Only Dreaming
She wasn't everything she expected.
Her lips didn't taste of vanilla when she pressed her own against them, capturing a small gasp. They tasted of clove, of spice, of a more exotic girl -- not the mousy, girl-next-door she imagined her to be.
Her tongue didn't taste of apple pie, of down home Americana like she anticipated when she slipped her own tongue between willing lips, but of smoke and nicotine, and it suddenly occurred to her that the woman beneath her, pressed against red satin sheets and moving her body ever-so-slightly against her own, as their kiss deepened, as her lips pressed harder and her tongue danced faster with her own dallied in tobacco use -- clove cigarettes like the more pretentious, yuppie lawyers daintily puffed away at, drinking $50 martinis every Thursday after work at Wolfram and Hart -- fake art lovers, wooden puppets who made her cringe every time they opened their mouths.
Her hair didn't fall down and frame her face in thick, luscious, wanton ringlets like she imagined when she freed it from the messy bun atop her head, but cascaded limply down to her shoulders , wayward, unruly strands of stringy brown locks resting exasperatedly over her eyes.
Her hands didn't feel of smooth silk like she fantasized about when they cupped her face, kissing her urgently, but were rough, calloused -- fingertips dry and brushing against her own skin in a way she could have swore was audibly grating. She reached up, gripping her by the wrists and pushing her hands back down on to the bed, sliding her lips down to kiss her neck.
Her skin didn't taste of cucumber melon, of peaches and cream or of the girly, fruity scents she imagined she bought, but of sweat, of patchouli and sandalwood and woody, earthy scents that reminded her of Wicca practicing college girls she sometimes picked up for one night stands at the lesbian bar near the campus, girls who sipped nutty, organic beers and rambled on about spiritual energies and merging essences, of karma and chi and pagan bullshit that enfuriated her, knowing they had absolutely no clue of real magic, of the real evil that lurked in the dark alleys of Los Angeles every night -- of the real evil they allowed inside of them by leaving the bar with her.
Her breasts didn't fill her hands when she cupped them like she had hoped, but fell short as she squeezed them, first gently, then harder, fingertips brushing against nipples she had wanted to be small and pink, but were instead large and brown, but nonetheless sensitive, her ministrations eliciting a moan from the girl beneath her, her hands back up to grab a fistful of hair, pushing her lips closer to her body as she moved further down her frame.
Her stomach wasn't as soft and smooth as she had wanted it to be, wasn't quite as pliant as she wished, but was firm, toned -- she had been working out it seemed, tightening her body in a manner that was entirely unbecoming for the fantasy she'd constructed in her mind -- but her body arched when her lips brushed against a sensitive spot below her belly button, head tipped back and a gasped sigh intermixed with a groan escaped her lips and she relished the sound, the first aspect of their encounter that came close to her expectations.
She didn't taste of honey, of ambrosia like she'd imagined when she slipped her tongue between her lips, feeling her thighs tighten around her head, hands squeezing, pulling fistfuls of hair as her tongue settled on ravishing her clit with attention -- she tasted of musk, of the earthy scent that radiated from her skin, a disappointing, but not entirely unpleasant taste.
Her body arched as her fingers slipped inside of her, two, very easily, and the moaned obscenity, the "Fuck me" that left her lips wasn't the virginal, inexperienced whimper she wanted, but the enjoyable utterance of the sexually seasoned. Her fingers thrust inside of her, first gently, then faster, her tongue still flicking across her clit and her body met each thrust, an implication that she knew what she was doing, had done this before many times, an image that destroyed her own masturbatory fantasy of spoiling her innocence.
Her orgasm ripped through her body with a string of profanities, of moans and grunts and groans that wasn't at all what she dreamed of, wasn't at all like the soft, long, gentle ride of euphoria she had wanted it to be, her thighs clamped tightly around her head, hands pushing her face closer to her as she climaxed, body thrusting violently against her -- wanton and whorish, not at all restrained, almost embarrassed, virginal as she imagined.
Fred was nothing at all like she expected.
She was everything she had imagined.
Her body spent, humming, throbbing, satiated and satisfied, Fred arched and stretched, wrapping the sheet around her body as she turned on her side to look at Lilah, sitting on the edge of her bed, long, elegant fingertips coming up to gently, almost daintily wipe at the corners of her mouth.
"That was incredible," Fred murmured, lips curving up into a smile as she reached over to touch the other woman. Her hand came to rest on Lilah's arm, and she looked down at it for a moment before one eyebrow arched and she shifted, moving further down the bed and reached down for her stiletto heels on the floor.
"Is everything ok?" Fred asked softly, sitting up in the bed, the sheet pooling around her waist, her heart constricting with nervousness and fear.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Lilah murmured softly, noncommittally, her answer providing nothing in the way of an answer, slipping her feet into her heels and fastening the tiny strap in the back.
Fred felt the beginnings of her world start to crack.
"You're leaving?" Her brow furrowed slightly when Lilah stood, adjusting her clothing as she moved to the bathroom, flicked the light on and leaned over the mirror.
"I've got a busy day tomorrow. A lot of cases to tend to," Lilah's voice sounded somewhat disembodied as it reached her ears from the bathroom, distant, adjusting her makeup with her fingertips before reaching up to adjust her perfectly coifed hair.
Fred felt her world start to crumble.
"Will I.. I mean, can I.. Can we see each other again?" Fred stumbled through her words as Lilah exited the bathroom and paused on her way to the door, giving her a long, cool, calculated gaze, a gaze which Fred felt herself visibly shrink under, self-consciously wrapping the sheet around her body.
Lilah's brow arched again as she flicked her gaze down Fred's body and back up again, her lips pursed slightly as she considered the question. She leveled Fred with another icy stare.
Fred felt her world begin to collapse as Lilah silently moved to the door and opened it. She paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at Fred, who trembled on the bed, cowered, tears shimmering in her eyes as she tightened the sheet around her exposed body, a wave of nausea overtaking her as the realization that she had been used hit her like a ton of bricks.
"Perhaps. But I wouldn't count on it. I'd hate to ruin your expectations."