair is finally warm against Cat’s ass, and she can tell she’s already dripping on the varnish.
“Please,” she mutters, and Kara isn’t feeling pissed enough to drag things out, which is a mercy Cat probably doesn’t deserve. She didn’t need to go into the office, she can admit that now. If she needs Michelle for an exclusive, Cat just calls her, she doesn’t take an otherwise free Sunday and fake a struggle to make the booking. Cat did, however, panic at the public brunching and the final step in admitting to the world that she is dangerously, desperately in love with her assistant. That’s something she can’t even admit to Kara, beyond benevolent smiles when Kara whispers those very words against Cat’s body in unguarded moments.
She comes with flickering pressure at her clit and three of Kara’s fingers buried inside her. Cat misses being able to grab Kara’s hair as she rides out the shuddering climax, but it doesn’t detract from the effect. Relaxed at last, breathless and sated, Cat would give Kara five brunches in a row for this feeling alone. Too soon, Kara’s reaching behind her and untying Cat’s wrists.
Usually at this kind of point, Kara offers a hand, or simply carries Cat to wherever Kara wants her next, letting the trembling in Cat’s legs subside. This time she places a hand on Cat’s shoulder, holding her on the chair a moment longer, asserting her power one last time.
“I’ll be in your bedroom,” Kara explains. “Don’t join me until you’ve licked every last inch of the mess you’ve just made of this chair, understood?”
Cat wants to ask why Kara doesn’t stay to watch, but she knows the answer will be a lie to cover up x-ray vision, and so Cat lets the question fade on her tongue. She shrugs, pretending the instruction didn’t leave her clenching and wishing Kara’s fingers would return to where they’d been just a moment ago.
“I meant it about dinner,” Cat calls out after her. “I want to do this, Kara.”
Kara nods, but keeps walking away.
Cat takes a deep breath, then another. She stands, but only for as long as it takes to get in position bent over the chair. Maybe Kara won’t be able to wait, like so many other times. Maybe she’ll come and take Cat one more time, fingers stroking deeply as Cat tastes herself on her custom-designed furniture. She’ll show Kara off tonight, both of them well-fucked and probably glowing. She’ll take that step which really isn’t so much to ask.
And if Kara says those words again, mumbled in the back of the car or whispered against the pillow tonight? Well, maybe this time Cat will tell the truth and say them back. Some secrets are better not kept.