Two weeks had passed since the night at Jane’s apartment when Lily had taken full command, and the memory of it still lived in their bodies like a second heartbeat.
They had seen each other often in those weeks, never more than a day or two apart. A long, salt-winded walk along the coast at dawn, where they held hands openly and spoke of nothing important. Coffee on Jane’s balcony that stretched into hours of quiet conversation, legs flirting under a shared blanket. A late dinner at a tiny seafood place where their feet found each other under the table, and dessert was abandoned in favour of the drive home with windows down and hands already reaching.
Each time, the memory of Lily’s dominance and Jane’s surrender lingered beneath every glance, every casual touch. They had not repeated the exact roles, but they circled them, testing, teasing, learning how far the trust they had built could stretch. Texts turned heated in moments; a simple “thinking of you” became “thinking of how you sounded when you begged.” Neither pushed for repetition; instead, they let the current pull them gently forward.
On a quiet Friday evening, with no plans beyond each other, Lily arrived at Jane’s apartment earlier than expected.
She carried only a small overnight bag and a bottle of chilled rosé. Jane opened the door barefoot, in soft linen pants rolled at the ankles and an old, faded tank top that clung to her athletic frame, her red hair still damp at the ends from a late swim. The apartment smelled of garlic and something sautéing slowly; lemon zest was piled on the benchtop, and the ever-present salt air drifted through open windows. Missy Higgins lilted from the speakers and danced on the breeze.
‘Gosh, it feels good here,’ thought Lily.
They didn’t speak at first. They smiled and looked.
Lily set the bag down just inside the door, handed over the wine, and stepped close. The kiss started as a greeting, soft, familiar, but deepened quickly, mouths opening, bodies pressing until Jane’s back met the hallway wall with a quiet thud. Hands roamed without hesitation: Lily’s fingers sliding into damp red hair, Jane’s palms skimming up Lily’s sides beneath the light blouse she wore, her thumbs brushing the edge of ever-present lace.
When they parted, breathing shared and a little ragged, Jane rested her forehead against Lily’s.
“You’re early,” she murmured, smile warm.
“I couldn’t wait,” Lily answered, voice low.
Jane’s smile deepened, eyes darkening with the same thought. “Tonight. Just us. Whatever we want. You’ve left that nasty work behind right?”
That was the agreement. They would let desire lead without deciding who commanded or yielded. The risk lay in the unknown, and they both craved that they would learn each other together.
They moved to the kitchen, opening the rosé, finishing the simple dinner Jane had begun, fresh linguine with mussels, ripe tomatoes scattered with basil, crusty bread torn rather than sliced.
“I have to introduce you to Musa,” Jane said as she pulled at the loaf. “He makes the best bread in Sydney. I’ve flirted and flirted to get his secrets, but he just smiles and says, ‘A secret is a secret, Miss Jenny.’”
Lily’s eyebrows arched, “Miss Jenny? How far has this flirting gone?” she asked, squeezing Jane’s hand rather tightly.
Jane rolled her eyes, “He is pretty hunky,” she replied mischievously, “but just flirting, it’s his turn of phrase, you’ll be Miss Lily in an instant,” giggling, “and it will suit you.”
They ate at the small table by the open balcony doors, knees touching, wine bringing laughter and lengthening silences that felt full rather than empty.
Their conversation drifted slowly from light to intimate, childhood summers by water, quiet admissions of past relationships that had never felt safe enough for this kind of honesty, fears, joys and dreams.
After dinner, they cleared plates together, hips, shoulders, hands brushing as they moved. In one moment, Lily pressed Jane gently against the counter, kissing her deeply, hands sliding under the faded tank top to trace warm skin still carrying faint salt from the afternoon’s swim. Jane responded immediately, turning them so Lily’s back met the cool granite, mouth moving to Lily’s throat, fingers unbuttoning the light blouse until it fell open, revealing the delicate lace beneath.
They paused there, breathing against each other’s skin, feeling the familiar heat rise. Foreheads rested together, smiles turned to giggling grins, heavy breaths turned to contented sighs.
Moments later, they began again. It was Jane bending to put a knife in the dishwasher that started it. Hands were on hips, lips on necks, caresses, scraping nails, deep breaths eliciting soft moans.
No one led for long. They flowed.
The blouse slipped from Lily’s shoulders; the tank top was pushed up and off. Hands explored familiar paths with new curiosity, no fixed direction, only searching for new responses. Lily’s fingers in Jane’s damp hair, pulling her down for a deeper kiss; Jane’s palms sliding up Lily’s sides to cup lace-covered breasts, thumbs circling until Lily’s breath hitched. Jane guiding Lily toward the wide couch facing the balcony doors; Lily turning at the last moment to push Jane down first and straddle her lap, mouths fused, hips rolling slowly.
Clothes came off in unhurried layers: linen pants, skirt, lace bra and briefs, simple cotton, all discarded without ceremony until they were bare in the moonlight streaming through the windows, skin silvered and warm.
On the couch, they explored the risk they had implicitly agreed to: power shifting without warning, desire leading wherever it would.
Lily took the lead first, her mouth on Jane’s breast, fingers sliding between her thighs to find her already wet, circling slowly until Jane’s hips lifted in a needy plea. A moan, maybe too loud for the open balcony doors, worried Jane for a moment.
“Let them listen to your beauty,” Lily whispered, drawing an ever louder moan from her lover.
But when Jane’s hands gripped Lily’s hips and rolled them in one fluid motion, suddenly Jane was above, mouth trailing down Lily’s body, tongue tracing patterns that made Lily gasp and clutch at the cushions. When her teeth nipped on Lily’s hip and Lily squealed, Jane laughed.
“It’s your beauty they’re hearing now.”
They moved like that, taking, giving, reversing, in constant flow. When Lily pinned Jane’s wrists lightly above her head and rocked against her thigh, Jane let her, moaning softly into Lily’s mouth. Moments later, Jane flipped them again, fingers curling inside Lily with steady pressure while her thumb circled above, drawing out Lily’s broken pleas until she came hard, body clenching around Jane’s fingers.
They paused only to breathe, laughter soft and astonished at how seamlessly the tide turned and turned again.
Later, in the bedroom, the exploration deepened, moonlight and city glow spilling across soft white sheets.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle, bodies slick with sweat. Jane started above, mouth between Lily’s thighs, bringing her to the edge slowly, then stopping just before release. Lily’s frustrated moan turned into a growl; she pulled Jane up, rolled her onto her back, and returned the favour with focused intensity until Jane was begging in desperation.
But instead of finishing her, Lily paused too, her eyes locked on Jane’s, a silent question. Jane answered by pulling Lily up her body until they were aligned, thighs intertwined, slick heat pressing together. They rocked slowly at first, finding the rhythm, then faster and faster, hands clutching, mouths fused, pleasure building in shared waves until they came together, cries muffled against each other’s necks.
Later, in the quiet aftermath, they risked more vulnerability.
Lily whispered against Jane’s ear, “I want to watch you touch yourself. Show me what you like when you’re alone and thinking of me.”
Jane’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t hesitate. She guided Lily’s hand to her breast, then slid her own between her legs, eyes never leaving Lily’s as she circled slowly, breath catching. Little gasps as she touched just there. The exposure was its own edge, sharper for the trust required.
Lily watched, transfixed, then leaned in to kiss her deeply, replacing Jane’s fingers with her own when Jane neared the edge, bringing her over with her own magical touch.
In return, Jane asked the same, voice soft but firm. “Now you. Show me.”
Lily did, guiding Jane’s hand between her thighs, teaching the exact pressure until release shattered through her again. And then again.
They fell asleep tangled, moonlight fading as dawn crept pale.
Saturday morning brought clear skies and warm sun. Coffee on the balcony first, all barefoot, wrapped in the same throw blanket, sharing one bowl of fruit and yogurt between kisses.
By late morning, they had recovered enough and walked down to the beach. It was almost empty as winter approached, but the sand was warm underfoot. They slipped behind a curve of dunes to Jane’s favourite secluded cove, shed their light clothes without ceremony, and waded naked into the cool water. Chillier today than they expected, they laughed loudly as nipples hardened instantly and goose bumps were everywhere.
Lily laughed, “I think I adore you chilled.”
Jane splashed two big swipes of water in Lily’s direction and dived straight in.
The sea welcomed them like an old friend. They swam out past the breakers, bodies cutting through turquoise and the sunlight fracturing around them. When they tired, they floated side by side, fingers loosely linked, the gentle swell lifting and lowering them in unison. Jane rolled onto her back, red hair fanning out like seaweed; Lily drifted closer, mouth finding Jane’s in a slow, clumsy saltwater kiss. Hands wandered beneath the surface, delicate and teasing. Fingers traced curves, brushing sensitive places until breaths came shorter and hips sought more contact. They let the water hold them, pleasure building in quiet ripples, release coming softly and shared without ever needing to rush.
Later, on the warm sand, they lay on a large, round shared towel half-hidden by dunes, sun drying salt on their skin. Hands continued their delicate exploration, risking the open air, the distant sound of gulls and waves masking soft gasps. Another release came quietly and a little nervously, their faces buried in each other’s necks, bodies trembling in the bright light, the thrill of possible discovery sharpening every sensation.
They looked at each other and laughed at their need overpowering their anxiety.
That afternoon, back at the apartment, they turned to the promised game of choosing outfits for dinner. It had been Lily’s suggestion over text during the week, and Jane hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind.
Jane laid out possibilities for Lily: the backless black silk, the white linen sundress, the charcoal slip with a high slit. She chose the black silk. “I want to watch you move in it, knowing exactly what’s underneath and what isn’t.”
Lily selected for Jane: ivory linen trousers low on the hips, sea-glass silk camisole with delicate straps and for a little torture that she would enjoy more than Jane, no bra. The camisole was cut low enough that movement revealed curves; the trousers were just sheer and fitted enough to hint.
They dressed each other slowly, their fingertips and hands lingering, kisses interrupting, building their anticipation into a low ache.
“Can we just stay home?” Jane asked a little desperately.
“We cannot,” Lily determined with a smile dripping with the most mischievous anticipation. Jane moaned.
At the cliff-side restaurant, seated at a corner terrace table overlooking the darkening water, candlelight flickered between them. The black silk shifted with every breath Lily took, the backless design exposing smooth skin to the warm evening breeze. Jane’s fingertips wandered to that beautiful back where her lips had lingered earlier, rather often. Jane’s camisole shimmered, the ivory trousers clinging just enough to trace strong legs, the lack of a bra making every small movement a quiet revelation in which Lily found endless delight.
Under the long tablecloth, their play began innocently. Feet teased, then tangled, and calves brushed. It wasn’t long before they grew bolder. Jane slipped off one sandal, her bare foot sliding up Lily’s smooth leg, higher, pressing gently between her thighs through silk until Lily’s hand gripped the table edge, eyes darkening across the flame, a soft inhale the only sign.
Lily retaliated, her own foot tracing up Jane’s inner thigh, toes pressing with deliberate pressure against the seam of the linen trousers until Jane had to bite her lip to stay composed, wine glass trembling slightly in her hand.
They fed each other bites of barramundi and sipped rosé, their conversation low and teasing, but the risqué play continued. The strength of their need to explore, to find boundaries together, surprised them both. Feet pressed, retreating, pressing again, toes wriggled, fingernails scraped until restraint frayed completely. Lily’s breath came shorter; Jane’s cheeks flushed. They left before dessert, the waiter’s knowing smile following them out.
The drive home was tense with need. On a quiet stretch of coastal road, windows down, salt air whipping their hair, Lily’s hand slid to Jane’s thigh, higher, fingers teasing through linen until Jane pulled over on a deserted curve, the ocean dark beyond the dunes.
They kissed desperately in the front seat, hands frantic. Lily unbuttoned Jane’s camisole top, mouth on her breast; Jane’s fingers slipped beneath the black silk dress to find Lily already soaked, stroking until Lily came with a muffled cry against Jane’s shoulder.
Back at the apartment, they barely made it inside before clothes fell away again, the night dissolving into more fluid exploration. There were no roles, no labels, only shared hunger, risks taken and rewarded in every touch.
By morning, tangled in sheets and each other once more, they knew the balance they had found was theirs to keep. No fixed leader, no fixed follower, only the endless, entwining waves of their desire.
