Sapphic Desires: A Steamy W/W Erotic Collection
I first noticed her on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in the small independent bookstore near the park. I had ducked inside to escape the downpour, my jacket dripping onto the wooden floor as I shook out my hair. The place smelled of old paper and coffee, quiet except for the soft jazz playing from a speaker near the counter. She stood in the poetry section, one hand trailing along the spines, the other holding a slim volume open. Dark hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves, and when she glanced up, her eyes met mine for a second too long. Warm brown, curious. I looked away first, heat rising in my cheeks for no good reason.