As soon as Brenda enters their bedroom she’s unbuttoning her cardigan, shrugging the itchy wool over her shoulders. She lets it fall to a heap at her feet, followed closely by her t-shirt and bra. Each piece of clothing that she sheds brings her one step closer to where she aches to be: naked in bed with her lover.
She’s not surprised that Sharon is still in bed at almost eleven in the morning, knowing how much the older woman clings to her lazy Sunday mornings. When Brenda had become a part of the routine of Sharon’s life, it had been easy to fall into these habits with her. She’d adopted them and made them her own, and so it is for herself as much as it is for Sharon that she sets the newspaper and an orange on the nightstand before she crawls, naked save her low-rise cotton panties, back in beside her.
As she tugs the sheet over her legs, her lover begins to stir.
“Mmm…you’re home,” Sharon mumbles, grinning as she turns to face the blonde woman. She blinks sleepily at her and wraps her arm around her waist. “How was work?”
“Oh, y’know, girl kills boy, girl claims it was self-defense, coroner proves it’s all a big fat lie with the magic of science, and the amazin’ deputy chief swoops in and saves the day in time for breakfast.”
Sharon chuckles, her voice still a little low and husky from sleep, and kisses Brenda’s shoulder. “All in a day’s work.” A low, insistent rumble interrupts a moment of solitude. “What was that you said about breakfast?”
“I can go make us somethin’,” Brenda offers, though she is loathe to untangle her limbs from Sharon’s. She nuzzles her nose in the other woman’s hair and brushes her fingers against her arm.
“No, don’t leave yet.” To punctuate her point, she tightens her grasp around her, and Brenda beams at the reminder that the always cool Captain Raydor is a cuddler.
“I’ve got an orange if you wanna split it?”
Sharon nods, but before Brenda can reach over for the fruit they are kissing, their mouths moving sensually together at an unhurried pace. Brenda’s frenzied thoughts following a hectic night of suspect wrangling and autopsies and interrogations slowly drift away, replaced instead by the promise of languid lovemaking and lazing the day away with her best friend.
The brunette, whose hair looks almost red as the morning sun is strewn in through the windows, places a final kiss on her lips before sitting up against the pillows. The sheet slithers down her stomach to pool around her waist and Sharon does not move to cover herself, making Brenda flush at the sight of her lover’s unabashed nudity.
She scoops the large orange into her hands and then pulls several tissues out of the Kleenex box on the nightstand to collect the discarded peel of the fruit. It’s not ideal, and they are liable to make a mess, but she has to wash the sheets later anyway.
She digs her thumbs into orange peel and creates a little pocket, allowing herself to tear it off in large chunks. Sharon helpfully holds the tissues, using one to dab at the juice that has begun to drip down over her hands. When the last of the peel is gone, Sharon wads up the tissues and sets them on the bedside table while Brenda watches the way her breasts bounce as she moves.
Brenda lifts her palm to her mouth, lapping up the orange juice that has coated her palm. “Yummy,” she says while Sharon plucks the fruit from her fingers, tearing it in half. She rips out a wedge of orange and holds it in front of Brenda’s mouth. Brenda happily accepts it, taking a bite as the citrusy liquid fills her mouth. “Mmm.”
They share the orange in relative silence but Brenda doesn’t mind, enjoying the voyeuristic quality of watching her lover indulge in the pre-breakfast snack. Their feet touch beneath the blanket, toes playfully wiggling as if they’ve never played footsie before.
Sharon is eating the last orange wedge when she catches Brenda staring. “What? Do I have pulp on my face?” she questions, raising a hand to her chin where a trail of juice has earlier fallen.
“No. It’s nothin’. I just love you is all.”
Sharon smiles as she chews and cups her lover’s face with sticky hands. “That, my dear, is certainly not nothing.” She kisses her sweetly and gently. “I love you too.”
Brenda deepens the kiss and when their tongues touch, frissons of pleasure course down her spine. It’s more than arousal: it is the purest, most natural thing in the world to be naked in bed with her lover on a Sunday morning after bringing a killer to justice. There is no taste sweeter than that of love (with just a tinge of personal satisfaction). “Let’s go shower,” she suggests, trailing her fingers down to tweak Sharon’s nipple. “I’m cravin’ you and pancakes—in that order.”