Chapter 6: First Taste
The name hung between them like a guillotine blade. Natalie. Nathan flinched at the sound of his own sharp voice echoing off the clutter, the word tasting like ash. Molly just stared, her mug frozen halfway to her lips, eyes wide pools of hurt and confusion. The cheap bourbon smell suddenly felt medicinal, harsh.
He looked away first, down into his own mug. The amber liquid blurred. "Shit. Mol, I'm..." The apology died in his throat. Sorry for what? The name? The body? The terrifying, impossible everything? He scrubbed a hand over his face, the skin feeling disturbingly smooth beneath his palm. "I didn't mean... it’s just..." Words failed him. His chest felt tight, unfamiliar breasts pressing against the thin cotton of his tee with every shallow breath. Alien. Wrong. Yet the phantom echo of the intense, body-shaking pleasure she’d drawn from him just minutes ago still hummed under his skin, a traitorous warmth low in his belly.
Molly lowered her mug slowly to the coffee table, the clunk loud in the silence. She didn’t speak. She just watched him, her usual sunny brightness replaced by a deep, unnerving stillness. Her gaze traveled over him again – the broad shoulders pulled taut, the clenched jaw, the undeniable swell beneath his shirt, the way his sweatpants draped over newly curved hips. Her own body still hummed with the echoes of her climax, tangled with his desperate outburst.
"What do you want, Nate?" she finally asked, her voice quiet, stripped bare. "Forget the name. Forget... forget what this is for a second." She gestured vaguely at his body. "Right now. In this room. What do you need?" Her eyes searched his, pleading for something concrete in the swirling chaos. "Coffee? More bourbon? Silence? To scream?" She paused, the air crackling. "Or... do you still need me?"
The question punched the air out of him. Do you still need me? Not just as Molly-his-best-friend, but as Molly-the-woman who had just unraveled him with her touch, whose taste still lingered on his lips from... from when he had... Fragmented memories flooded back: the dizzying intimacy, the shared heat, the desperate exploration that felt both terrifyingly new and profoundly right. The ache she’d awoken hadn't vanished with his panicked outburst; it had merely retreated, coiled tight and waiting beneath the fear.
He looked at her. Really looked. Saw the flush still high on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her hand resting on the table, the way her lips were slightly parted. He saw the flicker of the same desperate, confusing hunger he felt reflected back at him. It mirrored the need that had driven him to touch her earlier, to guide her hand, to explore the impossible map of his own transformed flesh. It was reckless, terrifying, a plunge off a cliff they couldn’t climb back from.
But the fear of staying frozen, trapped in this awful limbo, suddenly felt worse.
He didn't answer with words. His mug clattered onto the table, bourbon sloshing. He stood, the movement unsteady, his body feeling unfamiliar and heavy. He stepped towards her, the space between them vanishing in two strides. His hands, trembling violently, came up to frame her face, thumbs brushing the delicate bones of her cheeks. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening further, locked onto his.
He leaned down, closing the distance. Not a gentle kiss, not a question. A collision. His lips crashed against hers, clumsy, desperate, fueled by bourbon and terror and that relentless, humiliating ache. It was fierce, almost punishing, a raw transfer of all the chaos inside him.
Molly gasped against his mouth, a sound swallowed instantly. For a split second, she stiffened. Then, with a low moan that vibrated against his lips, she melted. Her hands flew up, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Her mouth opened under his, yielding, demanding. She tasted faintly of bourbon and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Molly. The taste triggered a cascade – the memory of her scent on his fingers earlier, the slick heat he’d discovered between her legs, the blinding intensity of her climax. It ignited the embers low in his own belly into a roaring blaze.
The kiss became frantic, messy. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled. His hands slid down from her face, over the thin fabric of her top, tracing the dip of her waist, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him. The feel of her curves against his new softness, the hard press of her breasts against his own sensitive ones through the layers of fabric, sent jolts of sensation through him. That deep, specific ache intensified, a demanding throb centered between his legs. He groaned into her mouth, hips grinding instinctively against hers, seeking friction, seeking her.
Molly broke the kiss, panting, her lips swollen, eyes dark. "Nate..."
He didn't let her finish. His mouth trailed hot, wet kisses down her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered wildly. She gasped, arching against him, her fingers tightening painfully in his hair. "Yes," she breathed, the sound ragged. "God, yes."
Driven by instinct and the memory of her earlier guidance – "Like this…" – he sank to his knees before her on the worn rug. The movement felt jarringly unfamiliar in his altered body, a strange echo of every time he'd knelt to tie his shoe, yet charged with unbearable intimacy. He looked up at her, his breath coming fast, his face level with the junction of her thighs, the simple cotton barrier of her underwear.
Molly stared down, her chest heaving. Her hands slid from his hair to cradle his face, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. "You don't have to..." she whispered, but the tremor in her voice, the raw need in her eyes, screamed the opposite.
"I know," he breathed, the words thick. "I want to." The ache within him pulsed, urgent and undeniable. He needed to give her what she’d given him. To understand this terrifying new connection. To lose himself in her. "Show me." His voice was rough, echoing her plea from before. "Show me what you need."
He saw the shudder run through her. One hand left his face, fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear. She pushed them down over her hips, letting them fall to her ankles, stepping out. The scent of her arousal, musky and rich, filled his senses instantly, heady and primal. It was different now, immediate, overwhelming. It pulled at the ache deep inside him, making his newly sensitized core throb in response.
Her fingers slid into his damp curls, not guiding yet, just holding. He felt her trembling. He looked up the length of her body – the smooth skin of her thighs, the dark triangle of curls, the glistening folds revealed beneath. He remembered the slick heat he’d felt earlier with his fingers, the tight bud he’d circled until she screamed.
Hesitantly, his own hands came up to rest on her hips, steadying her, steadying himself. He leaned forward, drawn by her scent, by the unbearable need radiating from her. His nose brushed the soft skin of her inner thigh. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.
He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin there. Then another, higher. His tongue flicked out, a tentative stroke against her outer folds. The taste exploded on his tongue – salt, musk, something uniquely her – and it detonated something deep within him. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, shocked hunger he’d never made before. It was primal, bypassing thought.
Molly cried out, her hips jerking slightly. "Nate..."
Encouraged, driven by the taste, the scent, the desperate ache inside him that mirrored hers, he flicked his tongue again, firmer this time, tracing the swollen contours. He found the slick entrance, his tongue dipping shallowly. Her taste flooded his senses again, richer, deeper. His mind blanked. There was only sensation, instinct, and the overwhelming imperative to consume.
He moaned against her, the vibration making her shudder violently. Her fingers clenched in his hair, not guiding, but anchoring. "Oh god... yes... like that..." she gasped.
He needed more. He needed to find that spot, the one that made her arch and cry out. He remembered his own impossible sensitivity, the electric jolt when she’d circled his nipple, the devastating pulse when she’d found the core of him. Her thumb, pressing...
His tongue slid upwards, searching, tracing the hooded flesh. He found it. A hard, tight nub, slick and hot. He circled it, experimentally, with the flat of his tongue.
Molly’s reaction was instantaneous. A sharp cry tore from her throat, her back arching, hips pushing forward against his mouth. "THERE! Oh fuck, NATE, THERE!"
The desperation in her voice, the raw pleasure, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through him. He focused, circling that tiny, powerful bud with relentless pressure, learning her rhythm from her gasps and the frantic movements of her hips. He dipped his tongue lower again, tasting her deeply, then surged back up to circle the bud. Over and over. His own neglected arousal throbbed fiercely, a counterpoint rhythm, the slickness between his own thighs undeniable now. He could smell it mingling with hers in the thick air.
He lost himself in the rhythm, in the taste, in the sounds she made – gasps escalating into choked moans, breaths ragged and sharp. He felt the tension coiling in her body, the tremors running through her thighs under his hands. Her fingers were practically clawing at his scalp now. "Don't stop... please... I'm so close... oh god, Nate, I'm..." Her voice broke on a sob.
Her climax hit like a breaking wave. She cried out, a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the walls, her body bowing violently. Her thighs clamped around his head, holding him tight against her as she shattered. He kept his mouth on her, tongue working through the pulsing contractions, tasting the sharp increase in her slickness, feeling the powerful tremors rock her frame. An echo of that intense, blinding pleasure reverberated through his own core, making him moan helplessly against her.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. Her grip on his hair loosened, turning into a shaky caress. Her breathing was ragged, coming in great gulps. She slumped slightly, leaning against the edge of the couch for support.
Nathan remained kneeling, his forehead resting against her trembling thigh. His own breath was harsh, his lips and chin slick. The taste of her was everywhere, heady and profound. The ache inside him was a deep, insistent throb, sharpened to a razor's edge by what he’d just done, by the power he’d felt in giving her that release. His body felt alien, vibrating with unspent tension and the lingering, terrifyingly intimate connection. He looked up, his vision slightly blurred.
Molly gazed down at him, her face flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark, filled with a dazed wonder that mirrored his own chaos. Her hand slid down, fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, slick with her. She didn't speak. Neither did he. The silence was louder than any scream, thick with the scent of sex and bourbon and the impossible thing they'd just plunged into, together. The fairy lights seemed impossibly bright, illuminating the wreckage of their old friendship and the terrifying, uncharted territory they now occupied, breathless on their knees.
The fairy lights seemed impossibly bright, illuminating the wreckage of their old friendship and the terrifying, uncharted territory they now occupied, breathless on her knees. Natalie’s cheek rested against the damp heat of Molly’s inner thigh, the scent of her arousal, sharp and musky, filling her nose, mingling with the fading bergamot candles. Her own body throbbed in a low, insistent echo, a hollow ache beneath the slickness between her own legs that felt both alien and unbearably familiar.
Molly’s fingers, trembling slightly, brushed damp strands of hair from Natalie’s forehead. Her voice, when it came, was a raw whisper, thick with spent pleasure and something else – a hesitant awe. "Wow. Okay." She swallowed, her gaze tracing the line of Natalie’s jaw, slick with her. "That was... unexpected."
"Which part?" Natalie mumbled against Molly’s skin, the words muffled. "The before? Or the... kneel-and-service?" She couldn’t bring herself to look up yet. Shame warred with a strange, humming satisfaction. She’d done that. Made Molly shatter. With her mouth.
"All of it," Molly breathed, her thumb tracing Natalie’s lower lip. "The whole damn exploding reality part." A shaky laugh escaped her. "Feel like I just ran a marathon backwards." She shifted her weight, a faint wince crossing her features. "Definitely need new life goals now. 'Survive best friend’s spontaneous gender-bending' wasn’t on the list."
Natalie finally lifted her head. Molly’s face was flushed, eyes still dark, but the frantic edge was gone, replaced by a kind of exhausted wonder. Seeing it, the sheer acceptance in her gaze, loosened something tight in Natalie’s chest, just a fraction. "Yeah? What was? 'Master sourdough'? 'Learn interpretive dance'?" The attempt at lightness felt brittle, a shield against the sheer enormity of her own changed reflection she knew shimmered in Molly’s eyes.
Molly snorted. "Interpretive dance, maybe. Seems apt right now." Her smile softened, turning almost shy. "You were... good. Like, unnervingly good." Her gaze dipped to Natalie’s mouth again. "The... the focus. Like you knew exactly..." She trailed off, color deepening on her cheeks. "Sorry. That’s probably weird."
"Probably?" Natalie rasped, pushing herself back onto her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The taste of Molly lingered, complex and intimate. "Mol, we’re redefining ‘weird’. Like, dictionary rewrite territory." She gestured vaguely at her own body, the unfamiliar weight on her chest shifting under the thin tee. "Kneeling here? Liking that?" A shaky breath escaped her. "Major league weird."
Molly’s laugh was a soft puff of air, still breathless. "Point taken." Her fingers, warm and slightly sticky, traced the shell of Natalie’s ear. "But… good weird? In the apocalyptic sense?" Her gaze held Natalie’s, searching. The bourbon’s warmth had faded, replaced by a different kind of heat radiating between them, thick in the cluttered apartment air. "You okay? Like, actually?"
Natalie looked down at her own hands, resting on her thighs. They trembled slightly. The low throb between her legs hadn’t subsided; if anything, witnessing Molly’s climax had intensified it, a persistent, needy pulse echoing the rhythm she’d just learned on Molly’s body. "Define okay," she muttered. "Feels like my wiring got crossed. Every signal's on fire." She met Molly’s eyes, the vulnerability raw. "But… yeah. Mostly. Just… lost."
Molly slid down from her perch on the couch edge, landing softly beside Natalie on the worn rug. Their knees brushed. The scent of sex, sweat, and vanilla candles was overwhelming. "Join the club," she murmured, leaning her shoulder gently against Natalie’s. The contact sent a fresh jolt through Natalie’s sensitized nerves. "Never navigated ‘my best friend grew boobs and then rocked my world with her tongue’ before. Steep learning curve."
A reluctant, shaky grin touched Natalie’s lips. "Priorities, Molls. Sourdough’s got nothing on this." She shifted, the unfamiliar contours of her hips pressing into the rug. "Though I wouldn’t say no to some carbs right now." The casualness felt fragile, a thin shield over the churning mess inside.
Molly chuckled, the sound warmer now. "Later." Her hand rested on Natalie’s knee, thumb making small, unconscious circles. "Right now…" Her gaze drifted downwards, not to Natalie’s chest, but lower. Back towards her own exposed thighs. The raw, musky scent seemed to intensify. A flush crept back up her neck. "That ache…" she whispered, her voice dropping. "Is it… still there?"
Natalie’s breath hitched. The directness, the shared understanding of that specific, demanding emptiness, was electric. Her skin prickled. "Yeah," she breathed. The word felt pulled from her core. "Like… a drumbeat you started." She looked at Molly, saw the echo of that need reflected in her darkened eyes. "Loud."
Molly’s fingers tightened slightly on her knee. Her other hand lifted, fingertips brushing Natalie’s cheek, tracing the line down to her jaw. They came away slightly damp. The look she gave Natalie wasn't just curious now; it was hungry. Possessive. "Want to quiet it?" The question hung, charged. "Or… make it louder?"
The invitation was a live wire. Fear warred with the relentless pull low in Natalie’s belly. The memory of Molly’s taste, the feel of her trembling against Natalie’s mouth, the shocking power of giving her that release… it flooded back, overpowering the lingering panic. She needed that connection again. That anchor in the storm of her own transformation.
Natalie didn’t answer with words. She leaned forward, drawn by Molly’s scent, by the heat radiating from her skin, by the desperate thrumming in her own veins. Her fingers found Molly’s hips, pulling her closer on the rug. Molly yielded instantly, a soft sigh escaping her as Natalie guided her gently onto her back.
Natalie hovered over her for a moment, drinking in the sight – the flush on Molly’s skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the glistening folds still visible between her parted thighs. The ache within Natalie sharpened to a keen edge. She lowered her head, her breath warm against Molly’s skin, nuzzling the soft hair at the apex of her thighs. The scent, rich and primal, filled her senses completely, drowning out everything else.
Molly gasped, her hands instantly tangling in Natalie’s hair again. "Yes," she breathed, arching her hips slightly. "Please." Her voice was thick, ragged with need. "Again."
Natalie needed no further urging. The taste, the scent, the sheer intimacy unlocked something primal. She lowered her mouth, her tongue finding Molly’s slick folds unerringly. She licked, a slow, deliberate stroke from bottom to top, gathering the essence of her. A low groan vibrated in Natalie’s own throat, the taste igniting a fresh wave of heat within her. She licked again, harder, delving deeper, seeking the source of Molly’s trembling.
Molly cried out, fingers tightening painfully in Natalie’s hair. "God, Natalie!" Her hips bucked upwards, seeking more contact. "Just like that! Don't stop!"
Natalie focused, her tongue circling Molly’s swollen clit with the same instinctive rhythm she’d learned moments before. She dipped lower, tasting her deeply, then surged back up. Over and over. The rhythm was hypnotic, driven by Molly’s gasps and moans, by the slick heat against her lips, by the answering throb in her own core that seemed to pulse in time with Molly’s building tension.
As Natalie’s tongue pressed harder, circling relentlessly, Molly’s body began to arch off the rug. Her moans turned into choked, guttural cries. Natalie felt the familiar tightening in Molly’s thighs, the frantic clutch of her fingers. She pressed her face closer, wanting to drown in her.
Suddenly, Molly gasped, a sound utterly different – sharp, surprised, almost shocked. "Oh! Oh, fuck! N-Natalie!"
Natalie felt it more than heard it first. A pressure. A new heat, impossibly intense, radiating from the very spot her tongue was lavishing. Something firm, smooth, and searingly hot pressed insistently against her lips, parting them. It wasn't Molly’s clit. It was something… more. Substantial. Thick. Throbbing with heat.
Confused, Natalie tried to pull back slightly, but Molly’s hands clamped down on the back of her head, holding her firmly in place. "No! Don't… don't stop!" Molly’s voice was a desperate rasp, laced with a strange, breathless delight. "It's… oh god, it's happening… it's so good!"
The pressure intensified. Natalie’s eyes flew open, staring blurrily at the smooth skin before her. What met her gaze wasn't just Molly’s familiar sex. Nestled just above her glistening pussy, impossibly, a thick, rigid shaft of smooth, flushed flesh had emerged. It strained upwards, pulsing visibly, its broad, velvety head slick with what looked like pre-cum, pressing directly against Natalie’s parted lips.
Panic flared, cold and sharp. But it was instantly drowned out by a wave of pure, overwhelming sensation. The heat of it seared her mouth. The smooth, velvety texture was alien, yet somehow deeply familiar in its pulsing life. The musky, salty scent was different, richer, mingling with Molly’s familiar aroma. And the sheer presence of it, pressing against her lips, demanding entry…
Molly moaned, long and deep, her hips lifting higher, pushing that impossible heat further into Natalie’s mouth. "Yesss… take it… please, Natalie…" Her voice was thick with wonder and undeniable pleasure.
Instinct took over. Natalie’s lips closed around the smooth, hot crown. The taste exploded – salt, musk, something uniquely male yet undeniably Molly. It flooded her senses. Her tongue instinctively explored the swollen ridge beneath the head, the silky-smooth shaft pressing against her palate. A guttural moan vibrated from deep within Natalie’s own chest, muffled by the thick flesh filling her mouth. The ache between her own legs became a white-hot brand.
Molly cried out again, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her hands held Natalie’s head firmly, guiding the slow, tentative slide of her mouth down the impossibly hard, impossibly hot length now stretching her lips wide. "Oh god… yes… just like that… you feel… incredible…"