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‘More,’ she murmured, arching her back.
Ricardo moaned softly. ‘I wish I could,’ he said, in a voice that was muffled by her breasts. One hand stroked her hair a few times, gradually slowing until he lay still, breathing deeply, and surrendering to sleep.
‘Well, if you won’t, maybe someone else will,’ she said into the quiet.
‘Good luck with that,’ he mumbled.
Cora waited a moment and then edged out from under him, leaving the warm, rumpled sheets for the cool air. He made a low rumbling sound and rolled over. She stood beside the bed in a patch of sunlight from the open window and watched him. He was already snoring.
She was ticking. Something inside her was ticking. Or maybe it was the blood still pumping between her legs. She was both inside her skin and outside of it, restless, flying ahead of herself in space and time and then darting back to her body. Sensing… checking… But too much of that and her resolve would give in.
Cora made a quiet passage through the house, padding barefoot on old linoleum floors, pausing in the sun-struck kitchen to drink half a glass of water, mouthfuls of the shimmering liquid swallowed whole.
And then she was outside his door at the back veranda, knocking once and then pushing it open and entering the fuggy darkness of their boarder’s room.
She paused on the threshold as he stirred in bed. One eye opened, then the other, to take in her presence, her bare arms and legs, the soft folds of her flannelette nightie, her fuzzy hair, her eyes watching him steadily.
She was still ticking with a kind of nervous excitement, but more slowly now. As if everything was happening in slow motion.
Without saying a word, Andy lifted the covers on the side of the bed nearest to her, revealing a naked chest, and moved back to make room.
She slid into the bed quietly, nuzzling his neck to pick up the scent of this other man. It was a wholly different thing. A rough reddish-brown beard tickled the skin on her cheek.
She moved closer to the lithe young body, and he drew her to his chest, one hand sliding down her back till it found her buttocks, and cupping them as if this meeting was perfectly normal and natural, something that happened every Sunday morning.
His cock stiffened against her thigh and he uttered a wordless sound. One warm hand moved down her leg and then back up with the hem of her nightie, pushing it up and away, out of the way. He began to move down the length of her, bringing his face between her breasts, pausing there to nuzzle her nipples, and then going on down to her belly; pausing there to inhale her scent and kiss her flesh; and then lower… lower…
Still, neither had said a word. The air in the room crackled with intensity, with the pent-up energy that had been generated through several weeks of glances, brushed fingers, an electricity that rippled between them unexpectedly, and was quickly repressed.
‘It seems I’m not the first,’ he murmured from between her legs, down there under the covers.
‘What did you expect?’ she said, and her voice sounded loud and alone in the emptiness at the pillows.
He began to lick her, with broad, slow strokes, and all speech stopped as she lay breathless, urgent.
She was filling the kettle when Andy came into the kitchen through the back door. Ricardo was standing over the toaster, two hands flat on the bench on either side, like a sentry, his back to the door.
Andy cast Cora a quick, questioning glance. Does he know?
What do you think? her answering gaze mocked. Of course not! A slight colour rose in her cheeks as she turned the tap off and said ‘Good morning’ in a voice that cracked.
She was dressed now, in jeans and a t-shirt – this body that he had enjoyed from afar for weeks, the firm plump breasts, trim waist, full-cheeked arse, had been his to enjoy only moments earlier. Forbidden fruit, served on a platter in his room. Unexpected room service. He now knew what was inside those jeans – and what was inside that body, and his breath caught in his throat as he said gruffly, ‘Morning’.
Ricardo turned at their voices, adding his own greeting and ‘Toast?’ completely innocent, unaware, guileless. It was too much. Andy took a glass from the rack and went to the fridge. He poured himself a juice, taking refuge for a moment in its cold privacy. He would have to leave. He would find another place.
But even as he thought this, she came to stand behind him and took the juice carton from his hand as he was about to replace it, and he caught her warmth and movement and scent, and he knew that he would not leave, he would stay, come what may.
© Lily del Reyes 2014
Lily del Reyes writes short stories, plays, articles, novels and the odd poem. Many of her writings have been published or have won awards.
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