#dissolving me

“Tilt your chin,”

The day was gloomy. The sky was a compilation of shades of dark grey and the light from the sun wasn’t even poking through, anymore. It was overcast and looked like it might start raining at any minute. There was a slight humidity in the air which only indicated that when it did start raining, it was going to pour. Héloïse held tightly onto her umbrella, waiting to open it the moment she felt a drop of rain on her head.

Her heels clacked against the concrete, each step being taken quickly after the last, as if she were trying to lose someone that was following her. She never changed the direction of her stare, straight ahead of her. It was like she had locked eyes with someone and she needed to keep watching them to ensure that they didn’t disappear. But instead, it was just the view of the street, at the end of the park she was walking through.

Her hair was tied up into an amalgamation of curls. It was once tightly tied but was growing looser throughout the day, especially with the everso persistent wind. She was only a few blocks away from where she needed to be, where she was going to be spending the rest of her afternoon.

She was thankful and excited to receive the message that invited her over, that told her the studio was empty for the afternoon, that she should visit, in order to bring life to the place. Though it wasn’t said, it was known that without Héloïse, the apartment was bleak, it was heartless and boring. What was used as a studio truly became one, when she wasn’t there. A place of work, a place of constraints and limitations. All of that lifted when Héloïse was present, and everyone knew that.

She walked with a sense of pride, knowing that she was ever so desired.

“Look to the right,”

There was excitement flowing through her body, as she reached the apartment building. She couldn’t help it, every time she saw the building her stomach would fill with butterflies that were learning to fly, her heart would sputter like the engine of an old car that hadn’t been started for years, and her mind would melt into a puddle of goo that could no longer form rational, if any, thoughts. It was a dirty, old building, and yet it sparked such intricate and new feelings for the blonde.

It was twelve stories tall, dark windows lining the walls. It was a mixture of dark greys and light browns, like something out of a nineteenth century movie. The building existed in the shadows of the city, in an area that used to scare Héloïse. The people made her uneasy, she didn’t appreciate the stares, and the sudden shouts startled her.

The first time she had walked this way on her own, she considered turning around and going back to her family home. To go back to the safety of a nice neighbourhood, clean streets, and fancy cars. Gated homes with large bushes and nicely manicured lawns, neighbours who were incredibly intrusive and knew everything that was going on with everyone else. She knew that, despite the annoyance of that lifestyle, she felt safer in it than she ever felt in neighbourhoods like this.

It was almost like a guilty pleasure, to her, to leave that life, even for a few hours, and to go to this end of the city. She stood out, still incapable of finding something she could wear that would not spark questions when leaving the house, but that also didn’t draw in even more stares. She looked like she didn’t belong, like she took a wrong turn and somehow ended up in the gloomy park with the scent of urine wafting through the air and the sound of cars honking endlessly, when she was meant to be at some brunch event, drinking champagne and politely laughing at something someone said.

Her mother would be less than impressed, if not horrified, that Héloïse was in that end of town. Or to know that Héloïse was in that end of town quite often. Her mother would hate the thought of Héloïse walking up the stairs of the dusty, old apartment building, squeezing past strangers who wore old clothes and appeared to not be sober, strangers that just grunted when they bumped into her and didn’t even consider apologizing, strangers who looked at Héloïse and treated her like she was nothing.

“Lean forward,”

She crossed the street, a car refusing to slow down as she ran across the road, but she was barely bothered by it. She was much more focused on the fact that she was almost to where she wanted to be. She continued her way down the sidewalk until she was at the entrance of the building and luckily was able to slip through the door as someone was leaving.

The elevator was broken, it always was, and Héloïse knew that. She immediately went to the stairs, a minor inconvenience considering she was headed to the twelfth floor. The top floor. Héloïse was just thankful that the building wasn’t any taller than it was.

The staircase was narrow and smelled horrid, it was full of dust and random pieces of garbage. There was always a faint smell of smoke and Héloïse would wonder whether it was because the last person in the stairwell smelt of smoke, or if people would smoke in the stairwell, occasionally. Most of the time, she figured it was both.

There was no one in the stairwell while she made her way up, and for that Héloïse was thankful. She bounded up the stairs, overly excited to arrive. It had been a week and a half since she last was at the apartment, the studio, whichever it was to be called. She missed it, if she were being honest, though those words would never leave her mouth, she would never be willing to admit it.

Once she had reached the twelfth floor, her chest was rising and falling and she was slightly out of breath. The stuffiness of the stairwell did not aid in her goal to keep her breathing stable. But regardless, she continued her quick stride down the hallway, squeezing past a couple that stood outside the door of one of the apartments. The couple paused their conversation and watched her as she moved, but didn’t say anything to her. Héloïse barely noticed, far too preoccupied with her excitement.

She paused once she reached the door. She took a deep breath, giving one last attempt to slow her breathing down and level it out. She couldn’t work on it for too long, though, she felt a deep need to knock, to be inside, to be close. Before she could even think to do it, her hand was in a fist and she was knocking.

The moment that followed was agonizing. Seconds felt like hours, the waiting was insufferable. She itched with anticipation. But soon, the door flung open, and Héloïse’s smile grew as her eyes met with the person standing behind the door’s.

“Look at me.”

Héloïse was inside in seconds, her hands quickly finding Marianne. The first traveling up the back of her neck and lacing into her hair, the second resting against her cheek and pulling her closer. One of Marianne’s hands wrapped itself around Héloïse’s waist, catching the girl and holding her up, while the other shut the door. Héloïse brought their lips together the moment she crossed the threshold of the apartment, and felt Marianne laugh into the kiss, laugh at her eagerness.

“I missed you,” Héloïse whispered as their lips separated for a moment. It was like Marianne couldn’t get close enough, she wanted to be as close as possible. She kept pulling her closer, their kiss getting sloppier by the second as Héloïse ran her tongue across Marianne’s bottom lip, asking, if not pleading, for the kiss to be deeper, to be more.

But Marianne pulled away, even as Héloïse tried to follow, and smiled at the blonde woman. “I can tell.”

Héloïse didn’t remove herself from the closeness to Marianne, she was desperate to feel her body in whichever way possible. She moved her hand from Marianne’s hair so that she was cupping the brunette’s cheeks with both her hands.

“Well?” Héloïse questioned, but didn’t specify what in particular she was referring to.

“Well what?”

“Did you miss me?”

Marianne grinned and placed her free hand over top of one of the hands Héloïse had on her cheeks. She pulled the hand down to her lips and kissed the blonde’s palm. “You know I did.” She whispered.

And that was enough to satisfy Héloïse.

Marianne took her umbrella and her handbag and put them on a spare table, on the other side of the room. When she came back, Héloïse had finished taking off her jacket, which Marianne quickly took as well and draped it over a chair as she walked back into the apartment. Héloïse followed her closely, not wanting to be far away from the brunette. She was like a schoolgirl, obsessive and needy and desperate for Marianne. She was like a bee to a flower, always searching and always returning, desiring nothing more.

She expected Marianne to lead her back to her bed, or rather she hoped. But instead, Marianne went towards her camera that was sat on a tripod in the middle of the flat. Héloïse stopped when she saw that Marianne was already preoccupied with the camera, adjusting settings and angles. She let out a sigh, she wanted to roll her eyes and tell Marianne that she didn’t come over for a photoshoot, rather that she came because she wanted to see her, wanted to be with her.

“Marianne,” she said, trying to get the woman to pay attention to her again. When the brunette didn’t even look up from the camera, she repeated the woman’s name, but more harshly.

Marianne looked back up and over to Héloïse. She let out her own little huff, obviously wishing that Héloïse would just go along with what she wanted. She gave her a slight smile, if it could even be called that. The corner of her lips curled up slightly and she reached out a hand towards Héloïse, asking her to come closer.

Héloïse obliged, she let her shoulders fall slightly, and moved towards Marianne. She reached out her hand and let it fall into Marianne’s. Marianne dropped their hands, but ran her thumb across Héloïse’s knuckles as she spoke.

“Let me take your portrait, Héloïse.” The blonde’s eyes closed and she took a slow, but deep breath. “Please, darling.” And Héloïse softly nodded and whispered her agreement. She was weak to what Marianne wanted, she always was. She should have expected this, anyway, Marianne was insistent that she needed to take Héloïse’s portrait every time she visited.

It was the same since the first time Héloïse ended up at Marianne’s apartment. They had met at a club, one night when Héloïse’s mother was out of town. Her friend had convinced her to go out to some grimy club she had never heard of, telling her that it would be fun and that she should enjoy the time away from her mother. That she should take the time and use it to break the rules and do everything that wouldn’t be deemed ‘proper’, everything that would be considered to be gossip worthy, in their neighbourhood.

And so she went, she was the most sober of her friends, but still decently drunk. She was wearing her friend’s dress and a different friend’s earrings. They were out for hours, drinking and dancing and making friends with strangers, some strangers trying to become more than just friends. People bought them drinks and invited them to go to different clubs, to go to restaurants or even homes, but they were always denied.

Héloïse enjoyed herself, but not nearly as much as her friends were enjoying themselves. She found it all to be a little extensive. She wasn’t drunk enough to ignore the smell of sweat that lingered in the air, how her heels stuck to the floor in certain areas, and that some eyes lingered on her for longer than she liked. But eventually, as the night got later and later, her eyes met those of a stranger’s, at the opposite end of the bar, when she went to buy another drink. She didn’t smile, her face remained as blank and uninviting as it could be. She couldn’t tell if she was curious or offended by the fact that the stranger didn’t look away.

As the night went on, it happened again and again. The woman suddenly started appearing everywhere. Every time that Héloïse looked up, her eyes were met by those of the stranger’s.

Eventually, due to a combination of annoyance and vodka-induced bravery, she made her way across the room to this stranger.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” She demanded, her voice clear and strong, even through the music that blared in the club.

The woman wasn’t quick to respond, she finished her sip of her drink, placed the cup back down on the bar, and pushed the now empty glass towards the bartender. She broke her gaze with Héloïse to glance at the bartender and gave a smug smile, with a slight tip of her head. Soon, she turned back to Héloïse and gave her the same smug look that she gave the bartender.

“You kept looking back.”

And it wasn’t until that moment that Héloïse actually realized that. She felt slightly embarrassed, her mind instantly scattered and she didn’t know what to say or how to pretend that she wasn’t just as bad as the woman standing in front of her. Her cheeks filled with a light blush, which only made the woman’s smirk grow. And then Héloïse glanced away and chuckled, partially at herself and partially at the grin that the brunette was wearing.

“Let me buy you a drink.” She then said. And for the first time that night, Héloïse accepted that offer.

They talked for a little while, Héloïse learned that the woman’s name was Marianne, that she was a photographer, and that she liked to drink whisky. She asked questions that Héloïse wasn’t prepared for and she spoke with an eloquence that Héloïse didn’t expect from a woman she met in a bar. Héloïse would almost be able to mistake her for someone that she spoke to at a cocktail party, had she not been so vulgar and blunt.

When Marianne asked her if she wanted to go back to her apartment, Héloïse thought back to what her friend had said, and she agreed.

They smoked outside of the club as they waited for a taxi and Marianne kissed her in the cool night air. She tasted like the whisky she drank and the smoke she inhaled and Héloïse thought about how disappointed her mother would be if she knew that this was how she was spending her Friday night. That her mother thought she would be at home, reading a book or even watching a movie, that her mother would think the wildest thing she would do would be inviting a few friends over and drinking a bit too much wine.

But instead, she had a stranger’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, as her tongue slipped into her mouth. Héloïse’s arms were thrown around Marianne’s neck, most of her body weight being supported by the brunette, who was leaned up against a brick wall. Marianne pulled her lips away from her, every so often, to Héloïse’s displeasure, in order to take a drag of the cigarette. She smiled at the blonde’s clear annoyance and Héloïse swore that she started taking more drags just to spite her.

The cab ride was much the same, their lips rarely separate, except for gasps of air. It was sloppy and it felt freeing. Soft lips, hot spit, and a slightly voyeuristic cab driver. When Héloïse felt Marianne’s hand on her thigh and it’s slow descent upwards and under the skirt of her dress, she didn’t stop it. Near the end of the ride, Marianne’s hand was all the way to the top of her thigh, and the brunette ran her thumb softly over Héloïse’s underwear, causing her to gasp and moan into the kiss. However, she lowered her hand after that, leaving it on the woman’s thigh until the taxi came to a stop.

Marianne paid the driver and led Héloïse out, taking her hand in a way that reminded Héloïse of how her father used to lead her mother around. Like she was something special, something gentle. Like she needed to be cared for and dotted on. Héloïse always hated the thought of that being her, but with Marianne it felt different, and she couldn’t explain it.

As they took the stairs to the top of the building, there were pauses on almost every floor. Pauses where Marianne pulled her tight and kissed her like she was a long lost lover, like their love affair lasted centuries and they were finally returned to each other’s arms. On other floors, Héloïse kissed her like she was hungry, like she was thirsty and desperate, dying in the desert, and Marianne was a free flowing stream. They stumbled over each other’s feet, their lips crashed together, and warmth flowed through Héloïse’s body in a way she had never known.

When they arrived at Marianne's apartment, the brunette pushed her against the door and kissed her hard. Héloïse’s breathing was heavy, both from the stairs and due to Marianne’s touches. She leaned her head back against the door, trying to catch her breath, as Marianne’s lips slowly spread down her jaw, over her neck. Gentle kisses that made Héloïse’s eyes shut and her head spin. Soon though, Marianne pulled a key from her pocket and left it in the keyhole. She brought her lips back up to Héloïse’s lips, slowly kissing her along the way, and when she reached her lips, she kissed her tenderly. She unlocked the door and let Héloïse enter first.

Once they were inside, the blonde expected more of a rush, of an urgency to remove each other’s clothes, to reach the bed and to become entangled with one another. But Marianne didn’t rush, she watched Héloïse look around the apartment and she smiled. So, Héloïse took her time looking, though she wished she didn’t have to. She wanted so badly to feel Marianne’s skin against her own, to see and feel parts of this woman that she has yet to discover.

It was a boring and simple apartment, it was dark and barely looked like someone lived there. She was startled by the camera that was propped up in the centre of the living area and turned her head to raise an eyebrow at Marianne, who’s smile simply grew.

“I can’t tell if you’re going to kidnap me or try to turn this into a sextape.” Héloïse said, wanting an answer as to why the camera was set up in this way, but afraid of the answer.

Marianne didn’t answer her, however, she just responded by saying:

“Let me take your portrait.”

Héloïse was sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair that she often sat in. She watched Marianne play with the lighting, an endeared sense of annoyance clear on her face. Every time Marianne looked back to her, Héloïse’s eyes begged her to finish, to come closer. To forget about her camera and her photos. That she could take photos later, that she wanted— needed , Marianne close to her. But she knew Marianne too well to say it. If she said it, the brunette would drag it out, make her wait, make her beg, and then deny her even longer.

Thankfully, Marianne was soon back to the camera, finally ready to begin. Héloïse sat up straight, knowing that the traditional portrait shot was what Marianne always wanted to start with. She didn’t want a smile, just a deep gaze that held every secret. She listened to the clicking of the camera as photos were being taken and watched the way that Marianne got lost in her work. She couldn’t help but adore Marianne this way. She was so entranced, deep in her own world, so much so that Héloïse always wondered if she saw something different through the camera lens.

“Look away, off to the right.” Marianne told her.

She glanced off to the right, only turning her head slightly. She looked at the messy bed sheets and considered saying something, but she knew that Marianne would want her to stay quiet, right then. Marianne’s bed was never made, not unless Héloïse was doing it. She didn’t understand what was so difficult about making a bed in the morning, but the brunette refused every time the blonde mentioned it.

“Back to me now. Undo the first few buttons of your shirt.”

Héloïse smiled. She couldn’t stop herself, the words sent a chill through her body and filled her with that same excitement she felt when she was crossing town. Marianne looked at her, outside of the view of the camera, as Héloïse slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Marianne grinned, though it was clear that she was mildly agitated by Héloïse’s need to drag the moment out, annoyed that she clearly wanted to tease her. Once Héloïse had finally finished undoing the top three buttons of her white shirt, she spread the halves of the shirt a bit, just enough that her red bra was peaking through and the tops of her breasts were now visible.

Marianne looked her over, let her eyes linger on her now visible chest, but pulled herself back to her camera, to continue taking photographs. Some days, Héloïse wondered if Marianne hated that she wanted to do these photoshoots as much as Héloïse did.

She sat up in the same position she was in for the first portrait, her back straight and her left leg crossed over the right. Her hands were folded in her lap, resting mostly on her left thigh. Her eyes returned to the camera, though her head stayed with a slight tilt to the right, her jawline becoming ever so present in the photograph.

As the camera continued to snap photos, Héloïse moved her hands from her lap and began to untie her hair as she uncrossed her legs. She knew what Marianne wanted, she rarely needed any instructions. Marianne would guide her, some days. She would suggest something new, sometimes it was a new area of the apartment with a new lighting set up and sometimes it would be a pose that made Héloïse’s cheeks flush and her core tighten.

Once her hair was released, she shook her head to let it fall even looser, to wherever it wanted to be. She ran her fingers through it, for a moment, and revelled in the clicking that came from the camera.

It was something that she didn’t expect. She grew to adore being in front of the camera, having herself be photographed, so often. There was something about the rebellion of it, the liberation to be seen so vulnerable. There was something in the way Marianne made her feel, while doing it, that always left her feeling invigorated. She knew that she would never consider doing this for anyone else. Marianne made her feel like art. Precious and beautiful and endlessly real.

She slowly slouched into the chair, her feet spreading apart and her fingers going to the buttons of her shirt. She allowed fingers to linger as they made their descent, unbuttoning the small, clear buttons with agonizingly slow speed. She watched Marianne smile and felt her own coy smile grow. She loved to watch the changes in Marianne’s face, as she photographed her. The way that her smile would grow, her brow would tense, how she would bite her lip. She liked watching the effect that she was able to have on Marianne.

As she finished with the final button, she gently and slowly pulled the halves of the shirt apart and left them to fall to her sides. One hand, the left, was allowed to fall and hang much like the shirt, whereas the right stayed on her upper thigh.

“Look at me like you’ve missed me.” Marianne suddenly says.

Héloïse raises an eyebrow, a bit befuddled by what the woman had asked of her. “Aren’t I already doing that?”

“You’re looking at the camera. Look beyond it, look to me.”

And Héloïse huffed, but she looked at Marianne, who was now standing straight up, no longer looking through the lens of her camera.

“I’d like to show you that I’ve missed you.” Héloïse tells her, her voice just above a whisper.

“Soon,” Marianne told her. “You can show me soon.” And she started to lean down, to go back to her view through her camera, but Héloïse stopped her.

“Marianne.” She said firmly, causing the woman to look back to her. “Let me show you how I’ve missed you.”

But Marianne declined, again. “Show me through these photos.” She told her, which made Héloïse roll her eyes. She obliged, of course, she always did for Marianne. She could do nothing but oblige.

Marianne continued to snap photographs as Héloïse couldn’t help but let her mind wander to what would come later. She was being honest when she told Marianne she missed her, that she wanted to show her how badly she missed her. She craved Marianne’s touch, the feeling of her skin. She wanted their lips to collide as their bodies were pressed together. She wanted the trailing kisses and the gentle touches, the hot spit and slight fumbling. Needy grasping and moans, sweat and gasps for air, whispered poems in each other’s ears. Héloïse wanted her everywhere, she wanted to be able to think of nothing but Marianne.

She was soon standing, unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down to her ankles. As she was pulling them off, Marianne left her camera and went back to the front hall. Héloïse didn’t question it, though she did wonder what for. Marianne always did something that surprised her, something that she often agreed with but always went along with. Not from a sense of compliance— the blonde refused to be complacent in almost every way she could, but she knew that Marianne thought through what she was doing and that it always ended in magnificent results.

Soon the brunette had returned, carrying Héloïse’s heels, one in each hand. “Put these back on.” She told her, handing the shoes back to the blonde.

But Héloïse didn’t grab her shoes, rather she quickly grabbed Marianne’s wrist and pulled her closer, connecting their lips. The kiss was soft and tender, slow and gentle. Héloïse could feel Marianne smile into her kiss, but just as quickly as their lips connected, Marianne was pushing Héloïse back by her hips. As soon as they were apart, Marianne chuckled and placed kisses along Héloïse’s cheek and up to her ear. “You’ll ruin me,” she whispered, causing a chill to run through Héloïse’s body.

Marianne drew herself away, this time handing the shoes to Héloïse more assertively, making sure she took them. She did, but her other hand stayed wrapped around Marianne’s wrist and as the woman pulled away, their fingers lingered and touched for as long as possible until their arms were outstretched and eventually left hanging in the air, longing. Héloïse watched her walk back to her camera, now beginning to take it off the tripod. The blonde returned to the wooden chair, sitting down and putting her heels on.

Now, she became hyper aware of the draft that was present in the room. She wondered for how long Marianne must have had the window open before she arrived. It must have been a while if it was still causing her skin to become freckled with goosebumps.

Marianne was standing in front of the tripod now, directing Héloïse through a variety of poses. She wanted her to be sitting, to stand, to come closer, to turn around. She wanted her hands wrapped around herself, in the air, behind her back. Telling her to pull the strap of her bra down off her shoulder. She did, and she watched Marianne intently as the red fabric fell, listening to the rapid snapping of the camera. She let a smile grace her face; she knew Marianne would like it, that she would appreciate the sparkle in her eyes.

After a few more snapshots, Héloïse brought her hands around her body, toying with the hooks of her bra. She made sure to move slowly, to never break her stare, as she undid the clasps and pulled them apart. The lacy, red material fell down her arms and she tossed it to Marianne, as the clicking of the camera engulfed the room. She could see the woman’s smile from behind the camera and she basked in it. The cool air of the room made her newly exposed nipples harden instantly and she had to stop herself from shivering. Her desire to be closer to Marianne only grew.

Marianne moved around her, bending down and standing up, trying to get as many angles as possible. Capturing photos of the blonde’s entire body, photos of just her stomach, her breasts, her collarbones, her shoulder blades. Marianne documented her fully and with intent precision. Marianne treated Héloïse’s body like it was a historic object, newly discovered and needing to be recorded in every way, needing to be identified, studied, and understood. She treated her like she was something precious that Marianne wanted to preserve, that she never wanted to risk forgetting her body— her spirit.

But now that Héloïse stood there, in nothing but her high heels and her lace panties, she could sense that Marianne was becoming restless, as well. That the brunette was beginning to grow tired of her activity, that she knew there was a better way she could be spending her time, especially when Héloïse was in the state that she was currently in.

Nevertheless, she continued.

Héloïse continued to pose, to bend in ways that were natural and ways that weren’t, she ran her hands over her body, smiling and laughing when she found something to be foolish. It was clear, though, that Marianne wanted her to keep going and she happily obliged.

After a few more minutes, she was letting her panties drop to her ankles.

Marianne started with photos of her ankles, the red lace keeping them moderately close. Her heels allowed the fabric to hang in the air, not able to touch the ground. And then, the brunette asked Héloïse to step out of her underwear and leave them on the ground. She took photos of her underwear on the ground, photos of Héloïse standing atop them. She asked Héloïse to pick them up, to hold them out in front of herself. As if an offering to the camera, or even an invitation for more. She had Héloïse hold the red lace up to cover herself, as if she were still wearing them, and asked her to drop them, and took several photos as they fell.

She took photos of Héloïse’s legs, her crotch, across her stomach, and back to her breasts. She took more photos framed on purely Héloïse’s face and the grin that lived on it. Not long after, Héloïse was back in the wooden chair, her ankles pressed together, one arm wrapped around herself to cover her breasts and one hand laid across her thigh.

“Spread your feet.”

Héloïse’s eyes shot up, a hint of surprise and intrigue flashing over them. Marianne didn’t look up from her camera, however, and she didn’t repeat herself. She knew that Héloïse had heard her and it was abundantly clear that she was not going to alter what she said.

Slowly, Héloïse shifted her feet away from one another. Inch by inch, until there was a foot and a half of distance between them. Subconsciously, as she did, her hand drifted down to cover herself, to shield her core from the camera’s lens.

Now, Marianne looked away from her camera and sighed, pointing her gaze directly at Héloïse. “Your hand,” she commented, raising an eyebrow to the blonde.

Héloïse knew what she wanted. But she wanted to hear Marianne say it. She returned Marianne’s raised eyebrow, tilting her head slightly to the right, as if she were a child, asking a question and pleading for what she wanted, all at once.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither wanting to give in just yet. A minute passed, though, and Marianne was kneeling to peer through the lens of her camera, once again. “Move your hand, Héloïse,” she paused and adjusted something on her camera. “I want to see you.”

Héloïse retracted her hand as soon as Marianne finished speaking, now resting it on her thigh.

She had known this type of exposure, it was often that she found herself spread open and vulnerable for Marianne’s camera, and even more often for Marianne. And yet, every time she felt a thrill run through her body, startled by her own bravery and confidence. Though she no longer needed the reassurance that she once did, Héloïse still loved to hear Marianne’s praises for her.

“Tell me,” she encouraged. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She watched as Marianne continued to take a few snapshots in silence, but then she moved her camera from her face and looked at Héloïse like she was no longer a glorified piece of art, but rather her lover, a beautiful woman who was willing to be exposed, a woman who threw caution to the wind, who would run across town at the buzz of a text message, a woman who she whispered sweet nothings to and held like she had with no one else before.

“You’re enchanting.” she started and pulled her camera back up to her face, to continue taking photographs.

“I’d like to press my lips to every freckle on your body. Every curve, every scar, every bump.”

Snap.

“I adore your presence, the sense of life that you provide.”

Snap.

“You’re like a pond in a desert, you’re too good to be true.”

Snap.

“You’re endlessly effulgent. The brightest star in my sky.”

Snap.

“The sun on your skin assures me that there is a god and that you are their favourite.”

Snap.

“Your beauty is incomparable. You’re nothing I’ve ever seen before, nothing I’ll ever see in anyone else.”

Snap.

“If I could make love to you, for all of eternity, I would.”

Snap.

“Make love to me, Marianne.” She all but begged.

“Soon, my love, soon.”

But Héloïse was already antsy. She was restless, she couldn’t sit still for these photos, she just wanted Marianne’s skin to be pressed against hers, she wanted their lips to collide, she wanted to feel their breasts pressed against each other’s. She wanted hot breath against her neck and whispered words in her ear. She wanted to feel Marianne, to taste her, to love her. She craved Marianne like she was going through a withdrawal and it was absolute torture to have her so close, but to have the brunette deny her.

But Héloïse kept posing, she kept her legs spread and she leaned her head back, one hand coming up to up her left breast. She slouched into the chair and spread her legs even wider. She said nothing as Marianne came closer— close enough that Héloïse could pull her in and kiss her, and took a photo of Héloïse’s centre.

To have Marianne crouched, between her unclothed legs, but to have her withdraw without a single touch made Héloïse want to cry out. It was painful, the fire that was beginning to burn within her as she lusted for the other woman.

She watched Marianne move away, back to where she originally stood. It was cruel, it felt like a punishment and the blonde couldn’t figure out what she could have done so wrong that would result in this type of torture.

As the brunette continued to take photos, Héloïse grew utterly sick of it. It felt unfair that Marianne was able to keep going with such ease when she felt pain. So, she decided she would handle things herself, if Marianne was going to keep herself from her.

The blonde’s hand slid from the top of her thigh to the tuft of dark blonde hair. As she was slouched into the chair, she allowed herself to close her eyes as her index finger brushed over her clit, causing her to gasp. It was nothing like what she needed, but it was a beginning.

At first, the clicking noise intensified, it became more frequent and it was clear that Marianne must have been enjoying what she was seeing. It didn’t take longer, however, for the woman to be moving the camera from her face and watching Héloïse.

“Héloïse,” she started, causing the blonde woman to look at her with begging eyes. “Let me finish first.”

“You can, but I’m not stopping.” The blonde told her in a firm voice, as if she were challenging her to keep going, to sit back and watch as Héloïse did to herself what Marianne wanted to do.

Héloïse’s other hand gripped her left breast, her fingers grazing across her pink nipple until it was soon hard. With her other hand, she quickly ran a finger through her folds and let out a soft puff of air. She heard a snap, but just as quickly she heard the sound of Marianne placing her camera down and rushing forward.

Their lips clashed, rough and ravenous. It was immediately messy, Marianne’s tongue slipping into her mouth as Héloïse’s hands removed themselves from her own body and shot into Marianne’s hair, gripping it tightly and making sure she didn't pull away. Marianne’s hand found its way around the small of her back, to pull her upwards until she was standing. Héloïse felt like a baby deer in her heels, now, her legs shaky from her desires. But Marianne held her tight, holding her body against hers, ensuring that she wouldn’t be able to fall and reassuring herself that the moment was real.

The women shuffled together, their lips only parting to take in gulps of air, all while Héloïse’s fingers travelled in between the two, down to Marianne’s hips. She gripped the T-shirt that she was wearing and began to pull it upwards, a desperate attempt to feel closer to Marianne. Their lips separated as Marianne finished the job of pulling her shirt over her head, and Héloïse took the chance to pull the heels off of her feet. Marianne laughed as she stumbled, which only made Héloïse shoot her a quick glare.

Now the women stood topless in front of each other, Héloïse being thankful that Marianne opted to not wear a bra that day. Finally having the feeling of skin against her own, what she was so desperately craving. Their bodies were pressed together and there was a constant attempt to be drawn closer, to become one body rather than two. Héloïse was willing to be engulfed, to surrender herself, just for the satisfaction of being closer to Marianne, and she knew that Marianne was willing to do the same.

The brunette’s lips separated themselves from Héloïse’s, causing her to let out a pleading huff followed by a quiet moan as kisses were placed along her jaw, down to her neck. Feet stumbled across the floor as the woman made their way towards Marianne’s bed, if it could be called that. With the way she left her sheets, it was a nest that they were falling into. The backs of Héloïse’s knees hit the bed and she fell backwards, dragging Marianne with her. Marianne’s weight was now on top of her, the brunette woman’s forearms placed on either side of Héloïse’s head as her lips returned to Héloïse’s. The blonde was too focused on the feeling of Marianne to be irritated by the pulling on her hair, where Marianne’s arm was holding it stuck.

Their lips were reunited in a way that made Héloïse sure that this is how the sun and the moon feel during a solar eclipse. Passionate and blissful, never knowing whether it would be for a moment or an eternity, all too focused on the instant they sat in. Soaking in one another, no longer held apart.

One hand traveled into Marianne’s hair, lacing her fingers through it and keeping her where she was, while the other went to her back, running her nails along it. And it was clear, by the sound of Marianne’s soft moan, that she was enjoying it.

Their kiss slowed, becoming gentle. Each woman began to catch their breath, as their lust switched to love and the moment became more tender, less fueled by a need for instant gratification.Their tongues danced and the fire on their skin continued to burn, though a more stable flame. One that has been controlled.

Héloïse moved, to roll the woman on top of her over, so that Marianne now laid on her back and Héloïse straightened up, a knee on either side of her waist. Marianne watched her with an adoring smile as the blonde started to undo the button of her pants and pulled down the zipper. She had yet to begin pulling the pants from Marianne’s legs, but she leaned forward, kissing her lips, then her jaw, and her neck. Long, gentle kisses that made the woman moan. Sucking on the skin of her neck almost until it would leave a mark, and then she would move downwards.

She lingered right before she reached the woman’s clavicle and peppered kisses back up along the spots she had kissed before. She kissed her jawline, again, and then her cheek, up to her hard cheekbone. “You make me feel like I’m in a dream.” She told her, her voice small, almost as though she didn’t want Marianne to hear what she said, that it was meant to be a secret that she accidentally shared.

Marianne’s hands lifted to Héloïse’s face, cupping both her cheeks and bringing her in for a kiss. And that was enough of a response for Héloïse to know that Marianne felt the same.

She pulled herself away, pushing her body up so she sat back on her heels and began pulling Marianne’s pants down her legs.

“I hate that you wear such tight pants.” Héloïse told her in such a matter-of-fact tone that Marianne couldn’t help but laugh.

“Forgive me,” she responded between her laughter. And once Héloïse had gotten the pants to Marianne’s knees, she herself laughed and fell forward, burying her face into the brunette’s neck.

They spent a brief while just laughing, as the hilarity outweighed the annoyance that came with Marianne’s pants.

Not long after, though, Héloïse rolled herself off of Marianne and laid on her back as she gave the woman the chance to pull her pants off herself. She ended up standing to do so and Héloïse intently watched as she pushed the pants down each leg and then pulled them over her ankles and tossed them behind her. Marianne didn’t take longer than a second to be attached to Héloïse, again, spreading the blonde’s legs as she laid between them.

She kissed Héloïse’s clavicle and sucked at the soft skin there, her right hand coming up to graze her left breast. As Marianne’s thumb gently rubbed her rosey nipple, Héloïse moaned, the touch leaving her wanting more.

Marianne’s lips travelled down her chest, leaving kisses as she went. She kissed each and every freckle and slowly moved to kiss between the blonde’s breasts, delaying the satisfaction that Héloïse was so clearly seeking. The kisses were delicate, treating Héloïse like she was a porcelain doll. Like she was Marianne’s favourite and most fragile gift she’s ever received.

Her lips wrapped around her right nipple which elicited another moan from Héloïse, this time louder and more assertive. As if she were telling Marianne that she wanted more and that Marianne needed to give it to her.

She sucked on Héloïse’s nipple as she continued to softly knead her other breast, but her lips soon left and kissed across the rest of her breast until she eventually returned to the woman’s nipple, drawing it back into her mouth. She brought her thigh up and pressed it against Héloïse’s core, making her cry out. Marianne grinded her thigh against the woman’s centre once, twice, three times, and then she stopped, pulling it away and watching the defeat that washed over Héloïse’s face. The sadness, the need for relief, the anticipation for more.

Marianne’s mouth left her nipple once again and made its way across Héloïse’s chest until she was kissing the blonde’s other breast, running her tongue over her nipple and sucking it into her mouth. Her other hand now took its turn of massaging Héloïse’s right breast, her hand and her tongue moving in a similar rhythm.

She continued to adore Héloïse’s breasts until the woman began to beg for her to move lower, to provide her what she needed. And Marianne always obliged with Héloïse.

Her lips left her breast, and she moved lower on Héloïse’s body. She placed kisses down her ribs, across her stomach, whispering to Héloïse about how beautiful her body was.

“You’re exquisite,” Marianne told her. “You’re a work of art. I’d never be able to capture your beauty.”

And as she got lower, the fingers of Héloïse’s left hand slipped into Marianne’s hair, preemptively grabbing hold.

Marianne kissed her right beside her belly-button and right at the narrowest spot of her waist. She kissed the top of her left hip bone and then across to her pubic bone. She travelled a little lower and gently kissed Héloïse’s clit, which resulted in a boisterous moan from the blonde.

She didn’t provide the relief Héloïse wanted, though, instead she moved across and kissed the inside of Héloïse’s right thigh, sucking at the soft skin there. She kissed as low as her knee, which was bent up in the air, where she then leaned against it and looked up at Héloïse’s face. The woman had her right arm covering her eyes as she had her head leaned fully back against the bed. Marianne didn’t continue, she just watched Héloïse.

“Marianne,” Héloïse whimpered out, after a minute of no movement. She lifted her arm from shielding her eyes and lifted her head so that she could look down at the woman. She watched Marianne’s devilish smile and a small frown floated across her face. She pulled her left hand back up from where it laid across her thigh, after she could barely reach Marianne, and she sat up on her elbows. Her brows were pinched and her frown had only grown, the desperation clear on her face. “Please, Marianne.”

She watched the woman smile and place another kiss on the inside of her knee, but then she moved up, kissing back along her thigh. She ran a finger through Héloïse’s damp folds which caused the blonde to throw her head back and return to the position she was previously in. Her hand quickly returned to Marianne’s hair, though the other now just laid beside her.

Marianne’s hot breath felt like torture against her, but she was soon rewarded as Marianne ran her tongue where her finger had just been. Héloïse’s cry was loud, it was strangled and throaty and it begged for more. Marianne pressed another kiss to Héloïse’s clit before swirling her tongue against it. She sucked the woman’s clit into her mouth and moved her finger back to Héloïse. She released her clit and kissed it again. She then ran her tongue over her clit in small, tight circles.

She listened to Héloïse’s moans and periodically sped up or slowed down her motion, creating larger circles or changing direction, anything to draw out Héloïse’s pleasure.

She ran her finger along Héloïse’s entrance, faintly, and waited for the blonde’s reaction before she applied the slightest bit of pressure. Again, she waited and listened to Héloïse’s purrs, until she felt the blonde wrap her left leg around Marianne’s back so that her heel was digging into her spine. Once Héloïse applied that pressure, Marianne slowly sank her finger inside her. It was delicate and soft and Héloïse couldn’t help but bring her left wrist to her mouth, where she bit it.

Marianne slid her finger out of her and back in a few times before she added another, which elicited another wail from Héloïse. Marianne continued to slowly thrust her fingers in and out of the blonde, occasionally curling them, just to hear her gasps. She looked up and watched the woman’s grip on her own wrist getting tighter, and she pulled her mouth away from the woman’s clit. “Héloïse,” she whispered to her.

Only once she heard Marianne speak did she stop biting her wrist, but she still didn’t look at Marianne. She was engulfed in the feeling of the woman’s fingers still inside her, but after they stilled, she looked down at Marianne, who was now reaching her left hand upwards. Héloïse took it, the harsh bite marks only now becoming apparent to both women. But with Héloïse’s hand in her’s, Marianne continued.

She started to move her fingers faster, in and out of Héloïse, and she brushed her tongue over her clit in the same rhythm. It didn’t take long for Héloïse to be gripping Marianne’s hand tightly, to be gasping for air and moaning loud enough that the neighbours might hear. The rise and fall of her chest was intense and her entire body took on a flush tone. And soon, just as Héloïse let out her loudest and longest moan yet, she tightened around Marianne’s fingers and fell over the edge of bliss.

Marianne let her ride it out, she left her fingers where they were, only moving slowly and softly, but never fully leaving her. After a minute, the room was filled with the sound of Héloïse’s heavy breathing. Marianne slowly slid her fingers out of Héloïse and placed a delicate kiss against her clit, which made the woman gasp. Marianne kissed along her body, she lingered at her flushed chest, but not for long. Héloïse’s eyes remained shut as she tried to regulate her breathing, and Marianne peppered her face with kisses.

Héloïse’s eyes finally opened and she smiled a defeated smile, one that showed her exhaustion, her daze. One that told Marianne that she was appreciative. Marianne pulled their still attached hands up to her face, kissing the back of Héloïse’s hand, placing a kiss on each knuckle. And then the blonde unlinked their hands and brought both of hers up to hold Marianne’s face as she pulled her into a kiss, one that was deep and passion filled, but was tired and slow. Héloïse could taste herself on Marianne’s lips and she adored it.

They laid like that for a while, gentle and languid kisses preoccupying the two, as the blush fell from Héloïse’s body.

“You know,” the blonde eventually said, once the women had pulled apart from one another. “I don’t know if that’s a socially acceptable way to pay me for working for you.” She teased. She watched Marianne shake her head and roll off of her, so that she was now laying on her back beside Héloïse.

“You keep coming back, though.” Marianne remarked.

“I do, I do.” She said in a hushed tone. She propped herself up on her elbow, facing Marianne. “I love you.” She told her in a whisper.

“I know.” Marianne said, almost emotionless. She turned her head and reached for her bedside table. Héloïse assumed she was looking for her cigarettes. The blonde reached across with her right arm, grabbing Marianne’s and pulling it down to the bed. She then let go of the woman’s arm and put her hand on her cheek, turning her face towards her.

“Marianne,” she sighed, her sadness present in her eyes. The brunette barely kept eye contact, it was clear she was trying to think of something to say. Something that wouldn’t make the situation worse.

Before she got a chance, Héloïse leaned down and kissed her. Kissed her hard and intensely, like this was her last chance to kiss her. As they kissed, Héloïse brought her body closer to Marianne’s, almost close enough that she was laying on her. She still held herself up with her left arm, but now her right hand travelled down, coming into contact with Marianne’s breast.

She massaged it as their kiss became deeper, Marianne’s breathing increasing. Héloïse promptly moved her leg so that she was straddling Marianne and had the woman pinned beneath her. The brunette’s fingers quickly got lost in Héloïse’s blonde waves and Héloïse had one hand next to Marianne’s head, holding her up, and the other continuing to caress her breast. Marianne was never nearly as vocal as Héloïse was, but the blonde could tell by the tightening of the fingers in her hair that the other woman was enjoying it.

Héloïse’s lips left Marianne’s and proceeded to her jaw and along her neck. At the first moment Héloïse sucked on her neck, the sound of Marianne’s moan filled the room. She knew that Marianne would get mad if she left a mark, but she didn’t care. She felt young, in the moment, and so she acted like it. She let her teeth graze the spot that she was sucking as she dragged her mouth away from it, enjoying watching Marianne’s pleasure.

She kissed down to her chest, placing kisses between her breasts. She was entranced by Marianne’s breasts, small and perky, her nipples hard, even under Héloïse’s palm.

“I see nothing,” Héloïse whispered, causing Marianne to smile, the woman knowing what Héloïse was doing.

The blonde proceeded to kiss the woman’s breast, laying a gentle kiss atop her nipple before she circled her tongue around it and sucked on it. The brunettes fingers tightened around her scalp as she continued to flick her tongue across her nipple, only encouraging Héloïse to continue. She slowly lapped at the woman’s nipple, until she grew tired of it, and switched her attention to the woman’s other breast.

“We may sink,” she continued, placing her lips delicately along the woman’s chest. She allowed herself to move slightly downwards, kissing the line along her ribs, where the bones didn’t quite connect. “And settle on the waves.”

She continued her descent down the centre of Marianne’s body, placing an exorbitant amount of kisses as she went. She reached the band of Marianne’s underwear and softly kissed along the top of it before she hooked her fingers through either side, and began to pull them down her legs. She ended up sitting on her heels, again, as Marianne pulled her legs up to help Héloïse remove her underwear faster.

The two women looked at each other for a minute after Héloïse tossed Marianne’s damp underwear behind her. And Héloïse began to smile. “The sea will drum in my ears.” She said, more silvery than anything she previously said.

She shifted her leg so that one was now between Marianne’s legs, and she slowly moved down so that she could kiss Marianne again. Their lips connected, Marianne letting one hand get tangled into Héloïse’s hair and draped the other around the blonde’s neck.

“The white petals will be darkened with sea water.” Héloïse said in a hushed voice, when their lips parted. She used her leg to separate Marianne’s even more, and she slid her hand downwards, until she reached dark curls. She paused there, not wanting to give Marianne her satisfaction just yet. But she continued to kiss her, kissing her like she had the night she met her and the way that she’ll kiss her for the rest of her life: like she could love no one more, could feel more for no one else, wanted to spend eternity with only her.

“They will float for a moment.”

Her hand finally sank down and grazed Marianne’s clit, causing the woman to arch up and release a puff of air that Héloïse didn’t know she was holding. She moved lazy circles across her clit, applying as little pressure as possible. Slowly, the circles became tighter and she applied more pressure, enjoying the moments when Marianne couldn’t kiss her back because she was drowned in the moment, when their lips would simply graze each other’s while Marianne let out huffs and quiet moans.

“And then sink.” Héloïse said as she let her hand travel lower, feeling how wet Marianne was for her. She ran her finger between the woman’s folds before plunging into her with ease. The brunette gasped and held her breath, as if she herself had just sunk.

Héloïse was enraptured by Marianne’s warmth, the velvety feeling. She loved the vulnerability and the connection of being inside of her lover. She let her finger stay stagnant inside Marianne at first, and moved her thumb to rub her clit.

They were barely kissing anymore, their foreheads were pressed together and their lips grazed, but Marianne’s mouth stayed slightly agape, her eyes squeezed shut. Periodically, she would lean upwards to catching Héloïse’s lips completely and to kiss her harshly, which Héloïse gladly embraced.

“Rolling over,” she whispered against Marianne’s lips. “The waves will shoulder me under.”

She then started to move her finger in and out of Marianne, thrusting softly. Not long after, Héloïse added another finger. She listened to Marianne’s breathing hitch and became more rapid as her thumb continued to circle her clit and her fingers thrusted into her.

“Everything falls,” she breathed and added a third finger, making Marianne cry out. And Héloïse kissed her hard. She kissed her with a reverence that she never felt for another person. She kissed her hard and sped up the motion of her thumb on Marianne’s clit.

“In a tremendous shower.”

And Marianne was flushed, her cheeks a bright red and her chest a similar shade. Héloïse could feel Marianne’s grip on her tighten as she felt Marianne tighten around her fingers. With a final thrust, Marianne arched her back and let out a strangled moan, while Héloïse began to lay light kisses on her forehead, down her nose, across her cheek, and eventually to her ear.