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We thank our host and head towards her place, hand in hand, our steps resonating against the brick pavement, as we pass mostly dark houses.
We walk, touch, breathe carefully, afraid the slightest noise might wake up ghosts of fears and nos and regrets. A bit later, we are wrapped in the warm scent of her place that I’ve connected with the word home. The moan we let out in unison when she seals my lips with hers is a spark that makes every cell in my body stand at attention, igniting that short fuse called wanting.
We launch into a lip-fight, not for dominance, but to cover as much territory as possible. Corrie’s hands press at the back of my neck, welding our mouths together, while mine wrap round her back, eliminating every bit of distance between us. Our lips share one breath, and the muffled cry that comes to the surface is pure need and want. I know because it’s the same one that leaves my throat when her hips rub against mine like a wave. When my thigh wedges between her legs, she presses her heat against it, and I push and let go to meet her pace, my throbbing cock begging for some relief.
If the plan was to head for the living room, maybe have a drink and take it slowly from there, it’s upended by my mind short-circuiting. Corrie backsteps towards her bedroom, pulling me without a touch. We pause for a moment, and then crash against each other.
Corrie reaches back to fumble with her zipper, but no one else is unwrapping the gift I’ve been longing for, year after year. I gently spin her and start lowering the zip, tooth by tiny tooth, my fingers tracing her spine as it’s revealed, pausing at the barrier of her bra before reaching her lower back. The dress loosens, and I slide it off her shoulders in a heap around her feet.
I loop my arms around her, finally. My fingertips trace her silky skin, the trail of goosebumps in their wake like her body’s Braille, and I’m the blind man reading every tiny rise with needy fingers, trying to tame my impatience that bubbles in mini explosions, screaming, I want you so loud I swear I can hear it in the quiet of Corrie’s home.
She walks out of the pooled fabric and pushes it aside with her foot, then turns round to wiggle a finger at my shirt, before her hands grab the sides of it tucked in my jeans. ‘May I?’
‘You certainly may.’
She leans against my bare chest, taking a deep breath and listens, although my thudding heartbeat can probably be heard from a mile away. When her fingers sneak in, I’m sure that said heart will jump out of my chest.
She undoes the buckle, loosens my belt, pops open the button of my jeans, lowers the zipper even more slowly than I did with hers, and I just let her, even though I long to get rid of the tight fabric. But when the carpet absorbs the thud of metal and her fingers wrap round my length over my briefs, ever so slightly moving, I circle her hand with mine.
‘Not yet…’
I tip her chin to kiss her lips, then prompt her to sit at the edge of the bed. I’m dying to unpeel that grey lace bra and matching panties, but also want to enjoy looking at her—lips half open, hooded eyelids fluttering, chest swelling with every breath, every bit of her responsive to my touch.
I part her thighs to skim the inside of her legs, and a shudder ripples through her. I feel her hesitation when my lips follow the same trail, first up one thigh, then the other, stopping just shy of the narrow, delightfully wet piece of fabric.
My hands move to her waist up, up, to cup her full breasts, and she leans into my touch with a delightful ‘Hmmm…’ that goes straight to my cock. I feel the bit of moist in my briefs, but I’m not going to give in just yet. Not before I taste her. So despite dying to close my teeth around the pebbled nipples, I trap and roll them for a moment to elicit another gasp of approval.
Then I plant a kiss on her belly button, before I move lower, bringing my fingers to the game. My thumbs trail down over the fabric, find her clit and press on each side. Corrie tries to buck from the bed and get closer, but my forearms on her thighs keep her in place.
‘Not so fast…’
I push the delicate fabric to the side, and her slickness alone could make me fall apart on the spot. I skim her tender lips, anticipating the moment I’ll have her splayed in front of me in the daylight to look and taste, to feel and play with her for hours. Right now, I use only the tip of my tongue to get a first taste.
‘Delicious,’ I say, before sliding one finger inside her.
Corrie gasps, then sighs, tightening around me. When she loosens up again, I add another finger. ‘Is that what you thought of, Corrie? Did you think of my tongue and fingers when you were playing with your toy?’ I murmur against her pussy, then pull back to look at how her eyes dart open. ‘When you called my name?’
‘You…heard that?’
My breath is a groan of delight at the memory. ‘It was the most amazing sound.’
‘Shit…’ It sounds like a whimper as I curl my fingers, searching for that sweet spot, as she unravels for me. I scissor my fingers, then pull them out and Corrie lets out a low yelp of protest.
‘I was close…’
‘I know, sweetheart, but I need a proper taste of you first.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
2021
Corrie
‘How is Luuk doing?’ Mom is about to walk out the door. ‘So sad that Norman is gone.’
I saw Luuk’s dad a few times on his good days, so we exchanged anecdotes about parenthood—much to Luuk’s embarrassment—and about artists and how finicky they can be.
Luuk promised he absolutely was not one of those and he loved sound technicians and valued their work, but I could tell he enjoyed the banter, as it provided glimpses of how his dad used to be. Neither of us had illusions that things would get better, but still, the text I received three days ago about Norman’s passing was like a slap.
