Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Chapter 22
Greta
When Greta opened the door to Eleventh House two hours later, dressed for the party, it had been entirely transformed.
Three times the amount of paper chains now adorned the living room, the number (and colors) of stars suggested rifling through neighbors’ recycling, and delicious smells spilled from the long table that had been pushed against the far side of the wall, where the stereo usually was.
Helen and Veronica lay sprawled on the couch, intertwined, snoring loudly.
Carys poked her head out of the kitchen, made a “quiet” motion, and waved Greta inside.
Carys wore a crepey silver-and-gold sleeveless dress that fell to the floor; a silver belt that looked like a snake wrapped around itself accentuated the beautiful curves of her breasts and her ass. Her hair was a cloud of curls, and she wore a 1920s-style silver sequined headband around her head. Her lips were bright red and her whiskey eyes were accentuated with a gold metallic shadow that made them mesmerizing.
“Holy shit, you look amazing,” Greta said worshipfully.
“Thanks, baby. You look wonderful too. Damn!”
Greta hadn’t packed any party-appropriate clothes, but she’d found a fitted tuxedo jacket at a thrift store the other day and wore that buttoned over black jeans and a bra. She’d smudged some black eyeliner around her blue eyes and tousled her hair into a bleach blond mess. She liked the look—half butch, half glam—but it was much more effort than she usually put into her appearance, and she blushed at Carys’ clear appreciation.
“Um. Should we wake them?”
Carys snorted. “They were asleep when I got home. I bet they stayed up all night cooking and decorating. When they both get manic at the same time…hoo!” She shook her head. “They get a lot done, though.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t look like there’s much to set up before people get here.”
Carys nodded.
“Sooo, maybe I could just…” Greta ran a fingertip between Carys’ breasts and raised an eyebrow.
Carys’ smile was pure heat, and she turned and led Greta to her bedroom.
“Here’s the thing, though,” she said. “I just did my makeup and everything, so I’m afraid there’s really only one place you can touch me…”
A throb of heat went through Greta, and she groaned and dropped to her knees. “Not a problem.”
She pushed Carys gently back on the bed and buried her face between her legs. She was warm and sweet and so damn delicious that Greta never wanted to come up for air. She teased at first, then, when Carys was clutching at the duvet, she brought her to a quaking, hair-pulling orgasm. Her moan was low and throaty and made Greta feel like a god.
“Damn,” Carys said, sitting up shakily. “That was art.”
Greta wanted to ravage her. Wanted to ruin her perfect lipstick and muss her hair beyond repair. She also wanted to go out to the party still tasting Carys on her lips.
“Open your mouth,” Greta said. “I promise I won’t mess up your lipstick.”
Carys did, and Greta gave her tongue a delicate swipe.
“I can taste myself.”
“I love the way you taste,” she murmured, and Carys groaned.
Satisfied, they made their way out of Carys’ room to find Helen and Veronica smirking in the kitchen.
“Get it,” Helen coughed, and Veronica just grinned. Greta automatically put a hand to her hair to try and smooth it, but Carys caught her wrist and tousled her hair even more. Then she gave a perfectly filthy leer and blew Greta a kiss. Greta felt like her spine had turned to liquid heat.
Then the doorbell rang, and the holiday party sprang to life.
Guests had sure gotten the memo about fancy dress and Greta appreciated the range of personal styles on display. She didn’t know anyone except Carys, Veronica, and Helen, but people were friendly, and Carys introduced her to a friend who also loved plants so they had something to talk about.
When Muriel walked through the door, Greta thought she’d had too many lemonade Jell-O shots.
“You came!”
Muriel looked glorious. She wore one of her signature flowing outfits, but this one was a bright teal shot through with sparkling red threads that glinted in the light. Her thick hair was gathered in a braided crown on top of her head and studded with jeweled pins in the shapes of beetles, spiders, and one large green grasshopper.
“Of course I did,” Muriel said breezily as she swept inside. “I wouldn’t have missed it.” She kissed Greta’s cheeks without making contact, her bright pink lipstick perfect.
“Let me get you a drink.” Greta took her elbow. “Er, I don’t suppose you like Jell-O shots…”
Everyone stared at her as they made their way to the drinks table. Wide-eyed looks of admiration and compliments followed in their wake.
“You look amazing, ma’am,” someone said.
“Thank you, darling,” Muriel cooed. “As do you.”
The guest in question, an androgynous black-clad butch with spiked blue hair and multiple facial piercings, blushed bright red and ducked their head with murmured thanks.