Her glossy, pink lips closed over the tip of the colorful stray that was stuck in her mai tai. Her cheeks hollowed as she took a sip, her shockingly blue eyes staring into the contents of her glass. Releasing the straw, Angelina Channing pressed her lips together, making sure her gloss was still in place.

Trailing her eyes around the classy bar for the fifth time, Angelina decided that she was bored. The funky colors, the round and curvy shapes of her surroundings, the dim but colorful lights, the couples making out on bright sofas and pillows, the sexy music in the background, it was all beginning to bore her.

She uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again beneath the so-called dress she had just received that day via mail-order from Victoria Secret. She pouted down at herself thoughtfully. The rosy-pink satin dress, trimmed with black lace around her breasts and the hem, was something that more resembled lingerie than something you’d wear for an evening out.

Angelina grinned and looked away from her body, adjusting the thin straps of her “dress.” If all went according to plan, tonight was going to be anything but an evening out. The grin vanished from Angelina’s pretty face, and she frowned again, narrowing her eyes at her drink.

Her lover was late.

Then again, that wasn’t anything new. Caitlin O’Brien was a secretary, she had a formidable job compared to Angelina’s party-hardy one as a bartender. But that was what made Caitlin so appealing to Angelina. The innocence, the beauty, the sophistication, the sexy Irish accent. Angelina closed her eyes and released a heavenly sigh, remembering Caitlin’s voice.

It sounded even better when she was begging.

Angelina smirked around her straw and shifted slightly, feeling herself grow hot beneath her flimsy dress. Visions of locking her fingers in Caitlin’s silky red hair, closing her mouth over a hardened nipple and listening to Caitlin whimper and moan, filled Angelina’s head and she groaned aloud.

She opened her eyes and leaned back on her bar stool, tapping her manicured nails against the polished counter of the bar. Her tongue passed over her lips, tasting the gloss she had placed there over an hour earlier.

Huffing a stray strand of platinum-blonde hair out of her eyes and staring around the bar again, Angelina was seriously considering leaving and going home to take a cold shower. Then maybe Caitlin would arrive home, feel guilty, and climb in the shower with her. Closing her eyes again, visions of Caitlin’s naked body pressed against her own, wet breasts slick and full against her back as her tongue lapped at her shoulder, danced across the back of Angelina’s eyelids.

With another groan, Angelina dipped her head and sucked in a hearty gulp of her drink.

Finally, just as Angelina was ready to gather herself and head home to masturbate away the ache in her loins, the tiny red-head sauntered through the doors of the bar. Angelina smiled, watching Caitlin as she removed her purse from her shoulder and dropped her head, rooting through the bag.

Angelina watched with interest as her lover dragged a lock of shiny red hair behind an ear as she dug into her purse, apparently searching for something. Caitlin was dressed nothing like Angelina, having just come from work, but Angelina wasn’t complaining, she loved the way her little Irish vixen dressed.

The snow-white blouse was buttoned just enough to be considered decent, and the flimsy tank-top beneath it peaked out of the gap above the swell of her breasts, its white-lace trim barely visible from Angelina’s seat. Though she was more concerned with what was beneath Caitlin’s clothing.

Angelina’s eyes dropped from Caitlin’s chest, over the thin curve of her waist, to her tiny hips which were hugged by the black, pin-striped trousers. Angelina smiled as she continued to sip her drink and dear little Caitlin continued digging through her purse for some unreachable object.

Meanwhile, Angelina’s exotic mind was filled with visions of Caitlin’s hips and the way they had rubbed against her own when they had gone dancing at that raunchy club just last week. In Angelina’s opinion, Caitlin’s outfit was far too conservative for her tastes, but then again, this was coming from a woman who wore dresses made by an infamous lingerie company.

With a sigh of content, Angelina sat up straight on her bar stool just as Caitlin discovered what she was looking for. Angelina gave a snort of laughter when Caitlin unfolded her reading glasses and slid them onto her nose. “You’re such a fucking nerd,” Angelina muttered to herself as she watched Caitlin, unable to stop herself from smiling.

Caitlin then squinted around the dimly lit bar and finally spotted Angelina. She smiled brightly and placed her purse back onto her shoulder and headed in Angelina’s direction, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

“Sorry Angel, Paul left me some last minute paperwork to file. He’s the worst flaming procrastinator I’ve had the displeasure of meeting.” The red-head placed her purse on the bar and took a seat next to Angelina, unconsciously using what was once a pet name that had turned into the only thing Caitlin called Angelina. That is, unless she was upset with her.

The thick Irish accent only made the tiny, pale-skinned woman more appealing to Angelina. She watched with amusement as Caitlin’s bespectacled gaze fell onto her dress, defined eyebrows raised in a thoughtful expression. “Nice underwear,” she said dryly, looking away and motioning the bartender over so she could order a drink.

Angelina laughed, lifting her drink in her hand and taking a sip before she smirked at Caitlin and spoke:

“Don’t be silly, Irish, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

The bartender choked and stumbled as he reached them to take Caitlin’s order. Caitlin, on the other hand, appeared unperturbed by Angelina’s blunt statement.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Caitlin said after she ordered a Guiness--no surprise there either--from the flustered bartender. “And don’t call me Irish,” she added, turning to face Angelina.

Angelina could only chuckle and take another sip of her colorful drink. She leaned her elbows onto the bar and stared at Caitlin, who studied her nails for a moment before casting her gaze around the bar. Angelina watched her grimace, no doubt having seen the several couples who were making out on the funky sofas and make-shift beds.

“Yeah, this place definitely reminds me of you, Angel,” Caitlin spoke on an exhale, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

Angelina turned her head to look at the very heterosexual couple who were heavily making out. She turned her bottom lip down in a thoughtful expression. “No, it’s really nothing like me,” she looked back to Caitlin and smiled. “I don’t fuck anything with a dick.”

“I meant the bloody bar,” Caitlin snapped, though Angelina could see the corners of her lips twitching in a restrained smile.

“I know what you meant, Irish, I’m just being a bitch.” Angelina grinned before she finished off the rest of her mai tai, and ordered another as the bartender returned with Caitlin’s Guiness.

Angelina noted the way the bartender deliberately avoided her gaze, and she turned to Caitlin when he shuffled off. “Straight guys embarrass too easily,” she said as she watched her lover take a swig of her beer. “You mention panties and a straight guy turns redder than a tomato, while a gay man asks you whether you prefer lace or satin.”

“You’re so stereotypical.”

“Is that your “I’m a Literature major” way of telling me I’m a bitch?”

“Yes.”

“Well fuck you then.”

Caitlin was grinning as she took another pull from her beer, swallowed, and then trained her attention back on Angelina, who was scowling as the bartender placed her drink in front of her and hurried off. “You do that everyday, twice on Sundays.”

Angelina’s attempt at looking pissed melted away and she laughed into her drink. “You know, Irish,” Angelina began, sliding and arm across Caitlin’s shoulders. The red-head tensed and furrowed her eyebrows at Angelina, who only smiled and placed her chin on Caitlin’s shoulder, knowing how uncomfortable public affection make the red-head.

“Angelina. . .” It was a warning, made obvious by the tone of her voice and the fact that Caitlin had used Angelina’s full name. It only drove Angelina to tease her.

“What?” Angelina asked, her words sounding purely innocent even to her own ears. She brushed her nose through the hair which rested on Caitlin’s shoulder and inhaled the faint scent of her perfume and shampoo.

“You smell good,” Angelina whispered as Caitlin continued to stare straight ahead, back rigid. “What is that?” She sniffed closer to Caitlin’s neck as if trying to put a name to the scent, and pressed her lips against the pale flesh.

“Angel, the bartender’s gawking, you really should--oh.” Caitlin closed her eyes and exhaled heavily as Angelina’s skilled fingers massaged the nape of her neck. She removed her lips from Caitlin’s neck to her cheek, and pressed another light kiss there.

“You know me better than that, Irish,” Angelina said, tracing her other hand over Caitlin’s thigh. “I love it when they gawk.”

“You may like it, Angel,” Caitlin turned her head so she could look Angelina in the eye and set her straight, “But you know how much I--”

Even before Caitlin could finish speaking, Angelina had pressed her mouth over Caitlin’s. And it wasn’t a chaste kiss. Caitlin felt Angelina’s silky tongue in her mouth, tasted her drink. So much for setting her straight.

Caitlin forgot they were in an extremely public place, and pushed herself into the kiss, determined to show the brazen Angelina that she was not terrified of PDA such as kissing that resembled mouth to mouth resuscitation.

In reality it embarrassed her like the mention of ladies underwear embarrasses a heterosexual man.

Caitlin wove her fingers through Angelina’s smooth hair, taking control of the kiss as Angelina slid from her bar stool and spun Caitlin around so she could stand between her legs.

The kiss was hot, deep, and slightly mind-boggling as Angelina braced her hands on Caitlin’s thighs when her stomach pitched as Caitlin pulled back and tugged on Angelina’s lower lip. She could feel Caitlin’s fingernails massaging her scalp as she dug her own nails into the firm thighs of her lover.

“Mmm, you taste good,” Caitlin groaned, nipping Angelina’s lip again before diving in for another knee-weakening kiss. Angelina felt Caitlin’s hand slid through her hair, over her shoulder, and flick the flimsy strap of her dress aside.

It was Angelina who broke the kiss this time, staring down into Caitlin’s sharp brown eyes which were dilated so much they looked like black holes, churning black holes that threatened to suck her in and devour her. And Angelina was more than willing to be devoured.

“Are you going to undress me right here, Irish?” Angelina whispered, ignoring the stare of the gaping man who was sitting next to Caitlin, drooling on himself with his beer halfway to his mouth.

“That’s the thing when you wear lingerie, Angel--” The Irish accent was even more vivid in Caitlin’s obvious state of arousal “--I always want to take it off you.”

That was all that needed to be said, as Angelina grabbed her purse in one hand and Caitlin’s hand in the other, jerking her out of her seat and literally dragging her out of the bar.

She didn’t even bother to fix the strap of her dress.

---

Caitlin had barely unlocked the door of their apartment before Angelina had thrown her against the wall of the dark hallway and crushed the smaller woman against it, bringing her mouth down over Caitlin’s and grabbing the tiny buttons of her blouse.

Her frustrated cry was muffled inside Caitlin’s mouth as her fingers fumbled with the buttons. She only managed to get one undone before she gave Caitlin’s breasts a friendly squeeze and ripped the blouse open.

“Oy!” Caitlin cried out, put didn’t push Angelina away. “What have you always got to rip my damn clothes for?” She asked on a pant as Angelina tugged the blouse from Caitlin’s shoulders and tossed it carelessly behind her.

“Because you wear things with too many fucking buttons.” She breathed on Caitlin’s lips, digging her fingers into the red-head’s curvy waist.

“How the hell would you feel if I ripped that sorry excuse for a dress off of you?”

“Probably turned on. Then I’d slap the shit out of you after our heavenly night of love making.”

Angelina didn’t allow for a response but closed her mouth over Caitlin’s again in a quick but hard kiss. The red-head didn’t retaliate as Angelina pulled away and slid down Caitlin’s body. She moved over her breasts which strained against the material of her flimsy shirt, over her flat stomach where the imprint of a belly button ring pressed against the material, down to her hips where the black trousers rested so elegantly.

Angelina went for the button and zipper and Caitlin fisted a hand in the blonde’s hair, gripping almost painfully. But Angelina didn’t cry out. She liked it. She pushed the trousers open, exposing the white lace that made Caitlin’s skin look almost tan. She kissed the lace and felt the heat, heard Caitlin whimper and felt her give a solid tug on her hair.

“Don’t, Angel,” she whispered, but it echoed through the silent apartment. “I nearly gave you a concussion the last time you got me off against the wall.” Angelina chuckled, inhaling deeply, inhaling the scent that was so womanly. So Caitlin.

“I didn’t mind when you fell on my face, Irish,” Angelina said, giving the trousers a suggestive tug before looking up at her lover and grinning. “But I suppose it’s more comfortable for both of us if we’re horizontal when your orgasm crashes down on you and makes you scream for mercy.”

She watched with excitement as Caitlin closed her eyes and failed at an attempt to bite back a groan.

“You’re such a bloody tease,” Caitlin said as Angelina slithered back to her feet, managing to kick off her heels and make it look graceful.

“Mmm,” Angelina acknowledged, fisting Caitlin’s hair and pushing her head back, lunging for her neck. “You love it,” she purred against her throat, licked and nipped as Caitlin fidgeted and thrust her hips forward, begging.

“I’d be loving it more if we were naked.” Caitlin’s voice cracked as Angelina sucked hard on the skin at the base of her neck. The blonde didn’t respond, merely brushed the straps of Caitlin’s tank top and bra aside and moved her mouth along the wonderful flesh of a pale shoulder.

Caitlin had had enough. She was hot, horny, and in no mood to be teased. She fisted the hem of of Angelina’s dress, shoved it over her hips, and plunged her fingers between Angelina’s legs. The blonde sagged against her lover and her teeth nipped the skin of Caitlin’s shoulder painfully. Caitlin barely felt it.

The sticky-hot wetness which coated Caitlin’s fingers was enough to make her eyes roll. She plunged a finger inside, drew it out, dragged it upward until Angelina gave a full body jerk and moaned against Caitlin’s neck.

“Oh God, Irish.” Angelina’s words were little more than a moan as Caitlin worked her fingers, feeding off of the whimpers of pleasure emanating from her lover. Just when Caitlin was sure she had soaked through her panties and her trousers, and Angelina was ready to explode, the blonde slapped her palm against the wall near her lover’s head and pushed her hand away with the other.

“That was dirty,” Angelina panted against Caitlin’s lips, kissing her again.

“The fact that you almost had an orgasm in our entrance way, or that I stopped your teasing?”

“Both.”

With another bone-shattering kiss, Angelina pulled Caitlin away from the wall and pushed her toward the bedroom. As they toppled over a chair in the den, Caitlin lost her shoes, and had her shirt and bra stripped away. Then her glasses went askew,
skittering across the hardwood floor.

When the back of her knees finally hit their bed, Caitlin was half-naked and quickly losing her trousers. Angelina pushed the smaller woman toward the head of the bed and brought her mouth down over one deliciously naked breast as her hands worked Caitlin’s trousers off her hips. Caitlin lifted her butt off the bed as she moaned--Angelina had given her nipple a solid tug--and Angelina yanked the trousers down and Caitlin kicked them away.

Angelina could feel Caitlin’s hands in her hair, caressing and coaxing as her fingers hooked in the waist of the white lace panties and yanked them down with a viciousness that had Caitlin groaning and her fingers tightening in Angelina’s hair. Angelina sat back on her heels, hearing Caitlin whimper at the loss of contact, and tossed the wet panties over a shoulder.

She ran her hands over Caitlin’s pale legs, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her fingertips. The red-head bent her knees and spread her legs, beckoning in that wantonly way that only surfaced when they were in bed together. Angelina praised her lover’s body with her penetrating stare, feeling the hot throb between her own thighs as her eyes roamed over the flushed face, the pert and heaving breasts, the sexy belly button ring that glinted in the pale moonlight, and finally coming to rest between the enticingly pale thighs.

God, why would you ever want a man when you could have something as perfect and luscious as another female? Angelina had been with men, had sex with them, and not one of them had given her that blissful release that the innocent Caitlin could trigger so easily. A man didn’t look nearly as good naked as a woman did, and they didn’t give a damn about a woman’s needs when it came to sex.

Men were overrated. As if to convince herself, Angelina dove between Caitlin’s thighs and sighed when her tongue met the soft and wet flesh that was so utterly feminine. She licked, sucked, and nipped, holding Caitlin’s hips to the mattress so she didn’t buck straight off the bed. She used her fingers, thrusting and feeling the barrier that made Caitlin society’s definition of a virgin.

The red-head, writhed, bucked, moaned, and the let out a thin scream when Angelina’s tongue pressed down on that swollen bundle of nerves that turned every woman to mush. Caitlin’s breathing became frantic as Angelina flicked her tongue in rapid succession. The panting crescendoed until Caitlin cried out, went rigid, spasmed around Angelina’s fingers and collapsed into the bed as Angelina lazily licked the slickness that signified a successful orgasm.

The red-head moaned quietly as Angelina moved to rest her cheek against Caitlin’s heaving abdomen, and Angelina’s fingers moved unconsciously between her own thighs, touching intimately and feeling the throb. She groaned, closed her eyes and rolled off of her lover, hitching her dress up and spreading her legs.

The masturbation was automatic, both hands working, rubbing and plunging as her eyes closed and breath hitched. They were Caitlin’s hands, teasing, tweaking, and rubbing. Angelina groaned, arching into herself and writhing beneath her own touch. And then all of sudden they were Caitlin’s hands, and her mouth, hot and skillful against the throbbing wetness between her thighs.

Caitlin’s tongue flicked and Angelina moaned, arching and fisting the rumpled bedspread. Then her breath was hot on Angelina’s abdomen, fingers still rubbing. Angelina sat up and yanked her dress off, tossing it aside and moaning as Caitlin’s hot mouth closed over one breast and her free hand over the other. She pushed, and Angelina lay back, closing her eyes as Caitlin spoke.

“You look so bloody hot when you’re getting yourself off,” she breathed, flicking and biting at a nipple. Angelina didn’t respond, couldn’t. It felt too good. One rough nip and then Caitlin’s mouth was back between Angelina’s thighs, inflicting the same sweet torture as she had. It felt so good, too good. Her head spun, it was hard to breath, and waves of unstoppable pleasure were coursing through her body upon the flicks of Caitlin’s tongue and the plunge of her nimble fingers.

Then she nipped, sucked hard, and Angelina came with a scream that made her throat go raw. Her body spasmed, her vision swam, and then she collapsed into the soft mattress with a shudder. She could vaguely feel Caitlin’s tongue lapping slowly and pleasurably before her nails dug into Angelina’s thighs and she pulled herself up to lay over her lover. They pressed together, breast to breast, and this time they moaned simultaneously.

“That was fucking amazing.”

It was Angelina who spoke, and Caitlin chuckled, kissing the generous swell of Angelina’s breasts before running and hand through her tousled hair and locking it at the base of her neck so she could look at her lover in the pale light.

“Aye, amazing.” Caitlin sighed, shifting up a little more so she could kiss those lips she loved so much. It was slow, passionate, and just the way a kiss should have been after making love.

Angelina rolled them over, broke the kiss, and spooned Caitlin tightly to her chest. She kissed her pale shoulder where she had left a small mark, and then sighed as she settled back against the pillows and breathed the scent of her lover’s hair.

“Go to sleep, Irish,” Angelina said lazily, and Caitlin yawned, snuggling back.

“Don’t call me Irish,” she responded, yawned again, and then sighed in content.

Angelina smiled against the halo of red hair, waited a moment, then responded.

“OK. . .Irish.”