AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I take her on a journey back to that house, the house I grew up in and cherished, a house that was first an epitome of happiness, tinged with a slight boredom that danced around its edges. My childhood was normal. Nothing too exciting or extreme. My parents were a love story brought to life. Impulsively dancing in the kitchen, sharing intimate moments on the porch, their love bordered the maddening and the enchanting.
"You witness something like that. You build expectations," I pause, thinking of the sickness that then invaded our happiness. I feel my throat tighten as I recount how my mother transformed into an echo of my father in his faltering health. She became an extension of him. When he hurt she hurt. And she couldn’t turn it off. Our home became a hospital and our family moments morphed into fleeting crumbs of normality between hospital appointments.
My escape? The ocean, the surf. The adrenaline rush obliterated my pain momentarily. Yet, every late dinner, every shared silence echoed a loss. The spark in my mom's eyes was extinguished with my father's last breath.
I allow the loaded silence to prevail for a moment and I can feel Izzie's attention trained on me, patient and understanding.
I pick up where I left off, detailing my mother's slow surrender to alcohol. By the time I reached my late teens, I was a spectator in my own home and truly had never felt more alone. Jace and Dan, the boys from the surf shop — they became my chosen family. When I received the offer to go semi-pro, I bolted. I left her there, in that house.
"...and she... she just didn't survive," I say, every word an unwelcome lump in my throat. "She just walked into the ocean one day, unable to withstand a world without my father. Their souls were intertwined, one incomplete without the other."
Softly, Izzie rests her arm on mine, a subtle reassurance in our emotional tempest.
I confess the difficulty of returning to that house when I first came back to town, a stark reminder of my past. I couldn't bear to enter, nor bear to let anyone else. So, I left it, allowing it to weather the storms, standing neglected, and falling into ruins.
Izzie’s quiet question brings me back. “What made you decide to reclaim it this year?”
"I guess, it was an epiphany of some sort," I admit, still unsure. Letting go of the resentment towards my hand for ending my semi-pro dream, the realization that the house wasn't a monument of sadness but rather, a relic of happier times, moments experienced before my father's sickness took him away. I wanted to restore the house, to reclaim a piece of the happiness we once had.
“I don’t think I could ever sell it, but it definitely could be my haven, my home.”
Izzie nods in understanding, then leans back on me, taking comfort from me that I am all too happy to give. I feel lighter after sharing that with her. It feels good, right.
Wrapped together on our cozy couch, we're encased in an alluring blend of shadows and dim lamp glow. Izzie's presence radiates against me, a warmth that resonates beyond skin and bone.
"Relax, darling," I murmur, pitching my voice to a velvet whisper meant for her ears only. I want to make her feel good. I want to release all of her tensions from the day. I want to show her that I care. That I do have feelings for her.
My fingers drift towards the epicenter of her desire, tracing the welcoming warmth through the silk barrier of her dress. At first, she’s tense, and I pause. I’ll only continue if she wants me to.
“Yes” she whispers, breathless already. That is clear encouragement for me.
She cuddles deeper into me, sighs whispering into my neck. Her heart is beating fast. I can feel it, it echoes a tattoo of excitement that matches my own. My fingers dance a delicate ballet across the plain of her thigh, inching towards her apex. Her breath hitches.
Suddenly, silken folds replace fabric beneath my caress. Contact, electrifying and intimate, makes our shared breath shudder. I rub her over her panties for a moment. Wanting her to wait for it. To be patient. The rhythm of our heartbeats spikes, merging into a symphony of shared anticipation.
She wriggles, a silent request for me to explore deeper. I shift her panties to the side quickly and explore more. My deft touch finds her swollen pearl of sensitivity, and the slight but firm touch draws a gasp from Izzie’s lips. Emboldened by her reaction, I draw circles around her passion-soaked epicenter, orchestrating a symphony of sensation that causes her grip around me to tighten.
I manipulate the rhythm, slow, and deliberate, sending waves of pleasure rippling through her core. Her response of gentle moans is a sweet melody to my ears, matching the tempo of our shared dance of intimacy. I feel my cock hardening with desire but I ignore those thoughts, right now this is about her not me. I want to make her feel good, to forget for a moment and give in to pleasure.
Lost in our personal serenade of desire, Izzie succumbs to my coaxing touch. Her body responds in spirited movements, against the rhythm of my fingers. The most intimate core of her sings a response to the sensual sonnet I was playing with singular focus on her sweetest point.
Her crest of pleasure builds, a mounting symphony in sync with the rhythmic ballet performed by my fingers. Her body tenses, arching against me, the world blurring into oblivion at the pinnacle of ecstasy.
Her release is wonderful and my own personal aphrodisiac, hearing her moans as she climaxes turns me on more than I could’ve ever imagined. Her body relaxes under my touch, the currents of satisfaction washing over her in blissful cascades.
She leans on me, and slowly allows her breath to return to normal. She turns her head and kisses me on the cheek.
“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”
I nod solemnly, “Of course, if I do that 10 more times am I forgiven?”
She laughs. “We’ll have to see. Do you have a shower? I’d like to go and freshen up.”
“Of course, through that door to the left is the spare bedroom and its bathroom is in there. Of course, you’re welcome to use my bathroom if you’d like.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll need time, Zak,” she says softly and seriously, ending the playful tone of our conversation.
“That’s okay. I’ve got time.”
