The Speech

As if we would leave you hanging on Scotstralia day.

Here’s a little one-shot to tide you all over. Blame Josie Foster. And possibly Sean Young (bonus points for getting that reference).

Rated X.

* * * * *

Spencer Carlin hadn’t intended to make a coming out speech. If she was honest, she hadn’t expected to win an Emmy, so she hadn’t prepared any sort of speech at all. But she was half-way through her allotted ninety seconds, or however long it was, and she realised that she couldn’t just pay lip service to the network brass, lawyers and producers. She had made a promise a long time ago to the only person who had ever mattered and keeping that promise suddenly became more important than anything else she had ever done.

Before she knew was she was doing, she cut off what she was saying and changed tack. “You know, I’m only incidentally an actress. What I’ve always really wanted to do is direct.” A small laugh went around the auditorium as she used that well-worn actor’s line. “So, I went to film school intending to be a director and I only took up acting as a way to earn a little extra money on the side. Thankfully, it looks like that’s working out okay so far.” She gestured with her shiny new Emmy as a louder chuckle passed through the audience. “But, anyway, I wouldn’t have gone to film school at all without the encouragement and support of my best friend—my first love, in fact, by which I mean the first girl I ever fell in love with.” She didn’t pause. “She was the one who gave me the confidence to follow my dreams and to believe that I could succeed. She also made me promise to dedicate my first big award to her. So, I just want to say that you were right, Ash. I do owe everything to you and I love you.”

And then the orchestra got louder and she was being ushered away by a statuesque brunette. She was met by her publicist, Marina, and given a short, stern lecture about making off-the-cuff statements without checking with her first. Marina followed up the lecture with a huge hug.

“I kind of thought you might do something like that.” Like the mother hen she always was, Marina removed a tissue from her infinitesimally small clutch purse and wiped a speck of makeup from Spencer’s cheek.

“Really?”

“I saw you earlier.”

“Ahh.” Spencer laughed and blushed a little.

“You still love her?”

“Every day of my life for as long as I can remember.”

“You ready for this?”

“Probably not.”

Spencer sighed and looked around the press room. Scanning the assembled faces of TV, print and web journalists, she didn’t think that there was a single person in the room who was surprised to hear that she was gay. She could even see a couple of women who had very up close and personal knowledge of just how gay she was.

Just because she hadn’t made a formal announcement before, it wasn’t like she had kept it a secret. She had been photographed with previous girlfriends at events, premieres, even just hanging out in Central Park. It was hardly her fault that no-one had speculated that they were anything more than friends or colleagues. Okay, so maybe the fact that she didn’t ever take questions about her personal life at press conferences and junkets had something to do with it, but that didn’t mean that someone who had requested a full interview—and she had given several in the past—couldn’t have asked. She would have answered honestly.

Of all the people with their hands up, begging to be the first to get a question in, she doubted that any of them were going to ask her about the mini-series or the role for which she had won the Emmy. She had no idea how the system of selecting questioners worked, but it was one of the reporters from E! who asked, “Why did you choose the Emmys as a platform to come out?”

“I didn’t, Steve. I have always been out. You just never reported it.” She didn’t want to appear stern and lecturing, so she added, “Don’t feel bad. You weren’t the only one who didn’t notice.” There was a smattering of embarrassed laughter.

“Does this mean you’re definitely not dating Tate Cameron?” someone else asked. Tate was one of her closest friends. They had met back in New York when they were both getting small roles on the daytime soaps. He was now the leading man in a superhero franchise and constant tabloid fodder in a way that she, predominantly a theatre actress, couldn’t really understand. She stayed at his house when she was in Los Angeles and a couple of outlets had published overhead shots of them together in Tate’s swimming pool. They looked intimate, but she was actually trying to push her best friend under the water. Tate would have been her date that evening, if he hadn’t been doing green-screen filming in London.

“No, I’m not dating Tate. We started out acting together, back when the world was still in analogue. We’re just friends.” They had double-dated once. Twins. That had been interesting. She kept that fact to herself.

There was then a bunch of follow-up questions, speculating on the names of various famous men and women whom she might have dated in the past. Spencer eventually held her hand up and said, “I’m not going to name names. But, for the record, I have never dated another actor.”

When she landed her first major supporting role on Broadway, her agent placed some fake stories about a romance with a TV actor, someone she knew in passing from her days on the soaps. While she had never formally played along, she hadn’t exactly refuted it in public either. She’d merely left that agency and employed Marina instead as her agent/publicist. She was still ashamed of herself for not having done more, and she was already feeling good about her decision to acknowledge her sexuality publicly.

Did she think it would affect her career? No, she could not see why it should, as it had nothing to so with her ability to act.

Had she avoided coming out publicly to protect her career? No, she just hadn’t ever publically commented on a known fact before. She described it as the worst-kept open secret ever.

Did she hope that publicly coming out sent a message of support to her LGBT fans? Yes, of course she did. She went on to speak in favour of tolerance, and the ability to live one’s life openly and proudly.

Was she in favour of equal marriage? Yes, of course. Had they missed her publicly supporting it on the ballot in both New York state and California? She had been photographed standing between Ellen DeGeneres and George Clooney at an anti-Prop 8 rally, which was not exactly the best way to hide her views.

Would she get married herself? She was not opposed to the idea, but it was customary to wait till either one was asked or had someone to ask.

Someone finally said, “So, who’s the girl from the speech?”

She smiled. The sixty-four thousand dollar question.

There were any number of answers she could give. Ash was her first great love, her only love. She was the most thrilling, infuriating, contrary, fierce but ultimately loving woman she had known. She was the one who got away. She was the one that Spencer still dreamed about. She was also Ashley Davies, one of the most recognisable names in music. Her relationships with women—and, less often, men—were often reported in the tabloids. Over the years, Spencer had read these stories, pored over them, and had to force herself not to pick up the phone and call Ashley’s old number.

The last couple of years or so, the stories had been fewer because Ashley had moved abroad—France, maybe, or possibly Spain—and most recently, she had been collaborating on film scores, although she had released one album which had been a moderate success.

Aware that people were waiting for her response, she said, “She was my best friend in high school. She was the first person I ever came out to. And then she was the first person I ever fell in love with.” She shrugged self-effacingly. “Or maybe I was already in love with her before I came out to her. I don’t honestly remember.” She smiled as she pictured Ashley. “She was beautiful and wild and cool and popular and just about everything you could want when you’re seventeen.

“I was all set to go to a fine school and get a nice liberal arts degree, but she persuaded me that film school was what I had always wanted and that I was too talented to pass it up. I kept telling her that I wasn’t good enough, but she was so convinced that I would make it that she made me promise that when I got my first award—actually, she said my first Oscar, but please don’t tell anyone, because I am very, very proud of my Emmy—that my acceptance speech should be, ‘You were right. I owe it all to you. I love you.’ In pretty much those exact words. And because I thought she was crazy, I promised. And I think it’s important to keep your promises, don’t you?”

A handful of questions were fired in all at once. What’s her name? Where is she now? Is she famous? What happened to the relationship? Are you single?

“Yes, I’m single at the moment. And, as for what happened, we never got together. We were seventeen, eighteen. I was in New York and she was in California. We drifted, met new people, made new lives. The last time we spoke in person, she came to New York to see me in a play. And she brought a date with her. That must have been six or seven years ago. How many of you are still with your high school sweethearts?” Only a couple of reticent hands were raised. “See?” Laughter spread across the room and no-one seemed to notice that she had side-stepped the other questions.

The press conference moved on. Some people even mentioned the mini-series for which she won the Emmy. She was about to leave, to let the next winner have their moment in the spotlight, when she heard a familiar voice. It was Laurie Hoskins, a print journalist from the Chronicle. Some years before, Laurie came to interview her and they had a brief, guilt-free fling which lasted about four days. They had been friendly ever since, if not actual friends. Laurie was one of a handful of people who knew about Ashley Davies. She had seen the framed picture in Spencer’s bedroom and had recognised her instantly.

Spencer cupped her hand over her ear. “What was that, Laurie?”

“I said, are you still in love with her, this girl from your past?” There was a teasing challenge in Laurie’s eyes.

“Well, they say you never really get over your first love,” she said, as Marina tried to lead her away. She didn’t want to lie, though. What was the point of mentioning Ashley on the one hand and denying her on the other? “But, to answer your actual question, I think I probably am still in love with her.”

The room exploded with even more noise and questions, but Spencer was already being taken away for pre-arranged one-to-one TV interviews for the winners.

* * *

Ashley Davies, dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, pushed back her chauffeur’s cap and strolled over to a large group of drivers playing an informal game of craps with a pair of dice.

“Boys,” she greeted them, “I was wondering if any of you might be able to tell my friend Ulysses S Grant where I might find Spencer Carlin’s limo.” She held a fifty-dollar note between her thumb and forefinger.

A young blond guy reached out to grab it, and made some smart remark about showing her the back seat of his own ride. Most of his buddies sniggered.

“Son, while blondes are definitely my thing, you are so not my type,” she deadpanned. “The limo?”

“Ignore him. You want Ahmed. He’s over there,” a stocky guy in his forties answered, pointing towards the corner of the parking structure. Ashley offered him the fifty, but he demurred. She gave him a mock salute and headed in the direction of the solitary driver, who was reading a legal textbook and smoking a menthol cigarette. A thermos flask was set on the ground next to him.

Unlike her previous helper, Ahmed was not beyond taking a bribe. He happily pocketed the two hundred-dollar bills she offered him, even before Ashley had finished telling him the plan she had been plotting since that afternoon, when she had first seen Spencer.

She had arrived at the ceremony quite early, so she hadn’t expected any of the nominees to be around, but she felt something powerful and familiar tugging at her senses almost as soon as she started walking up the red carpet. She looked over her left shoulder and recognised Spencer immediately. Even though all she could see was a partial view of a woman in a backless navy dress facing away from her, she knew instinctively who it was. And then, just as instinctively, Spencer turned around and their eyes met. And Ashley was catapulted back a dozen years, to when she had been eighteen and in love and nothing had seemed more important than the blonde in front of her. As they smiled shyly at each other, Ashley realised that nothing since had ever been more important.

She started walking towards Spencer without even realising that she was doing so, only to see Spencer have her elbow taken by an usher, who moved her on to her next interview spot. Ashley and Tom, her date, were also ushered away. She kept straining around to try to catch Spencer’s gaze again, but she couldn’t see her. There were too many people in between and the TV interview booths were like private little worlds anyway.

The next time she saw her was when Spencer was making her acceptance speech. And what a speech it was.

Her little joke about Spencer’s first Oscar acceptance speech had been a test at the time. She just wanted to see if Spencer would admit that she loved her. But Spencer brushed it off, saying she would never be good enough to win any sort of award. It never occurred to Ashley that Spencer would actually follow through when the occasion actually arose.

When she all but forced her friend Tom to take her to the Emmys, her only thought was that she couldn’t miss Spencer’s big day. She hadn’t been thinking of actually meeting Spencer or talking to her.

Until she saw her on the red carpet.

Then she knew that she needed to see Spencer, needed to be near her.

The thrill she felt when Spencer mentioned her only hardened her resolve.

By calling a few old friends, she found out that Spencer would be attending the Governor’s Ball for nominees and winners, and then the network’s party at the Pacific Design Center. As plans went, ‘hide in her limo’ was never going to win any awards for creativity, but it was the best she could do at short notice.

It was after 1am when Spencer finally called for her car, by which time the European press were looking for comments for their lunchtime news cycle. Ashley watched from the passenger seat, hidden behind the black glass, as Spencer gave a few more sound bites before she finally reached the limo and Ahmed sprung into action.

They travelled only a few hundred yards down the road, out of sight of cameras and reporters, when Ahmed pulled into the side of the road, as requested. Ashley hopped out of the passenger seat and, taking a few deep breaths and putting on a grin that projected a lot more confidence than she actually felt, she opened the rear door.

“Mind if I join you?”

To her great relief, Spencer smiled and nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

As she shut the door, the car moved off again. Spencer gave Ashley a puzzled look, no doubt confused by her chauffeur’s outfit.

“I’m not your actual driver,” she explained. “That’s Ahmed. I’m just a stowaway who slipped him a couple of Benjamins to let me wait for you.” She clambered across Spencer and sat next to her, tossing her chauffeur’s hat onto the seat across from them. “First off, let me say, nice dress.” She leered appreciatively.

Spencer chuckled. “Armani. Do you want to know the rest? Jewels, hair, nails?”

“That’s okay. I can catch the repeat of Live from the Red Carpet tomorrow.”

“What happened to your dress?”

“Well, seeing as I’m not a famous Emmy winner, I wasn’t invited to the Governor’s Ball, and my date bailed on me anyway, so I’ve had plenty of time to go home and get changed. I thought this was more appropriate for hanging out with the drivers.”

“Your date?” Spencer asked. Ashley suspected that she was aiming for a neutral tone, but there was a definite undercurrent—jealousy, Ashley hoped.

“Tom Benedictis, my writing partner. He had to get home to his wife and brand new baby. I was just a stand-in because she wasn’t feeling up to it so soon after the birth.” That wasn’t true, but she wasn’t up to admitting that yet.

“And you snuck into my limo because?”

Ashley raised her eyebrow. “You have to ask?”

“Humour me.”

“Because it’s not every day you see your former best friend for the first time in God knows how long and then she comes out on national television by thanking you in her acceptance speech.” She didn’t mention the part about Spencer admitting to having been in love with her. That also could wait.

“Well, you know, I did promise and everything.”

Seven years since they had last been together in person and it was almost as if no time had passed at all. The simple back-and-forth that had always defined their relationship had been re-established instantly.

Ashley stretched her legs out and crossed her feet at the ankles. She was wearing cowboy boots, and she adjusted her position so that Spencer’s attention would be drawn to that fact.

“It was supposed to be your Oscar speech for Best Director,” she countered.

“Minor details. The way things have turned out, I figured this might be my only chance. Nice boots.”

“Thought you’d like them.”

Spencer had once admitted to Ashley that her first truly sexual dream had featured a girl wearing nothing but a pair of cowboy boots. Ashley had always assumed it was about her, although it had never been said.

She wanted to tell Spencer that she looked beautiful. The girl she had known had grown into a woman, and that woman now glowed with the confidence and ease of someone who was at peace with herself.

“Europe agrees with you,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, I think it does. I only had one single chart in France, and that was outside the top twenty, so my approximate fame level in my village is somewhere around the level of disinterested curiosity. The postman once asked me about my dad, because, well, they’ve heard of him, while I’m pretty much just the American at the big house who has all the strange food shipped in.”

“Whereabouts in France are you anyway?”

“South west, about twenty minutes up the coast from Bordeaux.”

“Why there?”

“Why not?” She could have said that she had moved there because she had been struggling with fame and everything that went with it, but she had the feeling that they could get to that another day. She was already confident that there would be another day.

“I wanted to get in touch after your last album, but—”

“A lot of water has passed under that particular bridge,” Ashley finished for her. There were a couple of songs on the album about Spencer. At the time, she wished that she could have reached out to Spencer directly, but they were so far apart by then, both in time and distance, that she hadn’t been brave enough.

“Yeah.”

“So, how does it feel to be the big story of the night?”

Spencer rolled her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. I’m a theatre actor who mostly appears in serious plays. I had a speaking part in a soap for six months about three lifetimes ago and now one role on a premium cable mini-series that only my parents and the Academy voters watched. If my best friend wasn’t Tate Cameron, most people beyond 42nd Street wouldn’t have a clue who I am.”

It was so like Spencer to downplay both her success and level of fame. “I caught the news when I got home. It’s a bigger deal than you think.”

Spencer shrugged. “It’ll blow over. I’m heading back to London on Monday. Once I’m there, it’ll be out of sight, out of mind. It’s not like I normally make the front page of People, not like some people I could mention.”

“Not these days. What’re you doing in London?”

“Rehearsing Uncle Vania at the Old Vic.”

“That’s by the depressing Russian guy who writes the stories where everyone talks a lot, right?”

“Chekhov. That’s the one,” Spencer chuckled.

“How long are you going to be in London?”

“About six months, total. I can get you opening night tickets, if you’d like.”

Ashley would like that. She plucked at her shirt buttons and decided to push the issue a little. “They said you didn’t name the mystery girl. On the news, I mean.”

“I didn’t think it was my place.”

“Ah,” Ashley nodded.

Spencer looked sideways at her, smiling softly. “Does that bother you?”

“No, I suppose I can understand you didn’t want the added media circus that I can bring.” She tried not to pout as she said it. It was stupid to want to have been named like that, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted the world to know that Spencer Carlin had been in love with her, still loved her in some way which she was hoping they could explore further.

Spencer shook her head, reaching out to place her hand on Ashley’s forearm. “I didn’t want to bring you the added media circus of being named.”

“Oh.”

“I’m happy to phone Entertainment Tonight and update them for tomorrow’s lead, though.”

Ashley grinned. “I can probably throw in a quote or two, as well.”

“Yeah, what would you say?”

“Oh, just that I was right and you do totally owe your entire success to me.” And you are so mine, she added silently.

“So you say.”

Ashley laughed. “No, so you say. Me and a few million people around the globe saw and heard it live and in living colour.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Must be.” Ashley sat up and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees, staring at her hands. Bravery came in tiny steps. “Heard you say some other things, too.”

“Mmm. Yeah, well, it’s customary to thank your director and the network,” Spencer teased.

Ashley kept her eyes fixed on her own clasped hands, not looking at Spencer at all. “Uh-huh. So not what I meant.”

“No?”

“No, pretty sure that wasn’t it.”

“So, what did you mean, then?” Spencer reached out and tucked Ashley’s hair behind her ear.

Ashley could feel herself blushing, and she didn’t think of herself as the blushing kind. But it was Spencer, and Spencer was different. She wanted to be as honest as possible, to give Spencer a chance to know what she was getting into, assuming she wanted to get into something.

“You know, I was so wasted the night I came to see you in Hedda Gabler, I don’t even remember bringing a date,” she admitted.

“I think she was a model.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Thin redhead, really huge teeth, face like a horse.” Spencer’s face showed her feelings plainly.

Ashley could only laugh. “Not attractive, then?”

“Not to me. Maybe to you.”

“I want you to know that I’m not that person any more, Spence.”

“I get that.”

Ashley didn’t know what else to say, so she said what had been on her mind since seeing her on the red carpet: “You are beautiful.”

“No matter what they say?”

That made Ashley chuckle. She looked around the limo properly for the first time and noticed that there was a full bar, including a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, no doubt a gift from the studio.

“How about a toast?” she asked.

“Good idea. Allow me,” Spencer replied, leaning forward in the direction of the champagne. As she did so, the limo turned a corner, causing her to lurch to the side. Ashley deftly reached out and grabbed her waist to stop her from falling.

They both giggled. And then Ashley became aware of her face pressing into Spencer’s back, of the heat where their skin was touching. She tried not to moan, but it was not easy to hold it back. She wondered how she would have coped at eighteen with skin-on-skin. Probably much the same way that she was reacting at thirty, she mused.

Ashley moved her hands to Spencer’s hips and pulled her back into a sitting position, sliding along the back seat out of her way. She missed the contact. She shook her head, clearing the slight haze, while Spencer pulled the bottle from the ice bucket, passing it to Ashley.

“You open this. I’ll get the glasses.”

“No problem.” She took the bottle from Spencer. Sadly, it meant that she had to remove her hands from Spencer’s hips, and she was just getting comfortable with them being there.

She bit her bottom lip in concentration while she tried to work the cork gently out of the bottle. Spencer retrieved two champagne flutes from a compartment which prevented them from rolling around the back of the limo. With a final flourish, Ashley pulled the cork from the bottle, champagne spilling down the side and over her hands, onto the floor. She lifted the bottle to her mouth and licked the dripping champagne.

“It’s a sin to waste,” she said.

Spencer looked at her and then reached out for Ashley’s left hand and pulled it to her mouth, slowly licking the last few drops of champagne from it. By any standard, it was the most erotic thing Ashley had ever seen or experienced. The feeling of Spencer’s tongue against her skin was something she would never forget.

“True,” Spencer agreed, letting Ashley’s hand go and winking at her.

With a hoarser voice than before, Ashley asked, “What’re we toasting?”

“My Emmy, of course!”

“Not your speech?”

“You really liked that speech, huh?” Spencer’s own voice seemed a little huskier, too.

“I thought it was a great speech.” Ashley took a glass from Spencer and poured the champagne.

“You never explained what else it was I said that so intrigued you.”

“Did I not?” Ashley handed her the full glass and filled the other. She reached out and replaced the bottle in its bucket. This level of teasing was something that she hadn’t expected from Spencer, but she wasn’t about to complain.

“No, I don’t think that you did.”

“Oh, well, it must have escaped my mind. Maybe if you remind me what you said, it’ll come back to me,” Ashley said. Spencer lifted her glass to her lips, but Ashley reached out and stopped her. “Hey, we haven’t agreed the toast yet.”

“Can we hurry up, then? I’m getting thirsty.”

“Hey, these days, I only allow myself one glass, and only on special occasions, so I don’t want to waste it.”

“Is this a special occasion?”

“Unless you win Emmys and come out on international TV a lot more often than I think you do, then, yeah, it’s special. And we’re together again. That’s special.” Ashley glanced pointedly at Spencer’s cleavage, upping the flirting. “And that dress is definitely pretty special.”

“It goes back in the morning.”

“Well, this toast isn’t going to get made before you have to return it at this rate.”

“It’s my big night, so I should get to choose.”

“And?”

Spencer lifted her glass to Ashley’s and clinked them together. “To first loves.” She grinned. “In my case, obviously directing.”

Ashley laughed and clinked their glasses again. “To first loves.”

They both tipped their drinks back.

“Mmm. That’s good,” Spencer said. “I’ll be honest. I don’t really like champagne, but I’d make an exception for this.” She took a second sip. “You’re not going to say what your first love was?”

“Nope.”

“Not fair. I told you mine.”

Ashley grinned. “I already knew yours.”

“So? Then I should still get to know yours.”

“You also already know mine.” She sipped her drink deliberately.

“Do I?” Spencer sounded uncertain.

“Yes.”

“Songwriting?” Spencer guessed.

Life was short. She had lost her father to drink and two good friends to drugs. She was thirty. She had been in love with Spencer Carlin since she was about sixteen years old and she had thrown away her first chance with her. She wasn’t going to do that twice.

“No, you,” she said, reaching over to clink their glasses a third time. She raised the champagne to her lips again and drained it. She then leaned forward and replaced the glass in its compartment.

Spencer’s face betrayed her shock, so Ashley continued, “I asked Tom to bring me tonight. Begged him. If he hadn’t agreed, I’d have called in every favour I’ve ever been owed to get someone else to bring me. There wasn’t a chance that I was going to miss being there for your big moment, for you.” She pulled a strand of her hair and twisted it around her finger. “But I wasn’t intending to speak to you. Honestly.

“And then I was on the red carpet and I sensed you. I don’t know how that’s true, but it is. And then I saw you.” She reached out and drew a finger down Spencer’s cheek. “And, damn if you aren’t more heartbreaking than ever, Spence.”

Spencer also finished her champagne. “I wouldn’t have made that speech if I hadn’t seen you. I would have thanked my agent, Marina, and my parents and said something trite about the role or the people I worked with. But I’m glad you were there and I’m glad I said what I did. Because it made it special. You made it special for me.”

Ashley took the glass from her and stowed it with its partner. As she turned around again, she licked her lips. Spencer did the same.

“So, now wh—”

The rest of Spencer’s question died on her lips as Ashley covered her mouth with her own. Instantly, the kiss became hard, passionate, out of control. Spencer twisted in the seat to get a better angle, while Ashley slid her hands to Spencer’s cheeks, pulling her closer.

Their teeth clashed, and Ashley eased up a little, pulling back to nibble at her lips. Spencer moaned. She moved her hands to Ashley’s shoulders, her fingers digging in. Spencer obviously didn’t need gentleness, so Ashley swept her tongue across Spencer’s lower lip and heard the blonde moan.

Ashley mumbled, “God, I’ve wanted this—”

“—since I was about fifteen,” Spencer said, biting down on Ashley’s bottom lip.

Ashley trailed her hand along Spencer’s jaw and then over the column of her neck. She grinned into their kiss as Spencer trembled at the touch. Her hands went into Ashley’s hair and pulled their mouths together again, her tongue darting out to meet Ashley’s.

They kissed hard and deep, shifting to get closer to each other. They were jostled apart again as the limo turned another wide corner.

“The driver,” Spencer hissed.

Ashley dropped her mouth to Spencer’s bare shoulder, sucking and licking. “Well, I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing, but I’m sure he’d join us if you want me to ask,” she joked.

Spencer lightly swatted Ashley’s back, even as she tilted her head to the side to allow better access to her neck. “I meant what if he sees.”

“Nah. I’ve been up front. You can’t see anything back here when the privacy glass is up.” Ashley tried to push her backwards onto the wide bench seat.

“The dress!”

“I can afford it. Hell, you can afford it. But feel to take it off, if you like.” Ashley waggled her eyebrows. “I won’t complain.”

Spencer played with the bottom of Ashley’s shirt. Ashley watched her, a languid smile on her lips, her fingertips lightly stroking across Spencer’s skin, just underneath the borrowed Harry Winston diamond necklace which probably also had to be returned in the morning. She could tell that Spencer was trying to decide what to do next.

“There’s only one problem with that,” Spencer said, looking directly at her. “This dress didn’t leave room for much.” Spencer dropped her hand to her thigh, working the fabric up slowly until it was bunched in her lap. She took Ashley’s free hand and placed it on her thigh, just above the knee. “You see, I’m not actually wearing anything else underneath.”

Ashley would never have imagined that Spencer would be so forward. Clearly, the blonde had hidden depths of which she had never dreamt.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t see that as an issue,” she said. Her grin was still there and the words were confident enough, but she knew that Spencer caught the hitch in her voice, the slight widening of her eyes. She slid hand up slowly, gently travelling up Spencer’s thigh.

“No?” Spencer wantonly spread her legs apart and looked down. “I think it’s a problem,” the blonde offered.

“You do?” Ashley’s voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and choked. She rested her splayed fingers a fraction of an inch from the juncture of Spencer’s thighs, waiting for a sign, a word.

“Yes. It creates an imbalance.” Spencer reached out to the open vee of Ashley’s shirt and released the top button one-handed. “But I can fix that, I’m sure.” Spencer moved on to the next button, then the next. When all of the buttons were dispatched with, Spencer pushed the shirt apart, although she made no move to push it from Ashley’s shoulders. She raked her fingernails across Ashley’s smooth abdomen.

Spencer’s fingers stroked higher, until she was tracing the lace pattern of Ashley’s bra. She found the front fastening and flicked it open. Ashley moaned loudly, her eyes closing, as Spencer’s hand slipped inside her open bra and cupped her breast firmly in her hand, dragging her palm across her hardening nipple.

She suddenly remembered where her own hand was, and she flexed her fingers, digging into Spencer’s thigh. Spencer leaned her head in, craning upwards, and they were kissing again, hard and somewhat imperfectly. But it wasn’t imperfect at all.

And then Ashley’s need kicked up a notch as Spencer manoeuvred herself around, shifting to rest on Ashley’s lap, her knees straddling Ashley’s hips. Ashley moaned and felt Spencer chuckle.

“Less chance of the dress getting ruined,” Spencer said.

Ashley looked down between them. They were both mostly clothed, but there was something incredibly hot about the fact that Spencer’s dress was covering her hand, like the growing wetness she could feel against her palm was a secret. She pushed the heel of her hand hard against Spencer’s pubic bone and grinned as Spencer’s head fell back, unable to keep up with kissing. Ashley started to grind her hand slowly.

“Oh, God, yes,” Spencer said, her hands moving to the back of Ashley’s head and pulling it to her chest.

The firm structure of the dress prevented her from doing much more than licking the upper slopes of Spencer’s breasts, but there was no way she was moving her hand from between Spencer’s legs. Spencer’s hands slipped inside Ashley’s shirt again, kneading and stroking her breasts. Ashley wasn’t sure that she had ever wanted anyone more.

“Spence,” she whispered, as she let her fingers explore the soft, wet labia. She was pretty certain they were going to have to pay for the dress but it was a small price for the feeling of Spencer rubbing against her hand.

She sucked a small patch of Spencer’s skin into her mouth, raking her teeth over it.

“Oh, yeah,” Spencer moaned loudly.

She had obviously forgotten about the driver, Ashley surmised. She moved her fingers to Spencer’s opening, slipping two fingers inside her easily.

Spencer’s hands dropped to Ashley’s waistband and she heard the sound of ripping as the blonde tugged at the snap of her jeans. She lifted her hips off the seat in an effort to help. It also served to push her thigh into her hand, which pushed her fingers deeper inside Spencer. She shimmied her hips as Spencer pushed. It didn’t create much space, but enough for Spencer to force her hand inside Ashley’s own soaking wet underwear.

The second she felt Spencer’s fingers against her, she knew that she would not last. She tried to pull back, but Spencer’s hand followed the movement.

She eased a third finger inside Spencer, stroking the blonde’s clitoris with her thumb. Spencer forced two fingers either side of Ashley’s clitoris and started a scissoring movement. With her free hand, she reached for the back of Ashley’s neck and pulled her head up to look at her.

Ashley looked deep into Spencer’s eyes and gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the orgasm that was building so fast and deep inside her until she was certain that Spencer was almost there herself. Keeping her eyes focused on Spencer’s, she leaned her head forward until they she could feel Spencer’s quick panting breaths against her lips.

“Fuck, Spence, I love you,” she admitted.

“Oh, Jesus,” Spencer said, her hips moving faster as Ashley increased the speed of her thumb. “Jesus.”

“Want you so much,” Ashley continued. “I’ve always wanted you, always loved you. And you are so fucking hot. So fucking love being inside you.”

“Ash,” Spencer said in a warning tone. What she was warning her about, Ashley didn’t know, because she was riding her hand hard. And Spencer’s own hand was moving at a frantic pace inside her jeans, slipping and sliding across her aching clitoris.

Spencer’s fingernails were digging into the back of her neck, but the small pain was nothing more than an indicator of the effect she was having on Spencer and she welcomed it gladly. With her left hand, she palmed Spencer’s breast, moving her palm in circles, feeling the silk swirling across the blonde’s nipple.

And then Spencer started making a kind of humming noise, as her vaginal walls pulsed against Ashley’s fingers, and Ashley could hold it in no longer. She felt her orgasm hit her, and she arched her hips upwards into Spencer’s touch, moaning loudly as she felt Spencer grind down even harder against her.

Moments later, as the waves of pleasure were peaking through Ashley’s body, she felt Spencer give a final thrust of her hips and collapse against her, pressing her firmly into the seat. She felt the jerks of Spencer’s body against her, as the blonde moved her open mouth to Ashley’s neck. It wasn’t a kiss, or even an attempt to bite, more of a need for their skin to be joined wherever possible. It was an impulse Ashley completely understood.

“Well, I’m not telling Entertainment Tonight this part,” Ashley murmured. Spencer gave a little grunt of laughter and stroked the back of Ashley’s neck gently.

They lay slumped together for a few minutes, Ashley just enjoying the feeling of being enveloped by Spencer in every sense. She wanted to remain cocooned like that forever.

“You really liked that speech, huh?” Spencer joked in a cracked and husky voice.

“I fucking loved that speech,” she agreed. She turned her head to kiss the top of Spencer’s head. “I fucking love you.”

Spencer nibbled at the skin of her neck. “I love you, too.”

There were a lot of things that passed through Ashley’s mind about how fast things had moved and how they lived in different countries and whether it had all been a moment of madness or the start of something more, but she didn’t know how to begin any of those conversations. She had been plenty brave enough for one day, she reckoned, and that had worked out pretty well for her. Possibly later, much later, after they had found themselves a bed and tried a few other things that she had always wanted to explore with Spencer, they could talk about them.

“Are we going to Tate’s?” Spencer asked, her lips tickling Ashley’s skin.

“Mmm, no, I gave Ahmed my address.”

“Really?” Spencer sounded amused.

“Yeah,” she admitted bashfully. She suddenly realised how presumptuous that must have sounded.

“Good.”

“Good?”

Spencer nodded, her hips already starting to move slowly against Ashley’s hand. “Cos next time, I want you naked except the boots, and I really don’t want anyone walking in on that.”

Ashley laughed. “Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”

10 Comments

  1. tongue-tied
    Posted 26 January 2013 at 1.33am | Permalink

    Hot. And sweet. And hearts out to jodie foster! Thanks dev :)

  2. Stacey
    Posted 26 January 2013 at 8.33am | Permalink

    Amazing. Truly amazing… But I’m not surprised, everything u put out is a work of art. Thanks for the post!

  3. Gis
    Posted 26 January 2013 at 2.41pm | Permalink

    What a lovely story! Thank you for that! Wonder if Jodie Foster had a night like that too… Or wished she had!! ;-)

  4. tee452
    Posted 27 January 2013 at 5.19am | Permalink

    Good lord, woman, I think you are trying to kill us on Scotstralia Day! Won’t ever quite look at red carpet dresses the same way again. Or chauffers for that matter, god bless Ahmed.

  5. carla
    Posted 27 January 2013 at 2.41pm | Permalink

    Another brilliant story, as always ;) Thank you for the wonderful read, I will wait for the next :)

  6. Posted 28 January 2013 at 2.35pm | Permalink

    Just to quote part of your story back to you…”I fucking love you.”

  7. iocaste
    Posted 28 January 2013 at 3.22pm | Permalink

    Oh wow! Thank you Dev! ;)

  8. rosyxox
    Posted 2 April 2013 at 11.16pm | Permalink

    I’ve read this story so many times, it’s definitely one of my faves. You should write a sequel :)

  9. Gis
    Posted 6 June 2013 at 8.42am | Permalink

    Yeah, a sequel would be great! Would love to see how they meet again in London, how the press react about being Ashley the girl Spencer was in love with and if they end up in France together… :-)

  10. Posted 15 November 2014 at 8.10pm | Permalink

    Great story I agree with everyone else SEQUEL!!! Oh and what is Scotstralia Day?

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