Best Lesbian Romance 2014 Read Online Free PDF

the brown of my irises. She stared into me like I was fire opal, and I knew she’d seen them, that deep blue that had first told my grandfather I was a girl for questions and words, all those words.
    â€œDid you think I didn’t know?” Sawyer asked.
    She put her hands on my waist and kissed me, quickly but gently, like she was pinning me down. She wanted me, still touched me like I was as soft as wet roses, even with all those secret pages. I was a butterfly over the waters of my grandmother’s homeland, and Sawyer was an ocean I could move with the flicker of my eyelashes, as easily as if they were wings.
    My hand found that band of bare skin between her shirt and her jeans. My fingers brushed the knobs of her spine. The soft whistle of her breath in through her teeth gave me permission to pull her shirt away from the warmth of her back, and then her body was as open as the Ireland of those poets. Her tongue, her breasts, her thighs were salt-rose and topaz on my lips. She had irises as green as those cloud forest hummingbirds, and the black in the center of each opened and spread when she slid her hand up my skirt.
    She reached between my thighs like I was her rose and she was that boy who loved me like a sky’s worth of stars. She touched me like I was all petals, her fingers looking for the tight bud at the center.
    She was all those words. Todas aquellas palabras. And I could tell her all of it, everything, as soon as I caught my breath.

CURRENT
    Sara Rauch
    I emerged from the upstairs bathroom, having gone in twenty minutes before to cry my eyes out. I’d redrawn my liner and lashes from Poppy’s makeup bag, but I still felt shitty, was thinking of slipping out the side door through the yard and running for home. Clara caught me off guard. She was there at the top of the stairs, waiting. I jumped and said, “Shit.” I was past polite, past profound. I knew my eyes were puffy and bloodshot despite the freshly applied kohl.
    â€œSorry,” she said. “I saw you come up here and—”
    I studied her, her outfit and unfamiliar face. I’d glimpsed her downstairs, sitting by the window alone, beer in hand. She had a nose pointy like a woodpecker, and a crest of dark blond hair, pale skin, shadowy smudges beneath her light blue eyes. All I could manage was, “Oh?”
    She said, “I wanted to talk to you. Now that I’m standing here, it seems like I’m being strange.”
    It did seem strange, but I’d been crying in the bathroom at anafternoon potluck, wishing my ex was dead and not my dad, and it was one of those floating September afternoons that always got under my skin. My thirty-second birthday was a week away. My mother had sent a ring—she rarely visited, though I’d asked her to many times—a thick band set with rubies, and a note that read: This is your year for peace and passion. My mother was a gemologist, so I figured this arcane blessing had something to do with the stones. I rarely wore jewelry, but I wore the ring that afternoon, constantly aware of its weight on my finger.
    â€œNo, not strange. I just wasn’t expecting you,” I said.
    Clara stepped toward me and touched my arm. She said, “I’m Clara. I work with Dale at the university.” There was something in Clara’s face, some openness, that made her proximity, her assertiveness comforting rather than grating.
    â€œSienna,” I said. “Poppy’s best friend.”
    For many weeks I’d had the feeling that I was approaching a cliff, with no idea of what came next, with no parachute or brakes. All the desire I once carried—to be an artist, to do something with my life, to make meaningful contact with another human being—had come to naught. I carried with me, instead, an unbearable sense of loneliness.
    â€œWhy’re you hiding out up here?” Clara asked.
    â€œAvoiding my ex.”
    Dale and Poppy’s