The Lady Elizabeth Capulet was a dark-haired beauty and while her daughter was a growing likeness, this woman was no bruised or withered fruit. She was still a ripe plum, with a fleshy, juicy center, and a firm, supple skin. She was only eight and twenty this year, and although she had been a wife and mother long that time, she felt to be still fully blooming open.

The Lady Catherine Montague was her bright twin, and though others rarely saw the woman smile and laugh the way she did here, in these chambers, there was no mistaking the golden beauty she once was and the still glowing beauty she was now. A sweet, ripe peach-she was slightly older than the other woman, and had been wed

and bed before her as well. It wasn’t too long after they each had their babes in arms, Romeo toddling at Lady Montague’s feet, Juliet suckling at Lady Capulet’s breast, the women had met and become fast friends.

“Do you remember?” Catherine slid her body along her lover as they found their way under the coverlet. “Do you remember the first time?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth smiled, cupping the other woman’s face in her hands and kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. “And I have long since thanked the stars for that day.”

“And I,” Catherine closed her eyes as she remembered watching the young Juliet suckle her mother’s breast, just as Elizabeth was suckling at hers now.

Oh, the memory of how she had felt a wet heat between her thighs as she watched the fat, pink bud of her friend’s nipple wet with milk and saliva! How Elizabeth had given her babe to the nurse, her eyes dreamy and half-closed in that sweet, pleasant after-nursing trance.

That early morning, when Catherine had watched Romeo toddle off, holding the nurse’s hand, and had somehow found her mouth latched there, suckling the other woman’s breast, lifting her skirts and touching her between her legs.