Girl Fever by Sacchi Green Page A

from somewhere above. She’s trying to pull me up to her, but I just want to be a puddle on the floor.
    â€œThe floor,” I try to unstick my tongue. “The floor is soft.” Soft? No, that’s not what I meant. I giggle, but Marla understands and is lowering me, on my side, to the bath mat.
    â€œI need to turn off the kettle. It’s a terrible thing to burn out a bottom!” Her voice retreats, the pounding of her feet shaking the floor. Suddenly the strident call is interrupted with a sharp chirp that fades into a hiss.
    Marla’s face, puffing, appears above me. “Just in time. That’s why I decided to hurry things along a bit. Sorry about that.” She collapses with her back against the sink cabinet, her legs across mine.
    â€œOh, I didn’t notice,” I murmur, feeling hair in my
mouth. The updo I’d spent an hour creating has come undone. Her pants have a huge cum stain on both thighs. My nylons are shredded. My dress is crumpled.
    â€œWhat didn’t you notice? The kettle? Or me hurrying things along?”
    â€œEither. Neither. It was so fast!” I shake my head, “You were in, I was coming, you were out!”
    â€œWell, you know what Heidi says.” She puts on a nasal, high-pitched German accent: “One day you’re in, and the next, you’re out!”
    â€œTrue,” I answer. “But you know what you did back there, under those ‘tough time constraints’?”
    We laugh together on the way back to our closets. “Made it work!”

I DO
    Catherine Paulssen
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    C autiously, I opened the heavy antique door and peeked inside. A huge gold-framed mirror was propped against the green wall, and, gazing into it on a plushy Louis XVI chair, sat the woman of my dreams.
    She looked amazing.
    Maybe it was the dramatic contrast of the sheer white silk and chiffon of her robe against her melted chocolate skin.
    Maybe it was the way the sleek dark strands of her hair, adorned with small silk roses, curled on her naked shoulders.
    But most likely, it was the happy glow on her face.
    Now she adjusted the necklace I had given her for our five-year anniversary, and my eyes wandered down to where her V-neckline revealed the soft rounds of her apple-shaped breasts.

    I breathed a sigh.
    Olivia turned around. “What are you doing there? Out! Out!”
    I smiled, shook my head and entered the sumptuous hotel room, locking the door behind me.
    â€œBut it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!” She giggled, coming toward me and wrapping her arms around my neck.
    â€œWho says you’re the bride?”
    â€œEither way, it’s bad luck.”
    I pressed a kiss on her plump lips. “It can never be bad luck with you, baby.”
    She purred. “Likewise, Mrs. Jewell.”
    â€œI wish it were that time already,” I breathed against her lips.
    â€œOnly”—she glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner—“fifty-five minutes.” She fiddled with the buttons of my high-collared cheongsam. “Alva?”
    â€œMm?”
    â€œYou know what’d be great?”
    I kissed her again. “What?”
    â€œIf it were our honeymoon already.” She peered at me from underneath her full lashes.
    I bit my lips and lifted her onto a nearby mahogany table. The months of preparations for our big day had been strenuous and crazy. Some nights, exhausted and faced with a to-do list that didn’t ever seem to get shorter, we had fought hard to remember why we were doing this.

    But no matter what, she was and always would be the most wonderful woman I had ever kissed, and nothing could ever make me forget it.
    I traced the outline of her silk gown from the shoulder straps down to her breasts. I could feel her stiffen though she didn’t seem to move. I traced the shape of her breast over the material of her dress and lingered on her nipple, which