Happy Birthday from MsKathy

My dearest S,

You have been with me through thick and thin - when I wasn't sure why you bothered to stick around and beta for a sad excuse of an author like me. Your words of encouragement have meant more to me than I could ever tell you, and meeting you in person was beyond any expectation.

A long, long time ago, you asked me to write a piece for you based on Melissa Etheridge's song Come to My Window. Here it is. I hope you enjoy it. The lovely lexiecullen17 stepped in to beta this, so thank you to her.

I had a playlist that I listened to while I wrote this, and thought I'd share if you want to listen, too.

I Want to Be in Love – Melissa Etheridge
Fallen – Sarah McLaughlin
Landslide – Stevie Nicks
Give Me One Reason – Tracy Chapman
If It Makes You Happy – Sheryl Crow
Breathe – Melissa Etheridge
Elsewhere – Sarah McLaughlin

-

I was painting my toenails, catching up on that week's episode of Glee, when I got her text.

Can I come over?

Four small words, but they held the power to crush me.

I knew how it would turn out, knew exactly what the night would lead to and where things would go after that, but I was powerless to stop myself. What we were doing wasn't right, but I found myself doing things I never thought I was capable of for Victoria.

Of course. See you in 15?

My reply was equally as brief as her request, my attempt at holding in all of my feelings successful for the moment. I organized the random magazines I had on the coffee table, and when I read her affirmative reply, smiled. I had just enough time for a quick shower, and when I'd gotten out and had begun beginning to pace my living room, the doorbell rang.

As usual, my first glance of her was almost enough to knock me over. Victoria had the kind of beauty most women dreamed of – great hair, flawless skin, perfect body. She was taller than me, even without the heels she loved, and thin. Her hair, although she complained about it often, was wild and curly, but looked amazingly well cared for and never messy.

That is to say, she was the opposite of me. I wasn't short, but I wasn't tall – I was average. I wasn't thin, but I wasn't overweight, and my body wasn't what you would describe as shapely or overly feminine. My hair was straight, brown, boring. In general, I accepted that I wasn't the most attractive person, but that I was smart, kind, giving, and funny.

None of that seemed to matter to her, though, as she routinely told me I was beautiful. For the first time in my life, I believed that I was.

She stepped inside my modest apartment and wrapped her hands around my waist. Her nose rested on top of my head, inhaling deeply, and then she placed one quick kiss there.

“Hi,” she said.

She made no move to unwrap herself from me, and I would never, either. I wanted as much of her as I could have, as often as I could have it. And then some.

Her lips moved from my scalp down to my neck, and I pulled her inside, not wanting my neighbors to get a free show. I planned on having her undressed soon, but wanted her all to myself. As soon as the door was shut, she let out a soft noise and her teeth scraped my skin.

“Why do you always smell so good?” she asked quietly.

I laughed; it was something she asked me often, and I simply accepted it for the compliment it was.

Humming, I let my hands slip around her body and under her shirt. Her skin was cold from the night air, and I loved feeling the goosebumps form under my touch. It was powerful to know I could affect her this way, even after as long as we'd been … doing whatever it was we were doing.

Pushing the thought of relationship definitions of out my head, I found her lips with mine. I needed to lose myself in this, in us. Victoria was soft, yielding, flawless. I started our kiss slow, knowing if her time was limited, she would rush things along, and praying every second that wouldn't happen.

As I'd hoped, she stood with me, our bodies pressed together and hands roaming as our lips danced. Slow, careful, and meticulous would be my mission for the night. While we kissed, I thought about how much I ached for her when she wasn't there. Our lives meshed so perfectly. I wasn't sure why she couldn't see it, but I tried to understand. I tried but often failed. Again, I had to push away the Debbie Downer thoughts and remind myself to enjoy her.

Her shirt came off as we touched and teased. Soon, we were in my bedroom; I wasn't even aware of us moving, so intoxicated by her. Everything about her was attractive to me – her brains, when we talked about world events and politics, her laughter when we shared jokes, her smile and her body when we loved each other.

My hand slid down her torso as we laid together, soft blankets surrounding us. I was glad I'd had the presence of mind earlier to light a few softly-scented candles. The room glowed, our shadows merging on the walls as I took the rest of her clothes off.

Quiet reigned as she laid back, her body spread before me and her eyes closed. She needed me, became small and vulnerable in this moment, and I was glad to give for her. Covering her with my body, I kissed her again, my legs straddling her hips. The tips of her fingers swept across my skin, over the swell of my breast and then down to the point of my nipple.

Before she had a chance to remove my bra, I slid down against her skin. Watching her, keeping eye contact, I nibbled along her body – the peak of her breast, the swell of her hip, the curve of her thigh. Tiny red marks were left in my wake, and I secretly wanted them to be more. I wanted her, wanted her all the time and all to myself. I wanted to mark her, but instead, I would leave what I knew were invisible marks. I would please and pleasure her and continue my silent prayers that someday....

Leaning against her body, I moved one hand to touch and stroke her as I continued to watch her reactions. Her eyes had closed long ago, her breathing erratic and growing louder as I teased her. Smiling, I slipped my fingers inside her and bit my lip, shivering slightly at the thrill of the moment. She was always gorgeous, always glowing, but the way she looked when we were together was ethereal. Beyond description.

I leaned back on my heels, watching as my fingers moved in and out, my other hand moving to the top of her pussy. She called me all of our usual names, whispered how much she loved me, and made my eyes sting with unshed tears.

It was slow, so slow and sensual, and exactly what I'd hoped we'd have time for. Each time I could feel her getting closer, I slowed down even more. Quietly, she whimpered and whined, never really making it to words. When even I'd had enough teasing, I leaned into her and began with an achingly slow kiss over her clit. As I covered her with my mouth, drawing her orgasm from her carefully, I let her flavor linger in my mouth.

My tongue and lips tingled with her as she tensed with her orgasm. The sounds she'd been making caught in her throat, still there, just muffled and coming out in shorter bursts and pants.

When I knew she was spent, I slowed my kisses, a few last teases and licks here or there, and withdrew my mouth and fingers. After I'd crawled up to lay next to her, I felt her arms wrap around and pull me closer. She was so warm, and together, tangled bodies under soft blankets, we were drifting in and out of sleep for what had to be a few hours.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she pulled back and away from me. The thought that she was leaving brought my tears back, and I stayed perfectly still, hoping she would be gone before the first few hit the pillows.

Instead, she surprised me by carefully pulling the blankets back, then trailing just one fingertip down my side. Beginning at the skin next to my breast, she dragged her finger down, and when she reached below my hip, her fingers curled around, pulling me onto my back. The wetness in my eyes pooled, and I kept them closed.

Victoria's body covered mine, warming me after the cool air from the room caused me to shudder. The softness of her body and tender way she treated me sometimes surprised me as her body and demeanor seemed so sharp and unwelcoming at times. Her lips played with the skin below my ear, her nose skimming the surface and tickling gently.

“I love you, Bella,” she whispered.

I knew she did. She knew I did. We both knew that didn't change anything.

She loved my body as I'd loved hers – carefully, thoroughly, deeply. When she was done, we curled together again, and I smiled as I fell asleep with her a second time.

…

As I ran, I clicked my ipod over to the playlist marked “Her.” The songs pushed me to run faster, farther, harder.

I spent the next few weeks thinking about my relationship with Victoria. Or, well, the lack of a relationship. We'd known each other for a few months. We’d met at a bookstore, and I was enraptured with her immediately. I'd never brought a woman home with me as quickly as I did her. I let her in, wholly and completely, even though I knew it was wrong.

She was upfront with me – she had a boyfriend at home. It was bad, she said. Wasn't going to last much longer. She felt something for me, with me, and she wanted it.

For once in my life, I was greedy and took it. I did the wrong thing and allowed her in when I shouldn't have. We stole moments often, the weeks passing by as she continued to stay in her life. Sometimes, in the dark, we'd whisper about what our life together would look like. Idealized views, of course, but God, I clung to them. Clung to the hope that someday that really would be us.

I was too in my own head that day, and I needed the kick in the ass to let go and focus on things like, you know, breathing. Her songs would do that to me. They would make me ache and crumble inside, erasing the smaller insecurities I was wound up in. Nothing hurt me like she did, like our situation did, and the sharpness of that pain would bring me out of anything else.

When I was done with my self-imposed torture on the treadmill, I grabbed my towel and stomped to the showers. I needed her, all of her, and I was ready to give her an ultimatum. How much more could I be expected to take? I deserved all of her, as much as I'd given, and I was tired of settling for less.

…

As was her routine when she had time, she texted me that night. When she came over, I had dinner waiting, the entire apartment illuminated in soft glowing light. There was music, good food, and all of my love on the table. I didn't know if the please leave your boyfriend conversation was better to get over before eating or after, so I waited. I could at least feed her one last time, right?

We ate together, touching and teasing the entire time. When I brought out a fruit salad for dessert, she brought me into her lap and fed me. Her fingers traced my lips between bites, her lips moving against mine periodically. I was getting lost in her again, and I could sense my own boundaries dropping away; all of my pep talks I'd given myself about deserving and wanting more were fading into I have her now.

When she got up to put the bowl in the sink, I set my head in my hands; reality was seeping back in. It was now or never, because I knew if we made it to the couch or the bedroom, I'd cave.

Victoria sat in the chair next to me, her hand on my thigh, and I could tell from the way she was sitting that she was ready for more. Wanted and expected more.

“Hey, baby,” I began quietly. “We need to talk.”

Taking her hand in mine, I pulled her into my lap again. She was turned, her legs across mine, her head resting on my shoulder. As we talked, she ran her nose along my neck.

“This doesn't sound good,” she said.

“It's time, Vic. It just is.”

Her small body tensed above mine, and I didn't need to expand – she knew what I meant.

Her voice was quiet and timid. “I need more time.”

“You don't have more,” I argued. “It's not fair, not to him or me.”

“I can't,” she whispered.

“Neither can I anymore.”

…

In the following weeks, I hit the gym even more. I ran my anger and frustration out of my body, until I was exhausted, mentally and physically. On some level, I think I was convinced I could just run her out of my head.

My work suffered; my boss asked if I was okay or if there was anything he could do. I bit back tears as I shook my head and offered up the fakest smile ever. I'm sure he saw right through it, but there was nothing else I could do.

I increased my hours, worked harder, and ran at night. I slept... rarely.

And then one day, an email appeared in my personal account.

It took me two days to open it. For forty-eight hours, I stared at her name, her full name, and the subject line of Us.

I'd run myself to exhaustion again, showered, then soaked in the tub as hot as I could handle it. I'd shaved my legs, put on lotion, made a cup of tea. Basically, I did everything I could think of to delay reading it, until the anxiety over what it might say was eating me alive. In my pajamas, curled under several layers of blankets, I clicked on the subject line from my phone.

Her letter was concise.

Bella,

You were right. I'm working on it. I hope it's not too late.

xo,
V

I wasn't sure what to do. Should I write her right back? Should I tell her that it would never be too late? That some piece of my heart would always belong to her? That of the men and women I'd dated I'd never loved someone like I loved her? Never felt the intensity, the connection, the passion.

In the end, I went with equally simple.

Victoria,

Keep me posted.

Bella

Was it cruel of me to not let her know she had all the time in the world? Maybe.

More days passed, and I wondered how long it would take her to get back in touch with me. Maybe she'd changed her mind. Maybe she’d decided to stay with him, after all. Maybe what we had wasn't worth it to her.

I punished myself, doubted and cried. I took kickboxing. I cooked. I read. I did everything and anything I could think of to distract myself.

Finally, I resolved that I couldn't control her decision, and I had no say over how long it took her to put her life in order. All I could do was give her the space she needed and hope for the best.

I stopped tracking the days, stopped counting the minutes and hours. I found my life and myself. I even went on a few dates. There was handholding and kissing. Nothing felt right. Nothing was her.

Curled in my bed, I could hear my phone chirping from where it was plugged in. I debated with myself about getting up to check it. It was late, and since it was probably work-related, whoever was texting me could wait until the morning.

As I brewed my coffee, I leaned against the counter. I was showered, ready for work, and watching my favorite beverage fill my cup when I remembered the text.

I'm ready, baby.

I had no idea how to reply. Suddenly, my brain was overwhelmed, and my heart beat faster. I thought about her words all the way to work, and when I sat at my computer and finally checked my email, I saw another email from her. This time, I didn't wait at all to read it.

Her words were beautiful and heartfelt. She'd asked me to come over for dinner and mentioned my lack of a reply to her text from the night before. She was essentially begging me for another chance. At the end was her new address and a request for me to meet her there the following Friday at six. All she was asking for was a chance to show me how different her life was and how much she wanted me to be a part of it.

She made it sound so easy.

I replied and let her know I'd be there, because it had to be that easy.

When I got to her apartment, I was surprised. It wasn't too far from my place, and that secretly thrilled me. I knocked softly, and when she answered, I was shocked at how much she'd changed. She looked tired, but happy. Her hair was longer, longer than I'd ever seen it, and just as gorgeous and out-of-control as ever. Her body was more angular, she'd lost some of the curves I loved so desperately.

“Hi,” I said.

“Jesus,” she swore quietly. “You look... amazing.”

She showed me around; it was small, but uniquely her. She'd decorated it perfectly, exactly how I imagined the place she lived would look.

“You cooked?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. She'd never once cooked for me, telling me frequently how terrible she was at it.

“I know,” she said, laughing. “I did, though. Living by myself has necessitated some adaptation.”

We ate together, not touching, and talked. It felt like we'd talked about everything under the sun except us. Over tiramisu, she finally brought the subject up and explained that she moved out from her boyfriend's apartment the week after we'd last seen each other.

Hours passed as she told me how she'd spent her time, and then listened as I told her about mine. Dessert turned into drinks, and before I knew it, we were down to our underwear. On the floor. Of her apartment.

I was certain the smile wouldn't leave my face for weeks, and as I removed the last of her clothes, I knew there was nothing better in this world than what we shared. Victoria moved above me, our bodies aligned opposite each other, head-to-toe. Her knees rested at my ears and I stroked up and down her thighs as I pulled her closer to my mouth. My body ached with need and I didn't want to wait. I wanted her, wanted us back.

I licked a steady line between her lips, closing my eyes and humming at the familiarity of the situation. We'd had sex, fucked, made love, in just about every position imaginable, but somehow this was always a favorite of mine. I liked that we could touch, lick, penetrate, and enjoy each other at the same time.

Focusing, though, was not my strong suit while she was above me. My fingers and mouth slowed and only when she bit my thigh playfully did I remember I was supposed to be pleasuring her, too. I loved the way she felt inside, the softness of her pussy, and knowing I was provoking her orgasm just brought mine even closer. She came around my fingers, and I felt her clit pulse beneath my lips as I held my breath, my own orgasm hitting me hard. I'd missed her so much, my own fingers and hand no substitute for her.

We lay on the floor, and I was grateful it was a Friday. We'd need the whole weekend to explore, learn each other again, and reconnect. When Victoria took my hand and led me to her bedroom, I wasn't sure I could sleep. I did, though. I fell into the most fitful slumber I'd had in a long time, knowing she was right there, right next to me, and not going anywhere.

-

I hope I did your girls and idea justice. You are a wonderful presence in my life, and I am forever grateful to the person that introduced us. Thank you, my friend, and happy fucking birthday. ♥