Squire’s Isle Created by Geonn Cannon

Deadlines and Commitments

Summary: Jill and Patricia get Valentine’s night all to themselves, but they don’t spend it exactly the way anyone might expect them to.

Patricia drew herself a bath, undressed, and sighed as she settled into the water. Michael was out with Callie for Valentine’s Day, and her mother was downstairs with Isabel so she and Jill could have a night to themselves. Of course with the stress of the past couple of weeks, a night alone meant that Jill was taking a well-deserved nap while Patricia was taking the long and leisurely bath she had been fantasizing about for a month. She stretched out and rested her arms on the side of the tub. With the baby, Jill going back to work, the tentative reconciliation with her mother, all on top of her responsibilities as mayor, it was hard for her brain to accept the fact she could just sit and soak in the tub for as long as she wanted without being summoned for one crisis or another.

She wouldn’t change anything in their lives, not one step, but sometimes she missed how simple it was before she was elected and before Isabel. She told herself that nostalgia was not synonymous with regret, and knew that she would kill herself before she let anything happen to their little girl, but sometimes she felt guilty about pining for the little house and her quiet job as deputy mayor. Home at a reasonable hour every night, dinner with Jill and Michael, then to bed for…

Patricia sighed. She wasn’t going to be nostalgic about <i>that</i> because <i>that</i> was just on hiatus. A five-month hiatus, and counting. Isabel was three months old, and the last time she and Jill had been intimate was just after Thanksgiving. They actually hadn’t had sex since Jill first cut her hair short in anticipation of Isabel’s arrival, and she’d since had it trimmed three times. She understood; she had been through the same period of adjustment when Michael was born. But this time she was on the other side, where she was ready, willing, and able, but her partner was still recovering.

It was one thing to be patient. She could be patient with the best of them. But adding in the fact it was not only Valentine’s Day but the seventh anniversary of the day they met, she was a little disappointed that she knew their night wouldn’t end in anything other than sleepy cuddling. She took in a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth, relaxing against the slope of the tub. She let her feet skim across the slick surface, up out of the water to brace around the faucet. She moved her hands over her belly and then lower, wetting her lips as she teased herself with her fingertips. She thought about her usual go-to fantasies, the women in tight jeans and greasy tank tops. She had a real cowgirl/mechanic fetish, and Jill indulged her in it from time to time. At least she used to…

No, off that track. She pictured Jill with her new, chin-length hair, wearing a T-shirt that didn’t quite cover her belly and low-riding jeans that showed off the waistband of her panties. In all of her fantasies she was single, and Jill was the mysterious and aggressive lesbian who crossed her path. Jill was the cop who pulled her over for speeding and gave her a thorough pat-down. Jill was the professor who had finally had enough of her student’s shenanigans. She moved one hand between her thighs and brought her knees together to trap it, curling the first two fingers of her other hand to move the water against her clit. She sighed and bit her bottom lip, rolling her eyes back and letting herself go.

Instead of choosing a single fantasy, Patricia just let the movement of her fingers in the water do its work. She was keyed up enough that she didn’t need a map to get where she wanted to be. She curled her toes and made sure she wasn’t in a position to slip and fall at a pivotal moment. She went as slow as she could bear, knowing she wouldn’t get the luxury of a nice leisurely orgasm any time in the near future. She wanted to make this one count.

There was a shuffle in the other room and she opened her eyes, turning her head toward the slightly-ajar bathroom door. She didn’t stop her hands, not sure if she could bring herself to stop even if she wanted to, and a few seconds later Jill appeared to push the door open a little wider. She was wearing the slacks she’d worn to work, but she had changed into a plain T-shirt for her nap. Her hair was flat on one side, sticking up like a rooster’s comb. She leaned in, assessed what was happening, and froze on the threshold.



“I just wanted to let you know I was up.”

Patricia smiled. “You don’t have to go anywhere. Come on in. Shut the door.”

Jill hesitated, then did as she was told. She crossed the room and lowered herself to the floor next to the tub. She was wedged against the side of the toilet in a slightly awkward position, but she made it work. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Once she was settled she leaned over and looked into the water.

“Okay. Just making sure you were doing what it looked like you were doing.”

Patricia smiled. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

Jill raised an eyebrow. “You have to ask permission?”

“Seems polite.”

“It’s fine,” Jill said. “I do it, too. At least I used to…” She sighed and plucked at the knee of her pants. “If you’re not getting it from me…”

“Hey.” Patricia cupped her hand over her sex and pushed herself up a little. “I’m not doing this because I feel deprived. I know that you’re going through right now.”

“The doctor said we should be having sex again by now.”

“The doctor said we <i>could</i> have sex again by now. There’s a difference. Jill, honey, for nine months your body wasn’t really yours. You were using it to bring a life into this world. Your appetites, your sleep schedule, everything was different, and that was all because of Izzie. Now you have it back and you’re still trying to remember how everything works. Add to that the stress of going back to work and it’s not surprising you don’t exactly feel romantic.”

Jill nodded and rested her head on her knee. “And the fear.”

“The fear?”



Jill looked at her and sighed. “I’ve changed, Trish.”

“I noticed.”

“I know. That’s what’s making me crazy.”

Patricia frowned. “You think I’ll reject you because your body changed?”

“I’ve lost a lot of the baby weight, but…”

Patricia sat up further and lifted one hand out of the water. She reached out and stroked it through Jill’s hair, taming the wild strands before pulling her close. She kissed her lips and, after a second, Jill returned the kiss. Patricia guided the kiss, keeping it passionate without crossing the line into implying she expected it to go further. When Jill broke the kiss, Patricia let her retreat.

“I love you and want you and desire you as much now as I did seven years ago when you followed me home in the rain.”

Jill smiled. “Seven years ago today.”

“Seven minutes ago,” Patricia said softly. “Everything we’ve been through and I still feel like my life with you is just getting started. I can’t wait to see what the next thing is.” A strand of hair had fallen into Jill’s face and Patricia tucked it behind her ear. “When you’re ready, I’ll be ready. Seven years ago we skipped the formalities and hopped into bed as soon as we met. This is just making up for that. I didn’t know it then, but now I know how long I’m willing to wait for you.”

“Yeah? How long is that?”

“Hundred years. Give or take. I’m not going to put a definitive end-date on it… could stretch on a little longer.”

Jill laughed and leaned in again. “Oh, okay. So I have a century to get things sorted out?”

“Well, a century, and then we’ll negotiate.”

“I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Patricia said, kissing her again.

Jill nipped at Patricia’s bottom lip and looked down into the water. “Now, um. I think you were in the middle of something when I so rudely interrupted with my baggage. I’ll get out of your hair…”

“No, whoa, wait. You sure? It doesn’t have to be interactive. You can just watch.”

Jill raised an eyebrow and leaned back, leaning against the tub. “Really?”

“If you want. I hadn’t settled on a specific fantasy, so I’d be happy to just look at you.”

“Hah. Yeah. I’m pretty porn-y right now, huh?”

“You’re my fetish.”

Jill laughed and kissed Patricia’s palm, then placed it back in the tub. “Well, if you insist. On with the show, Madam Mayor.”


That night, after Michael got home from his date with Callie, after Alana went home and they had put Isabel to sleep, Jill and Patricia finally adjourned to bed. Neither of them had to be up as early as usual in the morning, since it was Saturday, but Patricia planned to spend a few hours at City Hall and Jill had papers to grade and she preferred to get those done as quickly as possible. Jill also had several windows of online chat time in case any of her students needed help with their projects. They changed into their pajamas, and Patricia looked over her shoulder to watch as Jill paused in front of the mirror. She lifted the hem of her T-shirt, rubbed her belly, and turned sideways to examine her profile. When she was done critiquing what she saw, she let the shirt drop and joined Patricia under the covers.

“Slowly but surely,” Jill said as she plumped her pillow.

“You could always leave a little of it on. If you think I mind…”

“No, it’s all me. I want to get as close to pre-Izzie as possible. I’m getting there.” She sighed. “Right now it’s just very refreshing to wear my regular clothes again.”

“I have missed this shirt.” Patricia smoothed her hand over the material and leaned down to kiss her. “Good night, baby.”

Jill hooked her fingers under the collar of Patricia’s shirt to keep her from pulling away too fast. “It won’t be a hundred years.”

Patricia laughed. “I know.”

“Maybe ninety. Ninety-one at the outside.”

“Ah, okay.” She kissed Jill’s cheeks just below her eyes. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Will you hold me?”

“Of course I will. Roll on your side.”

Jill twisted under the blankets and Patricia rolled to face her. She put her arms around her wife, kissed her neck, and nuzzled her shoulder just under the collar of her T-shirt.

“Maybe eighty-nine years,” Jill said softly.


“Eighty-eight is a possibility.”

Patricia grinned. “Well. Keep me apprised.”


It might not have been the sex-filled Valentines night of debauchery she’d fantasized about when she was younger, but it was perfect in her eyes. She and Jill weren’t sex-starved twenty-somethings anymore and they had more important things to take care of than screwing just because it happened to be a holiday. That was what Valentine’s meant when she was a girl, when she was married to Nick, and in the freewheeling time between divorce and finding Jill. The fourteenth meant that she needed to get a babysitter and find someone to roll around with for a while. Now she was mature enough to understand it meant more than that. It meant having someone she cared about enough to just hold her, to listen to her breathing change as she slept, and waiting as long as necessary for her to be ready.

Even if it did take eighty-seven years.

Or eighty-six…

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