Chapter Seventeen

Toks’ hands were everywhere.

There were fingers at her throat. A thumb under her chin and short, neat nails curling at the nape of her neck. A hot palm slid around her waist, burning through the soaked fabric of her dress. It pressed against her spine, squeezed the softness above her hip, wrapped around her ribs like bands of steel. Polly moaned.

The hand dropped instantly to her backside and pulled her closer. It lost patience with the wet, cold clothes and gathered up the hem of her dress until it found her thigh.

A burning path traced up and over and around, then gripped. Moved Polly’s body like it knew they were one and hooked her leg over her hip.

Toks was greedy.

She’d always been greedy with Polly – unrestrained and possessive – but this was urgent. Her mouth was desperate. She kissed Polly like she’d starved for sixteen years and only Polly could give her grace.

They stumbled into Polly’s room.

It was still pouring with rain, and thunder boomed across the world. The wall of water obscured the view. There was no need to pull the curtains.

All the same, Toks pulled back for a moment.

“This is your parents’ room,” she said, her eyes wild about the edges. They flickered to the space and then straight back to Polly’s lips. “Ew.”

Polly tugged at the shirt she had bunched in her fists. “It’s mine now, idiot. You say the sexiest things.” Her teeth chattered.

The rain had been icy, dropping from way up in the troposphere. They were both shivering – they were both on fire.

They looked at each other. A shadow passed over Toks’ eyes – the spectre of the mess between them – and it tempered the avarice with concern.

“Oh baby, your lips are blue. You’re freezing,” she said, her hands turning from lust to care in a second. She rubbed Polly’s upper arms but couldn’t stop her eyes falling to her breasts.

Polly looked down.

The white cheesecloth of her summer dress was plastered to her skin, hiding nothing.

She giggled.

After one alarmed second, Toks laughed too. Their foreheads fell together, fingers entwined at their sides. There were tears, but they had mingled with the rain until neither of them could tell whether they were regret or joy. They dripped on the polished wooden floor.

“Are we really doing this?” Toks whispered. “It’s been so long. We’ve both been so angry. I’ll— I’ll try to understand if you don’t want to—”

Polly ducked her head to kiss her. A light kiss on her lips that grew helplessly into something longer, slower and deeper. Toks’ hand was at her neck again like she couldn’t stop herself.

“I want this,” Polly murmured, leaning back into her hand. God, she’d missed the way Toks held her. “I want you.”

A massive shiver overtook her.

Toks blinked herself back into control.

“Out of that dress!” she ordered. She staggered away to the ensuite.

It felt so right that Toks knew where everything was, that Toks fit into Jerinja as well as she fit in Polly’s arms. The woman came dashing back with two enormous towels and a mischievous look on her face.

“You’ve redone the bathroom. Nice big shower.”

Polly knew exactly what she was thinking. “Later.”

“You’re still dressed.” Toks was smug now. Confident. Her own linen shirt was stuck to her skin too and Polly couldn’t stop looking at the curve of her breasts through it, but if Toks knew that, she didn’t care. She was only interested in Polly.

And Polly was suddenly hesitant.

If she took the dress off, Toks would see her scars. All of them. And she didn’t want a repeat performance of what had just happened at the pool.

On the other hand, she’d been waiting for Toks to kiss her better for so long.

The frock was a peasant-style thing – ribbon gathering in wide shoulders and elastic at the waist. She tugged at the bow that held the whole dress up and held Toks’ eyes.

“Be careful with me, Toks,” she begged, and let the wet, tangled mess fall to the floor.

A long series of expressions chased its way over Toks’ face. Horror – Polly was accustomed to that. Pity. A quick flash of revulsion rapidly tampered down. Then a surprising rush of fury – bright, flaring outrage that quickened a hot burn between Polly’s legs as Toks’ possessiveness reclaimed her and felt so good. But it all crashed into confusion and a hopeless pain as Toks simply stared.

That hurt a bit.

Polly crossed her arms over her breasts and was glad for her plain, unsexy, white cotton briefs.

Toks closed the distance between them with a single, slow step. She took Polly’s hands and kissed her knuckles – one hand, then the other – reverent kisses plush with softness and care. Then she pushed Polly carefully down to the edge of the bed.

She knelt. Her own wonderful Ksenia Tokarycz knelt at Polly’s feet, her lashes wet with tears, her hair limp with the rain, but her eyes blazing and every cell of her body fervent and Polly’s to command.

“I’ve always been careful with you, Pearl,” she murmured. She kissed Polly’s knee, then laid her cheek on her leg. She inhaled. A deep, long draw like she was filling herself with Polly’s essence, filling her lungs before willingly drowning.

Toks had always been careful with her. From their very first time. Even later when they’d been playful, experimenting with roles that went deeper than kink, even as they’d learned that Toks liked to be in control and Polly liked to give it to her, she had always been respectful.

Polly kissed the top of her head.

That was why it had killed when Toks never came to find her all those years ago.

“I don’t know what happened to you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

Toks nodded slowly. “I’ll be honoured to listen if ever you do,” she said, “but right now? Can I touch you? Is it okay to—”

Trauma was a funny thing. It raised its ugly head at curious times. Polly had had years to rise above hers and, at first, it hadn’t helped that everyone had known what she’d been through. Her name had been famous back in the day, as well known as a survivor as a victim, and past lovers – the sad, lonely few of them – had treated her and her scars like she was fragile. It gave her trauma too much power, so she hid it under long sleeves and learnt to rule it in her own way.

Toks had no idea what the scars were from. And Polly suddenly realised how refreshing that was.

“It’s way more than okay,” she blurted. “Oh, god, Toks, I’m going to die if you don’t touch me.” Polly stifled a laugh at the immediate eagerness that flashed across Toks’ face. “Get off your knees, you adorable idiot, and pass me that towel. I’m freezing! And get your own clothes off! I’ve been waiting sixteen years to see you—”

Toks surged upwards and kissed her hard. She wrapped her in the towel and hugged her tight.

Then she stepped back and stripped.

It was like falling backward through time.

Toks didn’t hold back.

She pressed Polly into the sheets and kissed every millimetre of her skin – the scars and the bits of Polly in between. Not with sympathy or the aim to heal. Not with contrition or curiosity, but with acceptance, honouring all of her. Getting to know her anew.

She was studying the music, Polly thought, though she stopped the giggle that rose in her cheeks as soon as Toks gave her a look out of deep, black eyes. The maestro was ready for performance.

She loomed above her on powerful arms.

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Her voice was low and rich, and smooth as whisky.

She was sexy as fuck, but Polly wasn’t going to let her get away with shit like that.

“You say that to all the girls?”

Toks’ face froze in a quick flash of panic, but the moment was far too hot for it last. Toks grinned wolfishly and lowered her lips to one of Polly’s nipples.

“Never going to be another,” she promised.

Her mouth was scalding and her tongue was clever and hard. Polly moaned before she could stop herself and found herself looking down into amused eyes.

“Missed me?” She was way too smug.

“Missed your attitude,” Polly tried, but Toks bit down in just the right way and slipped her hand between her legs at the same perfect time. Polly moaned again, pressing her head back into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and giving in. She felt Toks nudge her legs open. Polly’s hips tilted up, her thighs fell wide and wrapped around Toks. They rocked together, an old familiar song suddenly new, and it all happened without any conscious thought.

It felt so, so right. Natural.

Just that simple fact made Polly moan again. Her heart caved in. She could have cried out sixteen years right then, but the moan was enough. It promised more.

She opened her eyes expecting to find Toks full of smugness again, but the woman was gazing at her as lost as she felt, with as much worship as had ever been in her eyes.

“It’s been a long time,” Polly admitted.

“Me too,” Toks whispered.

That wasn’t true. Polly could feel the experience in her fingers. She frowned, and Toks raced back up her body to kiss the frown from between her eyes.

“I mean, with someone I love,” Toks clarified.

Love.

They both blinked at the word, and Toks’ lips curved in a slow, satisfied smile and she ducked her head to Polly’s body again. Throat, collarbones, breasts, her navel. And then, with tenderness and hunger in equal, giddy measures, she brought her mouth to Polly’s core and set about atoning for her sins.

As soon as Polly shrieked out her first orgasm, Toks sent her straight back up again for another.

Two fingers, long, strong and precise, knew exactly the spot to hit. They curled without mercy and Polly was relieved to grind against them. Toks’ tongue was quick and light, then hard and engulfing in a driving rhythm. When she pressed… and sucked…

“Oh, it has been a long time, baby,” Toks drawled.

“Shut up. Come here.” Polly was panting, but she sat up and took Toks’ face in both hands to kiss the taste of herself from her lips. Toks was still stroking her softly and squeaked with alarm as she lost her balance and they both toppled backwards. They giggled until Toks realised the position had lifted Polly’s hips even higher.

Polly saw the plan form in Toks’ mind before she spoke. They’d done this countless times before.

“Pillows!” she said, with an urgency that should have been funny, but Polly yanked them from behind her head. Toks tucked them carefully under her backside. “Are you comfortable?”

Polly just smiled.

Toks got to her knees between Polly’s legs and opened herself, a cocky, rueful shrug when Polly noticed how wet she was. “You do that to me,” Toks whispered. “No one else.”

She pressed their cores together, wet and searing, the sensation instantly shorting out Polly’s mind. She couldn’t be closer to Toks than she was now. Toks held herself up with one arm and slipped her other hand under Polly’s arse. Her fingers were hard enough to leave bruises. Toks blew out a shaky, shuddering sigh at the first rock of her hips.

Slick and smooth, sinful sounds. Toks rocked them slow and hard, then faster, messier as she lost control. She pulled Polly against her, thrust herself along Polly’s quickly gathering ruin.

Her chest heaved. Wet, straw-blond hair in her face. Green eyes vivid with urgency. Pupils blown wide with desire.

“I need you, Polly. Fuck— Polly, I need you—”

Polly gripped her shoulders. “You have me, Toks. You know I’ve always been yours.”

“Baby—”

She was everything, she was beautiful, she was so, so stubborn and stupid – and she still needed Polly to tell her it was okay. Polly smiled. Toks had always been so full of bluster and swagger, but at her heart, she always needed Polly.

“It’s okay, Toks,” Polly whispered. “Come on, sweetheart. Come home.”

And with a cry that surged up from somewhere far too deep inside herself, Toks let everything go. Her back arched in ecstasy. Polly held the curve of her body with care and admiration, then opened her arms as Toks tumbled forward, her heart beating against her breasts, her breath hot on her skin, their limbs a tangled wreckage of pride, ruin, passion and, maybe, salvation.

And an extraordinary sense that everything might just be alright.

The storm blew itself out and a waxing moon rose over the ocean. It lit a path across the water, out to the horizon and a whole new world.

Polly stepped onto the balcony, tugging Toks after her. She slipped back into Toks’ arms, their naked bodies slotted perfectly together and wrapped in a sheet from the bed.

She didn’t really want to think about what would happen now.

Toks lived a non-stop, busy life flitting around the planet from one month to the next. Polly slow-danced to a far gentler rhythm, one that marked the seasons with lilly pilly gin, Tilda’s music exams, time that slowly tugged a piano out of tune and the soft tap of a tuning hammer that coaxed it back into song.

Their lives couldn’t be more different.

But there was no question this was real. Finding a way was the only way.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Toks said, softly.

Polly held her tighter.

“I mean, ever, Pearl. We’ve wasted so much time.” She tipped her head back and howled at the moon. Polly grinned into her throat and chuckled at her. “Sixteen years! How stupid could we be?”

Polly hummed.

“Don’t answer that! But I’m not letting you go,” Toks said again. Ardent.

They watched the moon for a while. The possum leapt from a tree at the back of the house and ran the length of the building before flinging itself from the edge and gliding to another. A tawny frogmouth warbled near the dam and a breeze stirred the wires of the piano.

“You signed with the Sydney Symphony for two years, didn’t you?”

Toks made a huffing noise. “And I arranged my contracts to spend as little time here as possible. I’m back in Europe in just three weeks.”

“For how long?”

“A month.” Toks actually sounded apologetic, and she pulled Polly closer.

The soft press of their breasts, the curve of the small of Toks’ back under her hands, the muscle in the arms that caged Polly in was filling all of Polly’s senses. How could she go back to living without this?

“Come with me.”

Polly felt her heart rate kick up to double time.

“To Europe. Please, Polly, darling. Please come with me.”

She hadn’t been back in sixteen years. Her world was Jerinja and Sydney to tune some pianos. Reclusive barely covered it.

But Toks was begging her and she’d be a fool to throw this away a second time.

She kissed away the panic that was slowly blossoming on Toks’ lips.

“Okay,” she said, simply.

She’d figure out how to be brave later.