There was such a deep and bitter irony about being judged on morals by Donald fucking Trump that it made everything seem completely surreal. Sure, maybe she'd thrown her legs up in the air a few too many times and she probably should've waited a few months to see if coke really was better in the city than in Kentucky, but in spite of how exciting being Miss USA was made to sound, being the prized cow was pretty tedious.
It would be all right, she thought to herself as she slammed her palm against the button in the elevator to take her to her shared room the final time. Vanessa Williams had a career and she couldn't remember the last Miss USA to really break through and make something of themselves. This was, perhaps, more due to her mood than reality, but it didn't matter. It was comforting.
She could ride the talk show circuit. Maybe give her life to Christ or something equally as banal. If that didn't work, there was always
Playboy
. They'd probably be drooling for her after she was born again. Then
Maxim
, maybe. If that dried up... maybe she could go back to the Christians again. They were saps like that.
When she walked through the door, she saw Katie watching the news, her face still pink and eyes red from crying. Sometimes when Katie looked at her, it was like looking in a mirror in that generic way that most pageant girls looked about the same. They'd kissed a few times, mostly in drunken jubilance, enjoying the frivolity of the party atmosphere and to see what the guys around them would do. It had never been serious, at least not to Tara.
Now that she saw how all of this was affecting Katie, she felt a little guilty. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy kissing her. It was soft. Softer than men tended to kiss, but maybe that was just because her lips were bigger, plusher, softer than any man she'd dated. Tara didn't miss the lack of facial hair scraping her face, providing fresh make-up challenges the next day. Scruff looked a lot sexier than it ever felt.
"I'm so sorry, Tara," said Katie. She stood and flung her arms around Tara as she sobbed again, murmuring apologies and how thankful she was that she hadn't been ratted out.
It wasn't altruism. It wasn't even that she was particularly protective of Katie. They were only two years apart, and Tara didn't think she needed any protection. It just wouldn't have done any good to tattle and might have even made things a little worse. As it was, Tara sounded like she'd corrupted Katie. That wasn't true. Both of them had gone out together, drank together, made-out when it amused them. Maybe Katie was just less likely to drop her panties, and she drew the line at cocaine and that was just enough to keep her out of the line of fire.
"It's all right, dolly," said Tara in her soft southern drawl. She released the hug to cup her face and brush away her tears. "You've just gotta keep it clean from now on, all right? Watch out for yourself."
The way that Katie was looking at her was odd. There was a softness to her eyes even as her brows furrowed with worry. But she wasn't looking at Tara's eyes, but rather her lips. Tara had seen this look before, although usually they were both fuzzy with drinking. At least Tara thought they'd both been buzzed.
She released Katie's face only to find it mashed against her own. Her face was wet but her kneading lips were tender and pliant. Her tongue was slick, warm and needy as it pulled Tara's tongue into her mouth and sucked it greedily.
Katie was pulling at Tara's short skirt, driving the hem up over her hips. Tara broke the kiss, about to question it when she felt Katie's long nails scraping over the lacy front of her La Perlas. The sensation took Tara's breath away, partly because it was so unexpected but also because the scrape of nails through the fabric was new and erotic.
One thing she always loved that most of the men in the Manhattan club scene failed to take time with was foreplay. Tara licked her lips, mentally weighing whether she should allow this or not. That point was quickly moot when Katie became more aggressive, pressing her fingers against the front of her panties in slow circles. It massaged her clit against her folds of skin making Tara's head fall back as she once again groped for breath.
"Katie..." Tara whispered, sliding her hands up Katie's arms to her shoulders, as much for balance as to suggestively push her down.
That was all it took. Katie was quickly on the floor in front of her, breathing balmily over Tara's white lacy panties, kissing her through them and pulling them back with her lips. Tara's head fell forward; her highlighted hair cascaded on either side of her face as she looked down into those bright blue eyes and perfectly sculpted brows raised in want of approval.
Had she been so drunk and high that she'd missed what Katie had wanted all along? Was this the real reason that she'd come out with her all of those nights, watching her fucking all of those guys? They'd only really kissed when they were out on the dance floor, rubbing together, being flirty. She'd missed the intent and probably missed out on more than just her crown.
Katie was careful with her nails as she slipped her fingers under the elastic string on Tara's panties, slipping them lightly against her skin so that they traced delicately along her perfectly bronzed thighs as she pulled them down. Tara was bare, finding that it made the skin around her cunt more sensitive and it was easier to wear whatever bikinis or panties without any embarrassing hair problems.
Tara panted as Katie's muggy breath blew over her. She was wet with anticipation, feeling the moisture building and gathering in anticipation. Slipping her leg over Katie's shoulder, she smelled the light scent of her arousal. When Katie carefully parted her folds with her fingers, she felt the chilly air hit her cunt and shivered with the thrill of being so completely exposed.
For a moment, Katie just stared eagerly at it, as if memorizing each ripple of pink skin, glossy and throbbing with need. It was all Tara could do not to force her head into it, not to just
