Page 68 of Vengefully Matched

“You don’t have to worry about me. I have the car, remember.”

“I’m sure Vickie will drive me, if only to see you trapped in a giant glass container with a woman you’re definitely into.”

“She’s standing right here, Azrael. You just spoke to her.” Priscilla shut her eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The movement of her arm brushed against Agatha’s on the way up, and she felt it, that magical connection that flared between them.

“Hi again, Agatha. She is definitely into you.”

“Goodbye and thank you and I hate you,” Priscilla said, hanging up the phone, and typing in the address to hit send.

“Into me, huh?” Agatha knew she was smirking but didn’t bother to tamp down her smugness. “I sort of got that from the kissing me back, but it’s always nice to hear.”

“Listen, it’s not a big deal. We’ve been spending so much time together, and you must be aware of how beautiful you are,” she began. Those pouty little lips were begging to be kissed, and the words spilling from Priscilla’s mouth were breathtakingly sweet.

Agatha had never had her beauty professed like this, not just in an enclosed space, but with the kind of fervent urgency that lined Priscilla’s voice. She bit her lip, forcing herself not to look away. Priscilla was looking at her now, turning her full attention on Agatha, and she thought she might drown in the golden-brown depths of Prissy’s eyes.

She wanted to tell Priscilla how pretty she was, and not only that, to make it absolutely clear that she thought they would be so pretty together, so pretty and so, so good.

But it was cramped in this thing, and she couldn’t bring herself to find any sort of words that wouldn’t make her crazy. What was she supposed to do, tell Priscilla that she thought she might be falling, deeply and irreparably? That she had fantasized about her so much and to such great length that she’d had, by herself, the most satisfying sexual experience of her life?

It was too much, and so she delayed it again, with her mouth, pressing her lips to Priscilla’s. She pushed Priscilla back against the side of the glass prison, cupping her face with a hand, and trailing the other down past her waist, gripping firmly. When she kissed Prissy harder, and felt her fingers dig into that spot just past her hip bone, she almost apologized, but Priscilla moaned into her mouth.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” Prissy breathed against her mouth. “Get a little rough with me.”

Agatha flushed all over. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was that she feared she didn’t know how. She wondered if she should fake it until she made it, run her hands along Priscilla’s thighs, test out the pressure, figure out the difference between just enough and too much.

Except, was she supposed to know it already?

She wanted to keep touching Priscilla, but instead, she pulled back, uncertain if there was some unwritten handbook or order of operations, something other people knew about being with a woman that she simply did not. Goddess, what if she was too weird? She flushed, thinking about the way Prissy’s voice made her insides curl and do something funny.

“Too much?” Priscilla’s pupils were still wide, and there was no avoiding her, not in a glass coffin. That was precisely it. Agatha was worried she was too much.

“No,” Agatha lied, “not at all. It’s just…” She scrambled for a lie, blushing. “I really need to pee.”

“Oh no,” said Prissy, but she sounded relieved. Agatha relaxed a teeny bit, but as the moment evaporated, she worried that she actually did have to pee.

“What I wouldn’t give for a coffee cup,” said Priscilla, “or a water bottle. That could help you.”

Agatha let out a strangled moan, pulling her hand over her face.

“It’s fine,” she managed. “I can hold it. New bucket list item: manage to get through my life without ever peeing in a cup again.”

“You’ve done that before?”

She nodded, slumping against the glass. There. She could trade honesty about one experience for unwillingness to admit the myriad ways she was lacking in another.

This was, somehow, more intimate, but she wanted to tell Priscilla.

“I got pregnant once.” She said it matter-of-factly.

Priscilla’s eyes widened. “Not with horrible Jonathan.”

She shook her head. “No. In my early twenties. We both agreed children were not in our plans. That’s just never been something I wanted.”

The other woman looked at her. “What did you do?”

Agatha exhaled. This was always the bit that gave people the opportunity to show their true colors, and surprisingly enough, even horrible Jonathan had agreed that it was, in fact, her body and her choice, and had never had a problem with this particular bit of Agatha’s past.