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” Rosanna said beginning to rise. “Where are you going, Ross?” Casey flew up from the couch, spilling the remaining soda in her glass onto her skirt. “Oh shit!” She cried. I’ve got to take this off before the stain sets in. She ran down the hall to her bedroom while Rosanna sat staring after her in surprise. What a day, she thought! I think Solace has put a hex on me! Don’t think of her now. Casey returned wearing a satin dressing gown. Rosanna openly stared at her friend from head to toe. Were those her–? No, dope! This is Casey, the man magnet! Get a grip, Rosanna! “Where are your clothes?” Rosanna asked, her voice cracking a bit. “I took them off,” Casey replied calmly. “I can see that. Where are your other clothes?” Rosanna asked, making yet another attempt to stand. She tentatively bent her right knee, trying to assess the damage. Casey rushed to her side and guided her back onto the couch. Is it my imagination or is Casey trying to seduce me? That can’t be, she’s as straight. XXX. She went first. Then she started the ritual for me: licking my thumb, circling my fingers, slowly, with her tongue, measuring the salt out carefully, and holding the lemon for me to bite into, which I did, several times, wanting to suck out every bit of lemon juice. The sharp rush, the gold fire glow from the tequila, flooding downwards was met by a another rush, a flush of excitement, circling in my loins and ascending. We repeated the ritual: this time I wet her fingers, even more slowly then she did mine, and I held the lemon for her, which she sucked on five or six or seven times. I went back to her hand: sucking the space where the salt had been, the V between thumb and forefinger, lingering, teasing, tonguing until she shivered a little, as if she had bit into a very tart lemon. We then took turns licking and sucking fingers, one after the other, more deliberately than a cat cleaning fur: each of us, doing all ten fingers, doing each one more lustfully, more laciviously.
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