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Bernie lets her head drop onto the desk with a light thud and closes her eyes. “Shit,” she whispers. “Shit, shit, shit! Where have I put it? Every time…”
Just then the door swings open and Serena walks in waving a piece of paper pinched between index finger and thumb. “Looking for this?” she asks, smirking as Bernie whips her head up and breathes a sigh of relief. She walks around to the side of Bernie’s desk and leans against the edge, putting the sheet down and nudging it towards Bernie’s fingertips.
“What would I do without you?” Bernie wonders aloud, standing up to slip her arms around Serena’s shoulders and plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. The rush of Serena’s perfume still makes her giddy, a glamorous Hollywood scent compared to her own dab of citrus, overtly feminine and, Bernie thinks as she nuzzles in to Serena’s neck, deliciously sensual. “More to the point, what am I going to do with you?” The words are whispered against Serena’s ear, lips barely brushing the skin, sending a shiver through Serena, who closes her eyes as she slides a hand into Bernie’s hair and pulls her closer.
-
They had floated towards today, the last day of term, it felt like, each of them always just a second, just a moment, just a tiny prompt from smiling at the thought of the other. For Bernie it was less of a problem, since people were accustomed to her sunny mood; Serena’s students were slightly thrown by Dr Campbell’s apparently fervent passion for the simple carboxylic acids they were ending the term with. Bernie was pretty sure she’d spotted a few playground conversations taking place behind cupped hands, eyes darting between her and Serena, but when she shot Serena an anxious look she found her smiling warmly, a newfound ease about her shoulders. Let them talk! her eyes seemed to say. Good luck spoiling my mood!
-
There’s a spot just under Serena’s jaw that offers a shortcut straight to her every nerve ending: Bernie knows exactly where it is, delights in returning there again and again, whether they’re in bed or on their bench in the park watching the sun set; loves the throaty “oh”s and “ah”s Serena gives up each time. Leaning in to Serena that afternoon, pressing her against the desk, she stays there as long as Serena will let her, as long as Serena will take the heat of her kisses, the deeper heat of her tongue swirling on her skin, the occasional scrape of teeth against her reddening neck. Bernie’s hands have slipped under Serena’s blouse but are still (for now) holding her waist rather than venturing any higher or lower; it is her lips that are wandering, seeking Serena’s collarbone, her sternum, revelling in the heave and swell of Serena’s chest.
“Bernie,” Serena starts, with scant effect. “Bernie.” Bernie pauses and looks up, licking her lips as her eyes trace Serena’s own. “Here?” A question and an answer: not here.
But Bernie’s eyes remain a sinful black. “Given the looks you were throwing me in the staffroom just now, Dr Campbell,” she growls, drawing Serena’s earlobe between her teeth as she nudges her thigh harder against Serena’s tense body, eliciting the faintest of sighs, “I doubt anybody brave enough to come in here is going to be surprised by what they find.” She runs the tip of her tongue along Serena’s jaw before kissing her roughly, messily, all want and urgency and to hell with finesse because there are her hands sliding down to Serena’s hips to lift her more firmly onto the desk, her right hand slipping behind Serena’s knee to tease Serena’s leg up around her waist. Serena grips more firmly at Bernie’s shirt as they move, as she feels herself tipping back slightly towards the desktop. “I’ve got you,” Bernie breathes across her cheek, hand firm on Serena’s back, hot beneath the fabric of her blouse.
-
In the past few weeks Serena had wondered – couldn’t help but wonder – if she was, in fact, the private person she had always believed herself to be, or if she just hadn’t ever really had something to shout about. Something, someone, that she is so brim full of feelings for that she can’t shut up about it, can’t keep the glint from her eye. So many feelings: joy – joy! – because her heart sings when she thinks about Bernie, when she sees Bernie looking at her, when she knows those eyes, eyes that are warm for everyone and yet still seem to hold something special for her, are cast in her direction. Excited, animated, by the way life feels different now, by the difference she feels in herself, body and mind, now that she and Bernie are together. Liberated, courageous even, thanks to the certainty with which she feels able to love Bernie, despite the short span of time that has passed. She must be amazing in the sack, Elinor had joked, scoffed, at the sight of her mother’s dreamy eyes when she told her. I trust Bernie, she wanted to say back, she’s the first person I’ve ever trusted without reservation; knows she won’t convince a woman so young how special that is. As for the sack, well. Serena has never ached for someone’s touch the way she yearns for Bernie. Has never been so giving (because honestly, how is she supposed to stop?); has never felt able to be so demanding – doesn’t feel like she is being demanding when every “more”, “again”, “don’t stop!” is met by a look from Bernie that says you think I was finished?
-
Serena’s topless now, back sweaty and pressed into the dark green leather that tops Bernie’s desk; she can feel the row of studs across her shoulders as Bernie presses feral kisses to her front. She’s being feasted upon, there’s no other word for it, literally and metaphorically as Bernie pushes up onto the flats of her hands and surveys Serena’s body laid out beneath her, their hips still pushed together at the edge of the desk. They share a look, one that makes Serena think of the romance novels she’d read in her teens, the ones where time seems to stand still, and she almost laughs at the poverty of the description, because actually it feels like all of time is happening right now, everything all at once, because she can hear it rushing in her ears and every clock in the building is ticking loudly and the thud of their hearts surrounds them in this room where the whole universe is spinning. Bernie’s eyes are double-checking that Serena is okay with here at the same time as they betray, in their dark lustre, the fact that it’s too late.
-
The past few weeks had been different for Bernie, too, and she thinks maybe Serena has made as dramatic an impact on her as she seems to have made on Serena. She’s had lovers, and there have been women she’d called “partner”; she’s dated a colleague or two over the years; she’s been a woman’s first before now. So it’s not that. No, it must be Serena. Serena. She feels as though she’s saying a magic word when she utters her name now, feels the s and the r on her tongue and something, something, happens; some force is summoned, some power that changes the air and the light, and she can’t quite believe that Serena ever had to tell her that they were in love. How had she missed it? But perhaps this isn’t love as she’s always known it – she knew that Serena was beautiful, she knew that she delighted in Serena’s company, in earning Serena’s smile. It was more than that, though: she wanted to give Serena the world, knew Serena deserved it, wanted the job of showing Serena that. Love was banal compared to this feeling, wasn’t it? This hadn’t been about thrashing bodies... until oh, it was that as well, the feeling of Serena’s skin beneath her lips another spell cast.
-
It takes Serena a moment to realise she’s being given instructions, because Bernie has a habit of muttering to herself as she trails her lips over Serena’s body, a litany of prayers and curses that escape and are gobbled up in the split seconds between each kiss or nip. God, fuck, Christ. It’s a good job their offices are nowhere near the chaplain’s. Bernie stops and looks up at Serena, the ends of her wild blonde hair tickling her stomach; “up”, she says again, waiting for Serena to push up onto her elbows and lift her hips for a second so that she can tug Serena’s trousers down her legs. She wants to wait and tease, run her fingertips lightly over Serena’s underwear, smirking as she pulls her hand away just at the moment that Serena’s hips jerk upwards. Serena wants her to as well, wants to spend an age on the edge of the precipice, wants to keen and twist and moan before finally grabbing at Bernie’s wrist and holding her there. But they both know that Serena’s soaking wet and beyond ready, clit pulsing under her pants, under Bernie’s burning gaze. Neither is confident she can muster the necessary restraint.
Bernie leans down and pushes hard against Serena as she kisses her, a brief descent from mouth to abdomen all the delay she thinks either can endure; their tongues battle impatiently, caught between the desire to lick and to taste each other and the need to part. Her left hand caresses Serena’s breast as she returns her mouth to her jawline, whispering words of love that are far softer than the hand that pushes Serena’s legs farther apart, that grasps at Serena’s hip; Serena loves to be at the centre of the jostle between these two sides of Bernie, an island in the midst of a storm, and when she cries out her pleasure she half wonders if she isn’t sending up a flare to tell rescuers where to look for her spent body.
The desk creaks a little as Serena’s weight shifts – Bernie’s mouth on her nipple is deliciously hot and impolite, and she can’t help but wrap her legs tighter around her. Bernie’s breathing is harsh and ragged, slipping in and out of time with the roll of her hips; Serena, panting, delights in seeing Bernie undone like this. She weaves her fingers into Bernie’s hair and pushes her down, happy to feel her own breasts left wet and heaving if it means that Bernie’s mouth is where she wants it, needs it to go now. This time Bernie doesn’t ask her to move, just pulls her underwear down, her backside bumping lightly on the edge of the desk as they go.
-
It was 10 months since Bernie had moved into this office. Ten months since she had infuriated Serena without even really trying. Seven months since she had comforted her in the park on Boxing Day. Five months since she’d outed to herself to the governors and been rewarded with Serena’s wicked smile. Two months since they’d gone to London, two months since Serena had let her in, and two months, she knew now, since Serena had realised that they might be something more than friends. Six weeks since Serena had had to clock her around the head with this information. Six weeks since that first kiss and the many that had followed swiftly in its wake; a little over five weeks since Bernie had watched Serena watching the stars and thought to herself that it was she, in fact, who had the best view that night. And in the weeks since, she has studied Serena with all the care of an astronomer, mapping galaxies of freckles as they explore one another. She has her favourite constellations, and there’s one just at the top of Serena’s left thigh, one that jumps and starts when Serena’s quad muscle contracts, which it does when Bernie applies her fingertips just so behind Serena’s knee.
-
Serena moans, doesn’t have to ask Bernie not to tease because she knows, because no matter how much she enjoys watching those freckles dance on Serena’s skin, she can only wait so long before swiping her tongue up the length of Serena’s labia, tasting her, drinking her, before applying just a moment’s pressure on her clit. Serena writhes, groans, is in heaven and hell at the same time; wants to sing and to cry. Doesn’t even have a second to recover her composure before Bernie’s tongue, firm and as long as Bernie can make it, is back, is inside her, and she grinds herself against Bernie without even thinking about it. Bernie’s knees are aching against the parquet and Serena’s hold on her hair is just the wrong side of tight, but she finds it hard to care when she’s enjoying herself this much. She can tell from Serena’s moans and movements that she’s close, that this isn’t going to be a slow and gentle orgasm but a belter; not a still and breathless moment to be coaxed and caressed through but a stomach-crunching screamer that’ll leave Bernie’s face and hands and hair wet. She shoves the form that Serena had brought her to the other side of the desk, a reminder that the school year is up and the summer beckons, and pushes her tongue out from behind a smile.