Chapter 8: Wine, Whispers, and Warnings
The knock came at seven sharp.
Riley stood on the small porch of Kenzie's cottage with a bottle of Malbec in one hand and her heart lodged somewhere between her ribs and her throat. The house was smaller than she'd expected—white siding, black shutters, a single dormer window glowing warm against the evening dark. A row of potted herbs lined the steps. Lavender. Rosemary. Something she couldn't name.
She'd rehearsed a dozen openings on the drive over. Hey. Hi. I brought wine. Every single one felt like sandpaper in her mouth.
The door swung open before she could knock again.
Kenzie stood in the doorway, backlit by candles flickering somewhere deep in the house. She wore a soft gray sweater that hung off one shoulder and jeans that hugged every curve Riley had spent the night memorizing. Her hair was down, loose waves brushing her collarbone. She smelled like vanilla and garlic and something floral underneath.
"You're early," Kenzie said.
"By two minutes."
"I was counting."
Riley's mouth went dry. "You were?"
Kenzie reached out, caught the front of Riley's jacket—her leather one, the one she'd worn a hundred times to a hundred bars—and pulled her inside. The door clicked shut behind them.
The kiss was slow. Deliberate. Kenzie's hands slid up Riley's chest, over her shoulders, into the short hair at the nape of her neck. Riley let herself sink into it, let the tension drain out of her spine, let the wine bottle hang forgotten at her side.
When they broke apart, Kenzie was smiling.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"Come on. Dinner's almost ready."
The cottage opened into a kitchen that looked nothing like Riley's apartment. Where Riley had maps and MRE wrappers and a coffee mug that had been there for three days, Kenzie had warmth. Butcher-block counters, a farmhouse sink, a single crooked mirror above it that reflected the flickering fire from the next room. Framed photos lined the walls—family, friends, a golden retriever that must have died years ago. A pot of coffee simmered on the stove, filling the air with the bitter-sweet promise of caffeine.
A lasagna sat cooling on the island, steam curling off its surface. Garlic bread. A salad in a ceramic bowl. The table was set for two, with mismatched mugs and cloth napkins folded into triangles.
"You made all this?" Riley asked.
"I stress-cook."
"You were stressed?"
Kenzie shot her a look. "I was hosting a Marine. You people are terrifying."
"We're not that bad."
"You literally yelled at someone for putting the toilet paper roll on backwards yesterday."
Riley snorted. "That was Lance Corporal Meyers. He's a menace."
Kenzie laughed, and the sound loosened something in Riley's chest. She set the wine on the counter and shed her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.
"You want a tour?" Kenzie asked.
"Sure."
The tour took four minutes. Living room with a stone hearth and a couch that had seen better days. A hallway lined with more photos. A bathroom with a clawfoot tub and a collection of seashells on the windowsill. And at the end of the hall, the bedroom—a queen bed with a quilt that looked hand-stitched, a dresser with a jewelry box and a Bible resting on top of it.
Riley's eyes caught on the Bible. She didn't say anything.
Kenzie noticed her noticing. "My grandmother's," she said quietly. "She left it to me when she died."
"It's beautiful."
"It's complicated." Kenzie turned away, heading back toward the kitchen. "Come on. The lasagna's getting cold."
They sat across from each other at the small table, the candles flickering between them. Riley poured the wine. Kenzie served the food.
"So," Kenzie said, twirling her fork through a bite of lasagna. "How was your day?"
"You first."
Kenzie groaned. "Started with a call at six—some asshole in a lifted truck decided to play chicken with a school bus. Ended up chasing him through three neighborhoods before he wrapped his truck around a fire hydrant."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah. He's fine, by the way. Just drunk and stupid." Kenzie took a sip of wine. "What about you?"
Riley hesitated. "Wallace and Tran."
"What about them?"
"They were at formation this morning. Smirking at me across the gravel. Tran gave me a thumbs up. Wallace just—" Riley mimicked a slow, knowing nod. "Told me my boots were on the wrong feet."
Kenzie laughed into her wine. "They weren't."
"No. But what was I supposed to do, argue?"
"They know."
"Oh, they definitely know."
Kenzie's smile faded slightly. "Is that going to be a problem?"
Riley considered the question. "For me? No. They're good Marines. They'll give me shit for a week, then it'll be old news. But I don't know how far it'll spread. Word travels fast in a unit."
"Unit gossip," Kenzie said. "I know how that works. The station is worse than a church potluck."
"Well, you're a cop."
"And you're a Marine. We both signed up for lives where everyone knows everyone else's business."
Riley reached for her wine. "True."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. The lasagna was good—rich and cheesy and just spicy enough to warm Riley's chest. The wine was better.
Kenzie set down her fork with a soft clink. When she looked up, her expression had shifted. Something heavy behind her eyes.
"What?" Riley asked.
"My mom called today."
Riley's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "Yeah?"
"She asked if I'd met anyone." Kenzie's fingers traced the rim of her wineglass. "She does this thing—every couple of weeks. Asks if there's anyone special, if I've been dating, if I've thought about maybe trying one of those apps. It's her way of checking in without checking in."
"What did you say?"
"I almost told her." Kenzie's voice was quiet. "I almost said I met someone. Someone I really like."
Riley set her fork down.
"I didn't," Kenzie continued. "I chickened out. Told her work's been busy and I haven't had time to date."
"Kenzie—"
"Don't." Kenzie held up a hand. "Don't tell me it's okay. I know it's going to take time. I know I can't just—" She stopped. Breathed. "I just wanted you to know. That I thought about it. That I wanted to."
Riley reached across the table and took her hand.
Kenzie's fingers were cold. Riley wrapped them in her own.
"I'm proud of you," Riley said.
Kenzie blinked. "For what? I didn't actually do anything."
"For thinking about it. For being honest with me about it." Riley squeezed her hand. "That's not nothing."
Kenzie's eyes glistened. She pulled her hand back and wiped at her face with the edge of her napkin.
"You keep doing that," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Making me cry."
"Not on purpose."
"I know." Kenzie laughed, a watery sound. "That's the worst part."
They cleared the plates together. Riley washed, Kenzie dried. Their hips brushed at the sink—once, twice, a third time that wasn't an accident. Kenzie put the leftovers in a glass container while Riley finished the dishes.
"What comes next?" Kenzie asked.
Riley dried her hands on a dish towel. "What do you mean?"
"With us. With—" Kenzie gestured vaguely at the space between them. "With all of it. How do we tell your dad? How do we deal with the base gossip? Do I come to your unit barbecue?"
"Unit barbecue?"
"Wallace mentioned something about one last week. When I was leaving your apartment."
Riley groaned. "Wallace has a big mouth."
"So I've gathered."
Riley leaned against the counter. The candles were burning low now, their flames barely flickering. The fire in the hearth had died to glowing embers.
"I don't know what comes next," Riley admitted. "I've never done this before."
"Done what?"
"Any of it. The dating thing. The introducing-people-to-my-dad thing. The telling-my-unit thing." Riley crossed her arms. "I've spent my whole life keeping people at arm's length. Hookups. One-night stands. Nothing that lasted longer than a weekend."
"And now?"
Riley looked at her. At the soft sweater and the loose hair and the eyes that held so much hope and fear and want.
"Now I'm standing in your kitchen trying to figure out how to tell my father I'm falling for the girl I used to stare at in high school."
Kenzie's breath caught.
"I didn't mean to say that," Riley said quickly. "The falling part. Not that it's not true. Fuck. I'm bad at this."
Kenzie crossed the kitchen. She took Riley's face in her hands and kissed her. Slow. Soft. The kind of kiss that didn't demand anything, just offered.
"You're not bad at this," Kenzie murmured against her lips. "You're just human."
"I hate being human."
"I know." Kenzie kissed her again. "But I like you anyway."
Riley's hands found Kenzie's waist, sliding under the hem of her sweater. Skin against skin. Warm. She could feel Kenzie's heartbeat through her ribs, quick and steady.
"I want you," Kenzie whispered.
Riley pulled back just enough to look at her. "Yeah?"
"Since this morning. Since you left. I've been thinking about you all day." Kenzie's cheeks flushed. "I couldn't focus. I almost wrote a ticket to a parked car because I was thinking about your mouth."
Riley laughed. "A parked car?"
"It was in the wrong spot."
"Kenzie."
"I know. I'm a mess." She leaned her forehead against Riley's. "But I'm your mess."
Riley kissed her harder this time. Hands sliding up Kenzie's back, under the sweater, feeling the ridge of her spine through the fabric. Kenzie made a small sound—part gasp, part moan—and Riley swallowed it.
They stumbled through the kitchen, past the table, into the living room. The couch was closer than the bedroom. Riley lowered Kenzie onto the cushions and climbed on top of her, one knee between her thighs.
"Wait," Kenzie said.
Riley froze. "What?"
"Nothing bad." Kenzie reached for the hem of Riley's shirt. "Just—off. Now."
Riley pulled the shirt over her head. Her sports bra followed. Kenzie's hands found her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and Riley hissed through her teeth.
"Fuck," she breathed.
Kenzie smirked. "Yeah."
She sat up, pushing Riley back against the armrest. Her sweater came off. Then her jeans, peeled down over her hips, tossed to the floor. She was wearing the pink lace again—the same bra, the same thong from the night before.
"You wore it again," Riley said.
"I hoped you'd come back."
Riley reached for her. Kenzie settled over her, straddling Riley's hips. Her bare legs pressed against Riley's sides. Her heat radiated through the lace.
"Tell me what you want," Kenzie murmured.
Riley's hands slid up Kenzie's thighs. "Your mouth."
"Where?"
"Fucking everywhere."
Kenzie kissed her. Slow at first. Then deeper. Tongue sweeping into Riley's mouth, tasting wine and lasagna and the mint gum she'd chewed in the truck on the way over.
She kissed down Riley's jaw. Her throat. Her collarbone. She paused at Riley's breasts, sucking one nipple into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue until Riley arched off the couch.
"Fuck, Kenzie—"
Kenzie moved lower. Her lips brushed over Riley's stomach, over the waistband of her jeans. She popped the button. Pulled the zipper down with her teeth.
Riley's hips bucked.
"Patient," Kenzie said.
"I'm going to kill you."
Kenzie laughed. She pulled Riley's jeans down over her hips, over her thighs, over the boots she hadn't bothered to take off. Riley kicked them to the floor and lay there in her boxers, breathing hard.
Kenzie straddled her again. She ground her hips down, the wet heat of her cunt pressing through the lace against Riley's thigh. Riley grabbed her ass and pulled her closer.
"Fuck me," Riley said. "Stop teasing."
Kenzie's eyes darkened. She reached between them, her fingers finding Riley through the damp cotton of her boxers.
"You're wet," she said.
"No shit."
Kenzie pulled the boxers down. Riley lifted her hips, helped her get them off. Then she was bare, spread open on Kenzie's couch, the firelight flickering over her skin.
Kenzie knelt between her legs.
She started slow. Two fingers, sliding through Riley's folds, gathering wetness, spreading it over her clit. Riley's breath hitched. Her hands fisted in the couch cushions.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Kenzie leaned down. Her tongue replaced her fingers, flat and warm against Riley's cunt. Riley's back arched. A moan ripped from her throat.
"Kenzie—"
Kenzie didn't stop. She licked up and down Riley's slit, circling her clit, dipping into her hole and back out. Her fingers found Riley's entrance and pushed inside, slow and deep, while her tongue worked her clit.
Riley's legs shook.
She looked down. Kenzie's blonde hair was spread across her thighs. Kenzie's mouth was on her. Kenzie was fucking devouring her like she hadn't eaten in days.
"Fuck," Riley gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Kenzie added a second finger. Then a third. She curled them on every thrust, hitting something inside Riley that made her see stars.
"Right there," Riley moaned. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop."
Kenzie didn't. She fucked Riley with her fingers, tongue buried in her clit, until Riley's whole body was trembling, until the pressure in her belly was unbearable, until she was right on the edge—
"Come for me," Kenzie whispered against her.
Riley shattered.
The orgasm ripped through her like a current. Her back arched off the couch. Her thighs clamped around Kenzie's head. A scream tore from her throat, raw and broken and fucking loud.
Kenzie kept going. Fingers still moving, tongue still working, drawing it out until Riley was twitching and whimpering and trying to push her away.
She finally pulled back. Her mouth was wet. Her chin glistened.
"Holy shit," Riley breathed.
Kenzie crawled up her body. She kissed her. Riley tasted herself on Kenzie's lips, salt and musk and something sweet underneath.
"Good?" Kenzie asked.
Riley laughed. Breathless. "You know it was."
Kenzie smiled. She looked almost shy.
"That's the first time I've done that without—" She stopped. "Without thinking about anything else."
Riley frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" Kenzie bit her lip. "I've always had this thing in my head. This voice telling me it's wrong. That I'm wrong. That I shouldn't want this."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight I didn't hear it." Kenzie traced Riley's jaw. "I was too busy thinking about how good you taste."
Riley pulled her down. Kissed her. Deep and slow.
"I want to taste you," Riley said.
Kenzie's breath hitched. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
Kenzie hesitated. Then she nodded.
Riley rolled them over. Kenzie landed on her back with a soft oof, her hair fanning out across the cushions. Riley settled between her legs.
"Can I take these off?" Riley asked, fingers on the thong.
"Please."
Riley peeled the lace down. Kenzie lifted her hips, helped her get it off. Riley tossed it aside and looked down at her.
Kenzie was perfect. Golden skin, flushed pink, thighs parted, wet and waiting. The same pink lace bra still sat on her breasts, and Riley decided to leave it. There was something about the contrast that made her mouth water.
"Tell me what you like," Riley said.
"Everything."
"Be specific."
Kenzie laughed. Then she bit her lip. "I like it slow. At first. Then I like—" She stopped.
"What?"
"I like being held down. And I like when someone uses their tongue. And I like—" She stopped again.
"Kenzie."
"I like when a girl makes me come more than once."
Riley's stomach flipped. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Riley lowered her mouth to Kenzie's cunt.
She started slow. Soft. Licking up and down, learning the shape of her. Kenzie's hips twitched. Her hands found Riley's hair, fingers tangling, not pulling yet.
Riley slid two fingers inside. Kenzie groaned. Her back arched.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Riley curled her fingers. Kenzie gasped. Her nails scratched against Riley's scalp.
"There," Kenzie said. "Right there."
Riley found a rhythm. Tongue on her clit, fingers inside her, steady and deep. Kenzie's breathing got faster. Her hips rocked up to meet Riley's hand.
"Don't stop," she said.
Riley didn't.
Kenzie came with a broken cry. Her thighs clamped around Riley's head. Her whole body shook. Riley kept going, tongue and fingers still moving, drawing it out.
Then she didn't stop.
Kenzie gasped. "Riley—"
"You said more than once."
"I—" Kenzie laughed, breathless. "I didn't mean—"
"Too late."
Riley fucked her through the sensitivity, slowing down just enough to let her breathe, then building again. Kenzie's hands fisted in her hair. Her hips bucked. She was babbling now—curses and prayers and Riley's name, over and over.
The second orgasm hit harder. Kenzie screamed. Her whole body convulsed, legs shaking, eyes rolling back.
Riley pulled her fingers out. Licked her clean. Then crawled up the couch and gathered Kenzie into her arms.
Kenzie was trembling. Sweat-slicked and flushed and glassy-eyed.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Riley kissed her forehead. "Yeah."
"I didn't know I could—" Kenzie stopped. Swallowed. "I've never come twice before."
"Ever?"
"Ever."
Riley grinned. "Well. Now you have."
Kenzie laughed. She turned her face into Riley's neck and breathed.
They lay tangled on the couch. The fire had died to ash. The candles were out. The only light came from the moon outside the window, pale and silver through the curtains.
"Stay tonight," Kenzie murmured.
"I was going to."
"My bed's more comfortable than this couch."
"Your bed's smaller than this couch."
"Then we'll get creative."
Riley laughed. She kissed Kenzie's hair. Then she stood up, pulled Kenzie to her feet, and led her down the hall.
The quilt was soft. The pillows smelled like lavender. Kenzie curled against Riley's side, head on her shoulder, arm across her stomach.
"What are you thinking about?" Kenzie asked.
"Your mom."
Kenzie stiffened. "What?"
"Not like that." Riley turned her head. "I'm thinking about you telling her. About what you'd say."
"I don't know what I'd say."
"You could start simple. 'Mom, I met someone.'"
Kenzie was quiet.
"Or you don't have to tell her anything," Riley continued. "It's your call. Your family. Your timeline."
"She's going to ask eventually."
"Then you'll answer eventually."
Kenzie lifted her head. "What about your dad?"
"What about him?"
"When are you going to tell him it's me?"
Riley considered. "He asked about you this morning. Wanted to know if you were the one with the blonde hair and the mouth."
"And what did you say?"
"I said yes."
Kenzie's eyes widened. "You told him about my mouth?"
"I told him you had a smart mouth. He laughed."
"That's—" Kenzie paused. "That's actually kind of sweet."
"He's a good man. He'll like you."
"You think?"
"I know."
Kenzie settled back against her. Her breathing evened out. Her hand found Riley's and threaded their fingers together.
"I'm scared," Kenzie whispered.
"I know."
"But I'm not running."
Riley squeezed her hand.
"Good."
The silence stretched. Comfortable. Warm. Riley closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she had formation at six. Tomorrow, Wallace and Tran would give her more shit. Tomorrow, she'd have to figure out how to be a Gunnery Sergeant and a girlfriend and a daughter and everything else all at once.
But tonight, she was in Kenzie's bed. Kenzie's head on her shoulder. Kenzie's breath against her skin.
Tonight, that was enough.
She drifted off to sleep with Kenzie's voice in her ear, soft and sleepy and certain.
"Stay."
And Riley did.