Chapter 8

They spilled out of the bar and into the cold night air, laughing at each other, leaning on each other. Mel's hand sought Bebe's and found it already reaching for her. Their fingers threaded together as they made their way down the damp sidewalk. Sleet had fallen while they'd been inside Sal's, puddles along the street reflecting a spectrum of neon lights back at them. Their breath misted and mingled together like a wintry dance.

For the first time in a long time, Mel felt good. This was the kind of magical night she'd only had once in a blue moon in New York, where the grinding pulse of the city suddenly felt like it was beating in tune right alongside hers. Or maybe that was Bebe, pressed against her side, warm and happy. This was the kind of night where nothing could go wrong.

They were still laughing when a man stepped out of a brightly lit doorway directly into their path, a roil of loud, pumping music following him.

"Oh!" Bebe stopped short and brought herself upright. She tugged at Mel's hand, guiding her somewhat behind her. "Gary." Her tone was so cold and professional, Mel hardly recognized her voice.

The man—Gary—looked up from his phone screen. There was something familiar about him that Mel couldn't place. He was white, middle-aged, with a full head of hair that was dyed an unfortunate shade of brassy blond. His navy suit was perfectly tailored, but there was a splotch of something that looked like mayo on his lapel. Dear lord, she hoped it was mayo.

"Blair Murray," he drawled. His gaze traveled over her in a way that Mel did not like one bit, lingering on her tight green top where her coat was unbuttoned. "I suppose you're having a night on the town?" His sharklike eyes shot to Mel, then to their joined hands.

"Yes, we are," Bebe said, her voice going bright with fake cheer. She turned to Mel. "This is a colleague of mine, Gary Willis."

"Colleague might be a bit generous," Gary sneered. He stuck out his hand. "Mrs. Murray and I often spar from opposite sides of the courtroom."

Mel took his hand, not knowing what else to do. "Mel Sorrento," she said. His handshake was like a thousand other alpha male bros she'd dealt with in her life; it was like he was trying to crush her fingers in a vise. But Mel's hands had a strength honed over years of twisting open liquor bottles and manipulating her bar tools, so she crushed right back. He winced as the bones of his hand clicked loudly.

"Charmed." He tore his hand away. Mel tried not to smile too smugly. "I have the distinct feeling that we've met before."

"Doubt it," Mel replied. "Unless you've been to Terror Virtue." As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew that was why he was familiar. He looked like so many other white, middle-aged guests that Mel hadn't remembered him at first.

Now it was coming back to her: single-malt, neat. The priciest bottle they'd had, probably to impress the other guy who'd been with him. Bad tipper.

Unfortunately, Gary Willis made the connection as well. His eyes widened slightly. "That's right. You're one of the bartenders there, aren't you?" He sounded more overjoyed than the simple recognition required. "I was there a few nights ago. Very classy place. Very nice."

"Thanks," Mel said. "I try."

"So what are you up to tonight, Gary?" Bebe asked. "I would have thought you'd be tucked away in Westchester at this hour." She tipped her head back and stared above their heads. Mel followed her gaze to the illuminated sign for the place Gary had just exited: a gentlemen's club that boasted "three floors of entertainment." Kind of a cliché for a sleazy lawyer.

"If you must know," he said with a haughty poke of his nose into the air, "I was having a scotch with a client."

"There's mayo on your jacket." Mel pointed at the stain. It always felt nice to take a jackass down a peg.

Gary pawed at his suit coat, staring at the offending splotch. "Lobster sliders," he muttered. Then, more loudly: "It was the lobster sliders."

"Club soda will get that right out," Bebe chimed in.

Gary cut a glare in her direction. "Never mind my jacket," he said. "I'd ask what your plans for the evening are, Mrs. Murray, but it doesn't take a detective, now, does it?" He leered at Mel in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Lucky for you. Evidence has never been your strong suit." Bebe threaded her arm through Mel's.

He sputtered for a moment, his white face turning an angry pink. "Well, enjoy your flavor of the month from atop your high horse. I'm sure you have a judge or two waiting in the wings?"

Mel sucked in a breath. Fear snaked up her spine. This guy knew about Bebe's poly lifestyle? That couldn't be good.

Bebe, though, seemed unperturbed, waving a hand with a scoff. "Please. I have standards." She flicked her gaze up and down his form. "But if you want to believe I'm sleeping my way through the system, more power to you. Tell your wife I said hello!" Bebe swept past him, guiding Mel along with her. "Don't mind him," she whispered into Mel's ear. "He's only cranky because he's representing the losing side in that class action thing I was telling you about. Well, soon to be losing. And losing big, I promise you."

Mel waited until they'd turned the corner before she spoke. "Is that going to be a problem? That he saw us on a date?"

"Why would it be a problem?" Bebe said breezily.

"I don't know. Can't you get disbarred or whatever if you're caught acting—" She bobbed her head side to side, trying to shake the word loose. "Immoral?"

Bebe stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and laughed, throwing her head back. The streetlights caught her hair and painted the line of her throat gold.

"Mel, if we could be disbarred for having extramarital affairs, there wouldn't be a single practicing lawyer in all of Manhattan. Gary's been cheating on his wives since he was a clerk. That's why he's on his fourth one. He doesn't have a leg to stand on—and neither do the rest of these losers who think they're slick."

"Oh. I guess I thought—there're so many regulations in your field," Mel mumbled. "I was worried I had gotten you in trouble. Like, lost you a case or something."

Bebe took Mel's hands in both of hers, bridging the small gap between them. "Nothing could make me back down from a case, especially not Gary," she said, achingly fond. "Seriously, it's fine. I don't hide the way I live my life. If I did, that would give people like him all the ammunition they need to threaten me. You can't blackmail someone if everything's out in the open."

"I guess that makes sense," Mel said, though the sensation of danger was still wrapped around her like a tourniquet. She glanced down the street, but Gary Willis was out of sight, lost in the steam that seeped from the manhole covers. His grating voice echoed in her head, though. Flavor of the month. "He seemed to imply that you lose interest in your dates pretty quickly."

"Even if that were true, there's nothing wrong with that," Bebe said, glancing over at her. The cold wind ruffled her fuzzy pink earmuffs. "But in this case, it's definitely not true."

Mel nodded to herself. "So if you're ever interested in someone new, you'd tell me, right? That's part of the guidelines?"

"Exactly. Same goes for you, don't forget. If anyone ever catches your eye, just let me know. I'd be your biggest cheerleader. I'd give excellent references." Her eyes danced.

Mel laughed. "I'm not in the market, believe me. One plate is plenty to juggle, in my book."

"Never say never, that's my motto." Bebe squeezed against her side. "But hey, don't let Gary rile you up. He's not worth it."

True. It would be a shame if she let one random, unsettling encounter ruin what was shaping up to be a spectacular first date. Mel shook off the feeling of unease and turned up the wattage on her smile. "So where are you taking me, exactly?"

Bebe tugged her along the sidewalk. "This way! It's not much farther."

They walked a few more blocks into a ritzy part of downtown that had been gentrified about three times over in the last decade. Bebe led the way to one of the few remaining buildings that retained a fa?ade from the previous century. "Ever been here?" she asked as they went through the revolving door.

"Can't say I have." Mel's brow arched skyward as they entered the sleek lobby of the Empire Excelsior Hotel. It was like something out of another century. The domed ceiling was covered in frescos, and everywhere you looked, bellhops in tiny red caps pushed brass luggage racks at a fast clip. "I've got to admit," she said, "I did not think you'd take me to a hotel on a first date. Bold move."

Bebe rolled her eyes. "We're not here to get a room." Still holding Mel's hand, she led her through the obstacle course of guests and suitcases.

"What are we doing here, then?"

"You'll see," Bebe said, and pushed open an unmarked door bound in tufted black velvet with a single porthole window.

Bebe's hand slipped out of Mel's to press lightly on the small of her back, guiding her inside.

The Excelsior's bar was dark and decorated in a baroque style similar to the lobby. It was also teeming with the late-night crowd, out-of-towners enjoying their evening in the city. A martini kind of joint. Mel had a lot of respect for hotel bars—they did volume, and she'd worked at enough to know how rough one busy convention weekend could be—but they weren't exactly on her bucket list.

She looked back over her shoulder at Bebe, her mouth pulled into a small frown. "Another bar? One date and we're already in a rut."

"Not for long." Bebe guided her deeper into the room. "Don't worry. I know a guy."

The guy was actually a woman named Ronica. She made a mean Manhattan and was meticulous in her back-up work. Mel knew this because they'd worked together years ago at another hotel bar, a Scandi-inspired place that had since been turned into one of those movie theaters that served food and beer. As Mel and Bebe approached, Ronica looked up from the coupe she was drying, her long lashes fluttering in surprise.

"Mel! It's been a minute." Then she spotted Bebe right behind her. "And Bee! You two know each other? Small world."

"We're actually just getting to know each other, funny enough," Bebe said.

Ronica made an impressed, high sound that had them all laughing. She reached a hand across the bar toward Mel in a gesture of both welcome and congratulations.

"Hey, Ronnie. Christ, it's good to see you." Mel curled her fingers into Ronica's and let them part on a snap. "How've you been?"

Ronica tossed her head to get her short twists out of her eyes. "Been fine. Been fine. Heard you're working at TV these days."

Mel shrugged. "Yeah, it's okay. How's this place been treating you?" She glanced around, noting the business-class clientele. Ronnie was the only Black person in the room, which, Mel knew from previous conversations with her, was not particularly fun.

"Could be worse." Ronica gave her a knowing look. "Could also be better."

Mel wished she could offer her a heads-up if TV had any openings, but she wasn't sure if that environment would be much of an improvement. "And how do you know… Bee?"

"I met Bebe through some people. Real swinging cats." Ronica winked.

"I tell you, this city is actually the size of a postage stamp when you're poly," Bebe said with a put-upon sigh that was all for show.

Mel whipped her head to Ronica. She'd known her for years and had never suspected Ronnie was anything but monogamous. "Oh, so you're—?"

"Nah, not really." Ronica laughed. "Or, like, under the right circumstances. I dated someone who was for a while."

"Ah. Right. Cool." Mel bobbed her head, feeling foolish. It felt like everyone in Manhattan had more experience with open relationships than she did. Maybe those nine years of marriage had put blinders on her.

She had so much catching up to do.

"So, listen, Ronnie," Bebe said, breaking the chain of Mel's thoughts, "I was hoping, if tonight's not too inconvenient for you…?"

Ronica was already digging a wad of keys out of her pocket. "It's all yours. No one else is using it."

"Using what?" Mel asked, looking between them.

Bebe either didn't hear or was doing a great job of pretending she hadn't. "You're a lifesaver, Angel." She pocketed the jangle of keys and tossed Ronica a wink. Mel wondered if she should be jealous that her date was flirting with someone else right in front of her, but it seemed like Bebe would flirt with a wooden post if the opportunity arose. Mel couldn't find it in herself to be offended. In fact, she was kind of impressed.

Bebe spun on her heel and headed for the gilt elevator bank. Mel followed, her heavy Docs making a racket on the marble floor of the lobby.

"Are we breaking into the Presidential Suite or something?" she asked.

"I told you, we're not here for a room." Bebe pressed the call button and turned to wiggle herself right into Mel's personal space. Their faces were inches apart. Mel's hands went to Bebe's hips without a second thought. "I'm way more interesting."

"I'm starting to see that," Mel said. Hotel guests and bellhops swirled around them, but she couldn't take her eyes off Bebe, a force of nature with lipstick to match.

The elevator arrived, and Mel allowed herself to be pulled inside. A few other people squeezed in with them, but not before Bebe placed one of Ronnie's keys into a slot in the panel, turned it, and pressed the button labeled R that lit up at the very top.

"The roof?" Mel whispered in Bebe's ear once the elevator doors shut. "What's up there?" According to the small brass sign next to the button, the rooftop lounge had closed hours ago and wouldn't open again until the following afternoon.

Bebe twirled the key ring around one finger. "Us, in a few minutes."

Mel wished the elevator wasn't packed with couples from Ohio in that moment. She wanted to kiss the smug look off Bebe's face. Or watch it get smugger. It was a toss-up. She leaned against the mirrored wall and waited patiently for the ride to end.

The Excelsior rooftop was completely deserted. A winter covering of huge glass panels made up a temporary dome that evoked being inside a botanical garden. Various lounge chairs had been stacked in a far corner near a forest of unplugged heat lamps. Only the pool lights were switched on, the underwater glow illuminating the steam coming off the heated surface of the water.

"Okay, this is pretty cool," Mel said.

She wandered around the pool's edge, peering with professional curiosity at the rooftop bar. It was shut down and clean as a whistle. The gleaming surface of its stainless bar top winked in Mel's direction.

Bebe floated to her side. "Hey, you're not thinking of throwing together some drinks for us, are you? You're off the clock, Sweetheart."

Mel laughed. "I couldn't even if I wanted to. Bottles are locked up by now." She gestured to the modern lines of the bar's floating shelves that served as a backdrop. "See? All empty."

"Just as well. I don't need another drink. But I might need a swim." Bebe sauntered over to the edge of the pool, her boots clicking on the cement of the deck. She stuck her hand in the water and swirled it around. "It's like bathwater." She gave Mel an impish smile over her shoulder. Her honey hair shone in the weak light. "What do you say? Fancy a dip?"

"I don't know." Mel looked around the empty expanse of the roof, feeling exposed. "You're sure Ronnie won't get in trouble for letting us up here?"

"It's fine. I've done it a couple times before," Bebe said. Mel wondered who she'd brought those times, but quickly dismissed the thought. Who cared when this was so casual? "According to Ronica, they don't have security cameras up here. The owners are real cheapskates."

"Sounds about right." She eyed the pool. Despite the glass enclosure keeping them out of the wind, the air was chilled. The heated water would probably feel great, but— "I didn't exactly bring a bathing suit," Mel pointed out.

Bebe shrugged. "I'm fine with swimming in my undies if you are."

And with that, she began stripping right there. First her coat, which she draped over a nearby stack of chairs, then her ankle boots, which hit the deck with twin thuds. Her wrap blouse had a hidden clasp at her hip, which Bebe undid expertly. She pulled the green velvet blouse off, revealing a silky peach bra embroidered with vines. It looked like its price tag could rival that of a large family sedan. It also looked about as well-engineered as a sedan, fitting Bebe's ample tits like a glove.

Mel looked down at her own small breasts. She was absurdly glad she hadn't gone braless under her shirt like she sometimes did when she was off the clock, but she worried her plain black bralette would be boring by comparison. Fuck, it didn't even match her gray boxer briefs, did it?

Bebe tossed her shirt at Mel, and Mel had to claw her way through tons of soft velvet instead of worrying about the state of her own underwear. "Come on," Bebe called, "let's get in the water!"

"Okay. Fine." Mel tossed Bebe's shirt on the stacked lounge chairs and started unbuckling her belt. "But if we get arrested for this—"

"Don't worry." Bebe turned and looked at Mel over the curve of her creamy shoulder. "I know a great lawyer." And with that, she cannonballed directly into the deep end.

Mel finished shucking off her jeans and boots as Bebe surfaced with a rapturous exhale. Water sluiced off her head and was flung in droplets from the ends of her hair as she tossed it back. She looked even better wet, which was—yeah, this was trouble.

"The water feels amazing!" she called. Her voice echoed in the emptiness of their glass enclosure.

Mel tried not to stare but got tangled in her drapey shirt for a long, frustrating moment. Finally, she stripped down to her very boring, very mismatched underwear and shivered her way over to the pool steps to dip in a single toe. The water was warm compared to the frigid winter air, like Bebe had promised.

"Get in before you freeze to death," Bebe said as she doggy-paddled over. She even made that look sexy somehow. With her hair flowing all around her and her skin flushed, she looked like a Dutch master's painting brought to life. And just as expensive.

Once Mel got into the water up to her chin, she felt good and relaxed. The goose bumps on her limbs were still there, but they were caused less by the cold air and more from anticipation as she swam-walked over toward Bebe. Mel took a big breath and ducked her head below the surface, letting her buzzed hair get wet. When she resurfaced and opened her eyes, she found Bebe staring at her—her arms, specifically, which were raised to rub the water off her head. Mel took a moment to bask in the attention. She'd always thought of her arms as her best feature, well-toned and covered in a celebration of ink. It was nice to be reminded of it.

"Wow." Bebe's eyes ran over Mel's clavicle and down her right arm, tracing the lines of her intricate sleeve. "That is gorgeous work."

"Thanks." Mel rotated her arm so Bebe could see the brightly colored citrus fruits that encircled her biceps. She'd gone for a cocktail-inspired sleeve once she'd had the money to do a larger piece. "My guy did a good job."

"If I didn't already know you were devoted to your craft, this would tell me the whole story. Look at that, berries and cherries and—oh, I love the way the ice holds all those tiny reflections." She floated closer, nodding at Mel's arm. "May I?"

Mel didn't hesitate for a second. "Sure. Here." She held out her arm and allowed Bebe's fingers to touch her slick skin.

She prodded at a juicy wheel of lime, then ran her fingertips along the cascade of cocktail makings, ending with the Nick and Nora glass inked on her forearm. "I've always admired tattoos," Bebe said, "but I could never think of anything I would want for myself permanently. Classic indecision, you know." She grinned at Mel. "And I'm also terrified of needles."

Mel laughed at that. "You don't strike me as the kind of person who's terrified of anything."

"I'm scared of lots of things. Needles. Spiders. Not knowing if the dog is going to die at the end."

"That's… a very specific fear."

"Some of us never got over Where the Red Fern Grows, all right?" She smiled that nose-scrunching smile of hers and let her touch linger for one more moment at Mel's wrist before letting her hand fall away into the water. "I'm glad you came here with me," she said.

"I'm glad, too." And it was true, not some pat nicety. She ran her tongue over her teeth, tasting the thrill of it. "Really glad," she added.

Bebe's smile turned mischievous then. She moved backward in the water until the bottom fell away and her feet were left kicking. She lifted a dripping hand from the water and beckoned Mel with one finger.

Mel paddled toward her, the swirl of water around her body tickling at her ribs. She floated closer until they were face-to-face, then nose to nose. She pushed and Bebe went easily, no resistance until Mel had her backed up right against the metal pool ladder that rose from the deep end. Bebe reached behind herself and grabbed hold of the ladder's bars, sitting on one of the rungs. Her hair, dark with water, was plastered to her skin. Mel picked a slick strand from where it had curled on the swell of her breast and heard the sweet hitch of Bebe's gasp.

"You're the most gorgeous thing," Mel murmured.

Bebe's white teeth bit into her plump red lower lip. "I'm aware," she said.

Of course she was.

Blood pumped through Mel's body. Everything with Bebe was so hot and wet and visceral. It made Mel feel powerful to be on the verge of kissing a woman as sexy, as self-assured as Bebe. The excitement of their bodies pressing together, half in the water, half exposed to the air. The thrill of knowing they were doing something that could get them in a lot of trouble—on multiple levels, actually, if this whole poly thing ended up being more drama than it was worth—but they were going to do it anyway. Because Bebe was tipping her face closer and closer to Mel's, because Bebe was making the most delicious low whine of want, because Bebe wanted her as much as she wanted Bebe.

Their mouths met in a messy crash that made Mel's pulse spike. Bebe was as soft and open here as the rest of her, plush lips parting in invitation, her tongue like velvet against Mel's. Mel groaned, reaching for handfuls of Bebe's hips and holding on tight.

Their lips parted with a slick pop. Bebe looked at her with mischief in her eyes. "Any interest in taking this onto dry land?" she asked. "Chlorinated water is not the sexiest fluid in the universe."

"Good idea," Mel said, dipping in to steal another kiss. The sound of her own voice was alien, all gravel and greed.

Bebe smiled into the kiss. Despite the mutual decision, they remained where they were for long minutes more. Mel couldn't help herself; she never wanted to stop kissing this woman.

Maybe Bebe's pet theory was right. Mel could be a little selfish. In the right circumstances.

Her hands wandered over Bebe's skin, finding the shelf of her soft hips, moving along her ribs—ticklish, if the high squeak she made into Mel's mouth was any indication—then farther upward until she was palming her heavy breasts through the wet silk of her bra.

"You can take it off," Bebe said, her breath coming in gasps. Her eyes were glassy when they found Mel's. "You can be a little mean, too. If you like."

Mel's fingers were already scrabbling for the catch behind Bebe's back. "What's ‘a little mean,' uh, mean?" It seemed polite to ask. What had Bebe said at Sal's earlier? Something about making sure expectations were aligned?

Bebe licked her lips, and whether it was calculated to drive Mel insane or just an unconscious move, it had the same effect either way. "Take what you want. Objectify me. It's all good." She leaned forward the scant inch needed to take Mel's bottom lip between her teeth and give it a quick nibble. "Ooh, maybe tell me I'm bad. That could be fun."

"I'm not great at dirty talk," Mel said. "I mean, I've never really tried it."

Bebe took this cheerfully. "Well, this is the perfect time to give it a whirl. I'm a great audience." She pressed closer to Mel, her back arching off the ladder's slats.

That gave Mel's fingers enough room to complete the job on her bra. Mel peeled away the soaked peach fabric from Bebe's skin and placed it carefully on the edge of the pool deck. "Is that so?"

Bebe hummed in assent. "I can hear all sorts of wild shit and not bat an eye. I definitely won't laugh." Her words turned into a gasp as Mel mouthed along the velvet slope of her tits. "Or, if I do, it'll be because I'm so impressed with your foul-mouthed skills."

Mel considered this as she teased one of Bebe's nipples with the edge of her teeth. Couldn't hurt to try something new. That was what this whole experiment with Bebe was about, right?

She ran her tongue over the reddened nib, letting the tip of her barbell tongue piercing drag against Bebe's flesh. "My mouth can do fouler things than talk," she promised.

Bebe made an approving sound high in her throat.

They got out of the pool via a combination of fumbling and chaotic determination, the both of them dripping wet. Mel wriggled out of her thin bralette, then wrapped Bebe in her arms so they could keep kissing. The air of the domed rooftop was cold compared to the warm pool, but Mel felt like she was on fire. She could barely believe she was doing this—about to have semipublic sex on a first date. It wasn't like her. It wasn't like anything she'd ever done.

Maybe, for a few brief minutes, she could pretend to be someone else. Reckless and needful.

She spun Bebe around and clasped her hands to her soft shoulders. Bebe gave a breathless oh of surprise as she found herself facing forward, her back leaning against the line of Mel's whipcord body. The curve of her backside pressed into the bowl of Mel's hips like a temptation. "So you like doing it from behind?" she asked with a light laugh.

Mel made a noise that she could only classify as a growl. She dipped her head to kiss the back of Bebe's neck, nosing aside her wet hair to reach skin. Bebe went pliant in her arms with a faint whimper.

Mel dragged her lips up to the shell of Bebe's ear. "You're trouble," she said right into it. She could feel Bebe shiver through every inch of her plush body.

"I can't help what I am," Bebe said, teasing.

The stainless steel, all-weather bar was only a few yards away. The barstools were simple, a flat seat of metal. Mel eyed the setup, doing some quick math, then began frog-marching Bebe in that direction.

"Up you get," Mel said, and bullied Bebe against the bar. "I have an idea."

"Oh my." Bebe breathed a little heavier. She placed one knee on the closest stool. Mel put one hand on Bebe's bare, damp back, right between her shoulder blades and gave a gentle push, but Bebe resisted bending over the bar. She turned her head and smiled at Mel over her shoulder. "Wait a minute, what do I get if I go along with this tawdry little idea of yours?" Her hips wiggled side to side as she backed her plump ass right against Mel.

Being mean was not just allowed. It was clearly encouraged.

Mel swatted Bebe's enticing bottom. Bebe arched her back on a gasp, facing forward once more. She folded at the waist so that her upper body was laid across the bar like a particularly interesting menu. Her legs were splayed with one knee still on the high stool, the toes of her other foot curling in midair.

"You get what I give you," Mel said in a stranger's voice, "which is nothing if you're not good."

Bebe pressed her cheek to the bar top. Her hot breath made a damp spot on the cool metal a few inches from her lips. "But we've already established I'm trouble," Bebe argued. "I'm not given to being good."

Mel smacked her ass again, though this time she let her hand stay on the round curve, rubbing over the soaked fabric possessively. "You're going to have to try," she said. She hooked her fingers into Bebe's panties and played with the silk, tugging experimentally this way and that. For a second, she thought about taking them off entirely, but it made Bebe look more naked somehow to be left wearing that tiny scrap of clothing.

"You make a c-compelling argument." The shake in Bebe's voice, the breathlessness—it had Mel's pulse racing. Even though the threats and teases were nothing more than pretend, the effect was very real. "I'll be good," Bebe said, and pressed herself onto the bar top.

Mel took a moment to admire the line of her back, the way her legs trembled. She pulled the gusset of Bebe's panties to one side and enjoyed the view there as well. Her sweet little cunt was flushed pink and was shiny with slick. Mel wanted to taste her so badly. Then she remembered there was nothing stopping her.

She braced her hands on Bebe's thighs, nudging them wider. The bar was the perfect height, as Mel had so expertly calculated.

The first touch of her tongue was tentative, a light brush against the folds there. Bebe jolted against the bar with a cry and Mel's confidence gathered strength. She dove in and licked with no mercy. Bebe was delicious, earthy and hot on Mel's tongue. Sweat was beading on the delicate skin of her inner thighs despite the cold air, and Mel tasted that, too, craving the salt. Bebe made an unhappy whine at that, wriggling in an effort to get Mel's mouth back where she needed it most.

Mel bit into the flesh of her thigh. Not too hard, but hard enough to make Bebe gasp and freeze, save for her shivers. "Stay still," Mel murmured while she licked at the red marks left by her teeth. Her tongue piercing dragged over Bebe's skin, smoothing and teasing in equal measure.

"I'm trying." Bebe was not trying one bit. Bebe was, in fact, still moving her hips in that hypnotic way she had. Like she needed to be touched more than she needed air.

"Not hard enough." Mel drew two fingers, middle and pointer, along the seam of her cunt, up and down, up and down, collecting the slick wetness on her fingertips. She would normally take this part slowly; despite the pantomime they had going, Mel didn't want to hurt Bebe even a little. But all plans for caution went out the window when Bebe thrust back against her hand with a low moan.

"Yes, yes, give me those hands," she said. Her forehead was pressed against the bar so that she was speaking into the surface of it, but Mel could hear her clear as day. "Your hands—oh my god, please."

"Greedy." Mel spanked her thigh, right where the bite mark was already fading. The clap of her palm on flesh echoed across the rooftop. Bebe shook and made a noise so obscene, Mel wished she could bottle it. Instead she thrust her two soaked fingers into Bebe so she could hear it again.

"I know," Bebe said between heaving breaths. "I'm greedy, I can't help it." She turned her head so her cheek was pressed to the bar once more. Mel could see her mouth, open and panting, lipstick somehow still perfectly in place. Her hips, though, were another matter, continuously rebelling and pushing back so she could fuck herself on Mel's fingers.

Mel circled her thumb over Bebe's hard nub of a clit, making it as wet as the rest of her. "You're a brat, is what you are." Bebe fluttered around her hand at that, all of her reacting at once, bodily and vocally. Mel was shocked by the force of it, but recovered well enough to sound smug instead of awe-inspired. "You like that? You like being a little brat?"

Bebe nodded frantically. Her lips opened in a wide, silent O. It was intoxicating, seeing someone as smart-mouthed as Bebe lose all her words.

Maybe Mel was better at this stuff than she thought.

She crowded up against Bebe and leaned over her naked back so she could put her mouth right against her ear. Her hand picked up speed, fingers thrusting faster. "You done being difficult? You going to be good for me?" More nodding and abortive movements, but Mel used the weight of her body atop Bebe's to keep her still. "Be good and come for me."

For once, Bebe did as she was told. Her whole body went haywire under Mel, arms curling under her chest, legs flailing, head snapping back. Mel avoided getting hit in the nose at the last second, pulling herself upright to watch Bebe writhe through her orgasm. Her fingers and thumb worked her through it, massaging single-mindedly while Bebe cried out. Finally, the throbbing around Mel's fingers subsided, and Bebe lay boneless on the bar, gasping for air.

Gently, Mel slipped her fingers from the clench of Bebe's body. Mel's gaze wandered over her, and she smiled as she caught sight of Bebe's toes trying and failing to find purchase on the ground before giving up and hanging there limply.

The back of Bebe's thigh was too much for Mel to handle. Working on instinct, she shucked her wet boxer briefs down her legs and stepped out of them, not wanting to get hamstrung at an inopportune moment. She took Bebe's now-still hips in her hands and pressed herself up against Bebe's leg. Bebe, for her part, sighed happily.

"There you go," Mel said. "You relax and let me do what I want."

Bebe opened her eyes to the narrowest of slits and looked back at Mel. A small smile flirted at her lips. "Go ahead," she said. "Not like I could stop you in the state I'm in."

That fired up something primal and snarling in Mel's brain. She rubbed herself along the warm, damp skin of Bebe's thigh, humping like a teenager, like an animal. She'd been so focused on Bebe, she hadn't realized how turned on she was herself. Mel could feel a drip of fluid trailing down her own inner leg. It felt so good, grinding her clit against Bebe, leaving her skin all slick and fragrant. She was a different person like this; she was on a totally different planet.

She didn't expect to finish—it took a lot, sometimes—so when it happened, it hit Mel out of nowhere. Her fingers dug into Bebe's soft hips, the center of her fucking hard against that velvet skin, coming in waves. Somewhere in there, she was pretty sure she laughed. Not surprising, given how ridiculous the whole thing was. Who fucked on a roof on the first date? Me, that's who, Mel thought to herself with something like pride.

She braced one arm at the lip on the bar and tried to catch her breath. "That…," she said, and then couldn't imagine saying anything that could encompass the whole thing.

Bebe turned over on her back with a groan. "I know," she said, still sounding winded.

Lucky for them, the pool had an outdoor shower meant for rinsing off before and after swimming. Once they could stand on their own power, Mel helped Bebe up and led her over to it. They took turns sluicing off sweat and other stickiness under the freezing spray, shrieking at the chill. Bebe flicked cold water at Mel, and Mel grabbed up her hands, and then they were both under the cold stream, kissing each other with teeth.

"You're as hot as a furnace," Bebe said into Mel's mouth. "With you here, I could stand this for hours." One of her knees buckled then, but she was saved from taking a fall by clinging to Mel's arms. "Well, shit." She laughed at herself. "Guess I should sit down. I'm still like jelly."

It was all Mel could do not to preen.

They helped themselves to some fluffy hotel towels before Mel led Bebe to a lounge chair, insisting on giving her an arm to lean on. "Such a princess," she muttered fondly as she laid her out on the clean white canvas.

"Give me a few minutes to catch my breath," Bebe said with a wrist thrown across her forehead, "and I'll be right back to my usual self."

"No rush." Mel left her soaked underthings where they sat on the pool deck and instead pulled on her dry jeans and shirt. "I have business to attend to, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Bebe took her arm from her forehead and sat up a little, watching Mel move behind the bar. "I thought you said the liquor was locked up."

"It is." Mel rummaged beneath the bar, looking for— "Aha!" She stood with the spray bottle of industrial-strength cleaner in her hand, brandishing it like a weapon. "Can't leave this place in the state it's in. We bartenders have a code."

Bebe's nose wrinkled. "Does the code state that you must clean up after yourself if and when you fuck on someone else's bar? Because that's a pretty specific code." She got up and grabbed a few fluffy white towels from the cabana and wrapped herself in them, warding off the cold.

Mel spritzed down the bar top and began wiping it off with a clean rag she'd located in a neat stack. "It's implied." She scrubbed at a particularly lurid smear until it disappeared into the scent of lemon and pine. "What kind of professional would I be if I didn't sanitize this for the next shift? I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Bebe laughed, stretching in her towel cocoon. "See, this is why I like you. Come here." She opened her arms and beckoned Mel with a flap of her fingers. "I'm getting cold again. I need my radiator."

Mel smirked, tossing the rag into a nearby bucket. "You could also get dressed."

Bebe dismissed this idea with a huff. "Nonsense. I demand at least three minutes of cuddles." She flapped her fingers again.

Mel rolled her eyes but still shuffled over to the lounge chair. Bebe scooted over to give her a sliver of room, and somehow they managed to both fit on the damn thing by wrapping their limbs around each other like sweaty squids.

It would be easy to fall for this woman, Mel knew. It was dangerous, how easy it could be. Good thing Mel was keeping her eye on the ball. Not letting anything get out of hand. As untethered as she was.

She pressed a kiss to the top of Bebe's head and held her closer.