She turned off the lights, like God couldn't find her if she took cover in the dark. Despite the late hour, she was wide awake, her mind charged with the memory of brown eyes, soft lips, and daring promises of more. She was distracted, had walked to the bathroom with her empty mug before remembering she'd wanted to put it in the dishwasher, had been halfway out the backdoor before realizing she hadn't brushed her teeth yet. Her body was begging for something she wasn't sure her mind was ready for, shivering in the humid August air, and she sat down on the edge of her bed, waiting for it to pass.

Maybe it was futile. She knew it was going to happen eventually, heard it in the echoes of those little moans Jeanie had let slip, could read it in the way the sound had anchored itself low in her lap, the questions that arose — if she could elicit more of them, maybe consecutively, a string only meant for her ears. Knew it from the eyes that'd stared at her all heavy and loving, like sticky honey, and how easy it'd been to let the Devil in.

If, in fact, it was the Devil who was at play here.

Before Jeanie left, before George's stretch of absence, there was a time when she hadn't taken much stock in the Bible at all. It'd been just a book she read at Sunday school, filled with tedious commands and adventurous tales. Step by step, she had made it into the thing that got her up in the mornings, helped her through her monotonous days. It'd given her a purpose, a set of rules to live by and create order in the chaos of her world, an explanation for all the bad that'd rained down on her in that past decade.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

He had created her in her mother's womb, all the thoughts and feelings and desires, just like He had Jeanie, and she wondered now — why? Why make it so sweet? Why return Jeanie to her life if she was supposed to resist, like she had been doing for nearly twenty years? Why show the true faces of the hateful believers in her congregation and chase her husband away?

And Jeanie, with her patience and care, her concern for the kids she could've hated if she'd chosen to, how was she condemned to Hell, while self-righteous self-appointed judges like Sarah T from Bible study claimed themselves a spot in the highest ranks of Heaven?

If those were the kind of people who'd be admitted to His Kingdom, would she even want to join them?

She sighed and let herself fall back on the bed. A drop dripped from the faucet in the sink. Outside, the crickets chirped joyfully. Surrounded by rubber and concrete, the heady perfume of the gardenias and roses from her garden, and the cheap fragrance of the scented candles Missy had placed throughout the space, she closed her eyes and saw Jeanie again, that wink and that titillating smile. Her stomach filled with butterflies, the kind she thought her young mind had imagined, and she bit her lip and buried her head in her pillow, trying to breathe through the overwhelming sensation.

Then, a quick knock.

"Mare, it's me."

She sat up faster than a scalded cat, her heart beating a million miles per hour. She was lost, sure as shooting, because she yanked the door open like Jeanie would disappear if she was a second too late, and forgot to inhale air as she discerned the silhouette of that unfairly pretty face.

She was babbling as she came in, hands deep in her pockets, "I know I promised I'd give you time, and I will — but I figured we've been apart long enough and —"

"No, no, of course, I — I don't mind," Mary said. She closed the door, turned towards her, only the glint in her eyes visible, the lines of her body. "I was just —"

She couldn't explain what she had been doing or thinking about, so she stopped there.

"I can go if you want. No hard feelings. I just — wanna be close to you."

Lord, how she loved this woman. It flowed from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, nestled in every fiber of her being, evaporating every feeble last piece of resistance that'd still remained. Knowing that Jeanie wanted to be with her like she wanted to be with Jeanie — that she felt that strong pull, couldn't stay away — made her blush and bold like she rarely was nowadays, a part of herself that Jeanie had unearthed.

"No, don't go," she said, and the butterflies definitely existed, "Stay. We can share the bed."

In the shadows, Jeanie nodded, a little hesitant, probably thinking of all the times they'd shared and done more than sleep, like she was. "I'm not expecting to... to go to the laundromat or anything. I'll sleep on the floor if I have to. As long as I get to be with you." She exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders, and added, "If that's okay."

And it was okay. It really was.

Mary stepped forward, came to a halt right before her, and finally permitted herself to admit what should've been kept inside.

"Suppose I did have a mind to go to the laundromat...?"

It was a little ridiculous that she was thirty-four years old and couldn't bear to use the correct term, but it was all she could manage at the moment, all hot and bothered, trying to steady her trembling hands.

She was close enough to see Jeanie swallow, lips parting in an unheard gasp. She could feel the heat radiating off her skin, like the sun hadn't set hours ago, and she looked up into dark, dark eyes, more black than brown in the scarce lighting.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, absolutely."

There was no hesitation now. She had trusted Jeanie when they first discovered what pleasure they could bring each other, and she trusted her still. She leaned in, faces inches from each other, losing track of herself as she stared into the black, caught the minty scent of toothpaste. "If that's what you want too?" she asked, barely audible.

That titillating smile made its return then. "Baby," Jeanie said, and she brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and God, it did things to her, "I've been dreaming about this ever since I first ran into you wearing that pink dress of yours."

She didn't even have to touch. The words blew a path of goosebumps right down Mary's neck, ending in a shiver. "My pink dress? I thought you — but the jeans."

A chuckle, and Jeanie hooked her thumbs through her belt loops, pulled her close until their hips met. "Is that why you've been wearing them more often?"

She didn't get the chance to answer; reeled in by a languid kiss, a little teeth, a lot of Jeanie, she flushed at the low moan she produced, the crudeness of it. More of them escaped as Jeanie's hands traveled up her abdomen, pausing at the edge of her shirt, pulling at it to uncover a strip of bare skin. They were both breathing hard, and Mary remembered her son's inappropriate assurances and felt strangely grateful. She was lucky to have switched with him. No way she would've had the nerve to do this in the house, with the twins sleeping obliviously in their respective bedrooms.

Fingers skittered over her stomach, the tickling sensation sending something much less innocent to the place between her legs. She'd assumed she was getting too old for this, but Jeanie's arrival had proved differently, with the simple act of folding the laundry or dancing when no one was watching. She allowed her own hands to wander down to Jeanie's butt, and she was definitely too old to enjoy that as much as she was, so she skirted up to the band shirt, daringly slipping under the fabric, lingering innocently at the small of her back.

"I could take it off, if you wanted."

There was an unmistakable smirk in Jeanie's voice, the Southern twang returning like she'd only dropped it yesterday, and Mary burned, burned, burned for her. The last time they'd done this, they'd been girls, years off from adulthood, from understanding the weight of their lovemaking. Always quick, always listening for footsteps — not much different from how it'd been with her husband, whom she'd found easier to love ducked under the covers.

She didn't want it to be like that anymore.

She was trembling as she let go of Jeanie, and she should've probably told her what she was planning, but she couldn't talk, could barely think in sentences. She fumbled for the switch, finally found it.

The string of lights her daughter had draped along the wall lit up, bathing the garage in a dim, yellow glow. They reflected in the brown eyes of the beautiful woman in front of her, as warm, glittering sparkles.

Jeanie regarded her, a question in the tilt of her head.

"I — well, I wanna see you," she admitted, suddenly shy.

A sweet smile, and she could've sworn she saw a shiver run down Jeanie's spine, before she dipped down to grab the lining of her T-shirt and dragged it over her head in one swift motion, throwing it to the floor. She stood there, curls hiding part of her face, arms dropping to the sides like she wasn't sure what to do with them, and Mary gasped and fell like she had fallen a hundred times before. Only with her. Only ever with her.

Jeanie wasn't wearing anything underneath, just the key with the heart-shaped handle. It rested right between the valley of her breasts, a few inches under her real, beating heart. Freckles dotted the majority of tan skin, paler and paler the lower Mary's gaze roved, almost white above the band of her jeans.

Looking wasn't enough. She moved forward without hesitance, brushed the curls from Jeanie's shoulder, traced a featherlight path from freckle to freckle, reveling in the sharp intake of breath she made out when she reached the softness of her breasts, the dark areola, the nipple. The faint moan as she placed her hand over the key. The fluttering eyelids when she was hit with a bout of courage and kissed where she knew Jeanie's heart was safely tucked away, only meant for her tonight.

Jeanie tipped her chin, going in for a far wilder, hungrier, fiercer kiss, one that drained the strength from her knees and the ability to think from her mind — Jeanie's lips went off course, sketching a path to her ear, where she grazed the shell with her teeth, and muttered, "Yours off?" like she too was struck by this sudden inability to form complete sentences.

She merely nodded, and Jeanie sighed as if she'd been scared she'd say no, already making work of the buttons, undoing them one by one in agonizingly slow movements. She watched Jeanie's eyes, fascinated by the devotion in them, the ravenous and yet loving appreciation. It blew her away how she could feel so wanted and treasured and cared for, not an object of desire but a full participant, so willing.

"You've only gotten more beautiful," Jeanie said, after she'd carefully undone her shirt, took in the sight of her in her nude bra, far from sexy.

She produced a nervous sort of laugh and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You'd call an alligator a lizard."

But Jeanie shook her head, her curls bouncing, and gently pushed her hands away, snaked her own around her back to unclasp her bra as easily as only a woman could. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been admired like this, if she ever had been, and she almost averted her gaze, teetering under the intensity of Jeanie's, the profoundness of being watched with patience and warmth, like she was worthy of being studied. To bare her naked skin to another living soul and not touch, not act — another paralyzing boundary crossed, because she didn't get the urge to pick up the blankets and tug them to her chin.

Instead, she accepted willingly as Jeanie's hands wandered over her stomach — "definitely" — Jeanie's mouth, hot and soft, skimming her collarbone — "very" — her shoulder, that sensitive spot in her neck Jeanie still managed to find with ease, and then lower, to where she usually didn't enjoy being touched, but now — "beautiful" — of course, it was different. This was Jeanie.

She staggered backward, hit the bed with the back of her legs, and landed sitting on the mattress, hands planted behind her, breasts rising and falling in the rhythm of her shaky breathing. Jeanie sank down to her knees on the cool concrete, as if she was about to pray to an unknown deity, and looked up, curls slinking down her back, again with eyes like sticky honey, the tip of her tongue darting out, and looked, and looked, and looked.

Mary had forgotten what could be conveyed in just a look. But she remembered now.

She cupped Jeanie's face, responded in kind with a kiss that contained all the words she was too speechless to speak out loud — and remembered, and remembered: under the bleachers, in the storm cellar, in the wings of the stage, under the trees, in the backseat, in the truck bed, on the porch of a safe haven, between the sheets. She had a chance to relive it all with the beautiful woman that girl had grown into, and she was going to take it.

A sudden clang broke them apart. The crucifix dangled between them, Mary still leaning over, and Jeanie watched it twirl, the look of love and admiration replaced by a shade of fear that made her seem small.

Mary felt it sting; that something she had found refuge in had been twisted to torture such a lovely soul — she thought of Jesus and his kindness, and doubted he'd agree with all Jeanie had been subjected to in that camp. Maybe this woman kneeling before her was a better follower of Jesus' teachings than anyone else in this too-small of a town.

She held Jeanie's gaze, saw the quiet pain in them, and with deliberate, trembling strokes, brushed her hair aside and reached for the clasp behind her neck. It was off in a moment, the chain plummeting into her lap, where it lay in a jumble on top of the crucifix, tangible proof that she had arrived at a point of no return.

Jeanie blinked fast, repeatedly, never glancing away from the golden bundle. She breathed in deeply, seized the string of her own necklace, and stretched it wide as she pulled it past her curls, over her head. She captured the key before it could fall, placed it in the palm of Mary's hand, heavy and featherlight at the same time.

"Thank you," Mary whispered, "for keeping it safe."

Against all expectations, Jeanie gathered up the other chain, added it to its polar opposite, tenderly curling Mary's fingers around them, holding her fist between her own hands. "Thank you," she said, "for being brave."

Mary didn't recall what she did with the necklaces then; she just knew she had to eradicate all this unnecessary space between them. The air grew heavy with gasps and groans as she drew Jeanie up, kissed her lips, her neck, the now empty stretch of skin between her breasts, was rewarded with the same in return: thank you's replayed in acts of aching gentleness.

She wanted to see more. She wanted to see everything, almost sobbing with how ready she was to commit this sin, to commit it a thousand times over.

She moved to the button on Jeanie's jeans, asking without uttering a single word, Jeanie answering with a single sound. There were no butterflies now, only that searing need, swelling as she tugged the denim down smooth, tan hips, and she squirmed with the strength of it, her own jeans too tight, too suffocating, far from brave now — if she would touch there, at the edge of a pair of black panties, she'd burst.

"Let me just —"

Jeanie took over, wiggling to get it off in its entirety, granting a brief respite as she almost toppled over, and Mary did burst — with unbound laughter. It was met with a grin, and before she could compose herself, she was shoved down onto the mattress with a surprised shriek, and that cheeky face appeared above her, legs on either side keeping her in place.

"Your turn," Jeanie said, again a question hidden in the statement, and Mary giggled in response, accepted the kiss that followed.

It was impossible to keep still while Jeanie undressed her — she closed her eyes, willed her body to stop squirming, and failed. Jeanie commanded her to "lift that fine ass of yours," and she blushed and launched into another cascade of giggles as she complied and Jeanie pulled — when did sex stop being this fun? Both jeans ended up in a heap on the floor, and then, and then, she was stripped down to her panties in a bed with Jeanie Lucas, and she wanted, and this time, she would receive.

She was shamefully wet, panties soaked, Jeanie's grin drifting away when she noticed, exchanged for dark, hungry appreciation. Suddenly, she was scared she wouldn't live up to Jeanie's expectations, with such a big difference in experience between them. But Jeanie invited her into a sitting position, drawing her in by the hips, almost ending up in her lap, face-to-face, as close as possible. The worries washed away, bare skin of their legs touching, hands everywhere, exploring every dip, every curve, shuddering under the contact, and Mary couldn't — it was too much, too slow, and she had waited so patiently and obediently for so long — the heat down low screamed it wouldn't stand to be ignored much longer. She bucked, whimpered, tried to hold back.

"Something wrong?" Jeanie asked, voice drifting over her skin, and there wasn't, but there was.

"I just — I need..." She couldn't form coherent thoughts, which was just as agitating as the pleasure building up, taunting her.

"Need what?"

But Jeanie knew, she did, because her fingers danced down her stomach, lower, to the source of her unrest, the drenched cotton of her panties. "This?" she whispered against her shoulder, and Mary could only nod, embarrassed, writhing, and so, so needy.

She let out an "oh" as Jeanie touched her there, arching her back, throwing her head back, hanging onto Jeanie's neck for dear life, trying to answer her questions with nothing more than the sounds invoked in her — Like this? Faster? Here? — and how did she know, how was it possible to — all the muscles in her body clenched as she came all too soon, loud and panting and in ecstasy, finally reaping the release she'd so craved for, and it was so much feeling that she could've sobbed.

When she opened her eyes, Jeanie was watching her from inches away. Had she been watching all along? She found the idea thrilled her, such an intimate occasion, only ever seen by the woman who'd stolen her heart all those years ago. Jeanie brushed a lock of blonde behind her ear, nuzzled her cheek. "That better?"

She couldn't say yes, still tongue-tied, so she enveloped her in a warm embrace and let gravity take them down, ending side by side on the mattress, all tangled limbs and clammy skin. She allowed herself a moment to calm down, then jolted awake, realizing her selfishness — "Oh," she blushed again, "I should —"

She was cut off by a kiss, Jeanie pulling her back in. "There's no should here, Mare. Just want. Come lie down for a second."

She did, nestling herself in the crook of Jeanie's neck, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, feeling her breasts rise and fall in unison. She had been kidding herself real good for almost two decades now; she did like naked cuddling, apparently, more than she dared to admit, as long as it was with Jeanie. Good, loving, beautiful, giving, funny, vulnerable Jeanie.

She followed the freckles on her cheek, down to her chin, her shoulder. "Mm," Jeanie murmured, eyes closed, smiling oh so sweetly, "damn freckles have gotten out of hand since we were kids, huh?"

"Hey, don't go disrespecting those freckles. They're one of the things I love most about you."

It was out before she could think about it, and though the admission made her heart skip a beat, she could never regret defending them.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She touched one, then another — "love this one" — one more on her nose — "and this one" — above her lips, her collarbone, arms, wrists; she followed a makeshift path of interconnected freckles, seeking Jeanie for a lazy, open-mouthed kiss, her pulse speeding up the lower her fingers went, down her stomach, until she reached the black panties, heard her breath hitch, felt her shudder against her — did she dare?

She pulled back a little and looked for Jeanie's eyes as she grazed the lining of her panties. They were squeezed shut in clear anguish, Jeanie biting down on her lip as if to stop herself from making a sound. She wanted just as much, it was clear now, was allowing Mary to set the pace.

As soon as she realized, she dove in. She didn't need to be handled with care; as much as it made her feel treasured, she wasn't going to lie down and just let it happen. She remembered years of being unfulfilled and refused to be like her ex-husband. She had done it when they were young, she had done it for herself, and she could do it for Jeanie now.

She listened for the little moans and one-word directions, watched for the shudders and shivers, clenching fists, marveled in the heat flushing up Jeanie's face, in the strength of Jeanie's thighs as they trapped her hand between them. The way she breathed her name, that sweet, shortened version. The way her eyelids quivered. The way she cursed softly. The way her back curved. Her whole body came alive, an enthralling vision. Strangely, Mary felt the ache return to herself, stronger than before, and on instinct, her other hand slid down to her own panties. That it could be so damn alluring to witness someone come and know you were the cause. To hear her call out, Mare, see every muscle tense up, feel it against her, and then the release: the total relaxation, the slow-building smile.

It almost brought her to the edge as well, and she stopped quickly, before Jeanie could notice her self-indulgence. Both her hands were slick and moist, and she held them up, wondering what on earth to do about it. In a small, forbidden corner of her mind was a little voice telling her exactly what she could do, a filthy, obscene thought she would never share with anyone.

Jeanie laughed, one of those loud, endearing laughs that had the bed quaking like she was reaching her peak again, all off her glorious body shaking in joy. "Just wipe 'em on the sheets," she suggested, that fond twinkle in her irises.

"Those are clean! I changed 'em this morning."

More laughter, and how could she make her feel so warm, so satisfied, as if they hadn't just committed a sin greater than any prayers or Sunday morning sermons could fix. "Hate to break it to you, but you were gushing like a fire hose over there."

Her cheeks were hot, undoubtedly as red as the hose Jeanie'd compared her with, and yet, and yet, the lazy grin on that fetching face attracted the butterflies, and she could hardly fight a smile of her own. "Jeanie Lucas, wash your mouth!"

Jeanie, however, sat up, straddled her hips, ignoring her feeble noises of protest amidst peels of giggles and crazed laughter. "As you wish, baby," she said, deliciously smug, and she leaned over and captured her lips in a kiss that knocked the playfulness from her brain faster than double-struck lightning.

She wrapped her arms around Jeanie, all that soft skin, those muscles, those curves, and without thinking about it, tugged at those black panties, annoyingly hindering, barely serving a purpose at this point. She had left them on as a sort of compromise, a sign she hadn't completely lost her virtue, as if it hadn't fled halfway to Houston by now. And, oh, she was done lying to herself. Let that be one sin she wouldn't commit again.

Jeanie's hot mouth traveled down her body, scouting every single spot, lingering here and there, rebuilding that ache down below. Her panties joined Jeanie's, somewhere in a heap on the floor, tangled up in the sheets one of them had kicked off unknowingly, and she was overcome with how much she felt, and how long she could go on, and how she was so very much not too old for this. She let herself go, let herself gasp and moan and roll her hips, because she felt so darn safe in Jeanie's hands, safe to live, safe to love, safe to lie back and let her take the reins.

Kisses on her inner thigh, so close, too close. "Is this alright?" Jeanie asked, following the line of her hip, then back, so close again, too close again, and Mary was craving something she couldn't explain.

"What are you...?"

"I'm gonna kiss you here."

"There?"

She must've misunderstood. She leaned on her hands to push her shoulders from the mattress, looked Jeanie in the eye.

"Yeah," Jeanie said, and she was dead serious. "Can I?"

The vision of Jeanie between her legs, curls all wild, lips swollen and red, struck her like a bolt of lightning hitting the sand, and she shook with the luscious obscenity of it, the raw, loving beauty.

She nodded, a little uncertain as to what she'd just agreed to, and then, and then, she could conclusively name what she had been longing for. This was new for her, unexplored territory, an act that she could've never come up with, not even in her most secret dreams. Her mouth there, her tongue there — she was moaning, crying out mindless things, thrashing, unable to keep her legs still, keep anything still: her heart, her mind, her skin, her desire, all one sparking, growing fire, licking and spitting with heat. This was going to be the end of her. This was going to ruin her for good, but oh, she'd pick one night with Jeanie in Hell over a thousand in Heaven without her. She had found her god, and she was right there, seized between her thighs in a shabby bed in a crass garage, making her cry out as if she had learned to whisper in a sawmill.

After, she felt all fat and sassy, sighing in pure, rosy bliss, spread out on the bed like a starfish. She didn't move, couldn't have even if she'd tried, her mind buzzing with the afterglow of that height she'd been brought to with keen attention and zealous intent. Thirty-four years old, and still, she experienced a first with Jeanie Lucas — even though it certainly hadn't been hers, judging by her confident expertise.

Jeanie joined her, chuckled at the stunned expression on her face, all smug and satisfied. "You have no idea how long I've longed to do that," she said, elbow planted on the mattress, cheek on her hand, breasts unfairly tight for her age. She was a dream. This was a dream.

"If I'd known you could, I would've been the one to cheat on George."

It made her laugh, even if it alarmed Mary: she knew with absolute certainty it was true, that she would've abandoned her fiercest principles in a heartbeat for a taste of this, whatever it was called. She would ask, sometime, when she had the power to move again.

Jeanie snuggled close, draped an arm around her, hummed contentedly against her hair. They lay there a long, long time, the night stretching with every kiss and every touch, and they talked and laughed, explored, studied, ransacked, melted into one another, like they were trying to make up for eighteen years of missed chances, until their blended scents were etched into their memories, and all was as intimate and familiar as those early mornings in a single bed in a house full of oblivious people when they were young and certain they would never be apart.

A tinge of sunlight rose behind the small windows of the garage, blazing the wall with red. Mary picked the cigarette from Jeanie's lips, took one last, long puff, and stubbed it on the floor.

She wasn't certain of anything now, just that her heart lived only for the dazzling woman curled up against her, and that each beat spoke of the hope for many more sleepless nights like this.

Because life was still never as full as when Jeanie Lucas whirled through it to sweep her off her feet and whisk her away into unchartered skies.