WINDOWSILL SECRETS
I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Not really. It started with a glance lingering just too long at the wrong curve, the wrong time. Her name was Lyric, and God, everything about her was a sin. Her laugh spilled like honey, her thighs brushed with the power of gospel, and when she smiled, she made me forget my husband even existed.
The city moaned outside the open window, neon lights blinking slow and lazy against the night as Lyric pinned me to the frame, one thigh slotted between mine. The sheer lace of my robe was already half off my shoulders, n*****s brushed by the humid air. Her nails scratched down my hips and I arched, helpless.
“Your man home?” she whispered against my neck, lips soft, tongue wet.
I shook my head, breath catching.
“Even if he was…” I whispered, voice trembling. “I wouldn’t stop.”
She grinned wolfish, curvy, deliciously cruel. She kissed me like the city was on fire, and we were the last women standing. Fingers tangled in my curls. Her hand slid between us, tracing the outline of my soaked panties. I gasped into her mouth. She didn’t ask permission, and I didn’t want her to.
“You wet for me already, baby?”
I nodded, barely holding on. Lyric dropped to her knees with a grace that made my legs shake. My back hit the glass. Her tongue, hot and wet, slid beneath the fabric. I moaned loud enough to rattle the frame. She sucked like she owned me. Like she’d waited all week for this. Lips sealed over my c**t, fingers pushing inside me, slow and deep. Her other hand gripped my thigh, keeping me spread, helpless to her rhythm.
“Say it,” she growled against me, mouth slick with my want.
“Tell me who you belong to.”
I cried out, pleasure ricocheting through my spine. “Y-you. Lyric. I’m yours.”
Her pace didn’t slow. It intensified. My legs buckled. Her hand pressed flat on my stomach, grounding me while her mouth worked miracles between my thighs. I could hear myself wet, messy, moaning in the night air. Every lick sent fire racing up my spine, and I clutched the windowsill like it might save me. She pulled back for a second, eyes glistening in the city glow.
“You remember the first time I saw you?” she murmured.
My breath caught.
FLASHBACK
It was a Thursday. I had just finished yoga and ducked into the little corner café near Lennox and Park. Hair tied up, no makeup, sweat still clinging to the small of my back. I ordered an iced green tea, fully prepared to take it to go.
Then she walked in.
She wore denim cutoffs and a cropped tank that showed off everything. Thick thighs, confident sway, smile like sin. She caught me staring and smirked like she’d seen it all before. I looked away. Tried to.
She ordered a hibiscus lemonade and stood right next to me, so close I could smell coconut and something darker.
“You got a name, pretty girl?” she asked.
I laughed, nervously. “Chanel.”
“Of course it is,” she said. “I’m Lyric. And I bet you taste as sweet as you look.”
As I turned to leave, she reached out and gently caught my wrist. “You ever been with a woman before, Chanel?”
I paused. My throat went dry. I couldn’t lie.
“No… but I’ve thought about it.”
She smiled, slow and knowing. “Then let me be your first secret.”
