One Day — Neil Connolly

I want her.

I sit across the room while she is talking to my wife.  I watch the way she smiles, the tilt of her head when she laughs.  I follow the line of her breasts beneath the blouse she is wearing.  Her legs are long and athletic, encased in tight denim, and I imagine her in thigh high leather boots, a leather corset and nothing else.

Time to leave the room before I stare too much.

#

I’m alone with her.  It’s one of those frozen moments in time.  We’re standing within inches of each other in the narrow hallway of my English terrace house.  She’s holding a bag my daughter left at her house two days ago.  I want to say something.  I want to tell her my thoughts, my fantasy, of how she should dress.  Instead, I say thank you and ask how she is in the typical, polite way.  She leaves, running down the garden path in the rain, and my eyes strip off the jeans she is wearing; I imagine how good she will look kneeling in front of me with her pert ass raised.

I close the door and lean my head against the cool, frosted glass panel.  Eyes closed, I feel as if my blood is on fire.  So close; I should have said something, done something, so she knows how I feel.  I should have reached out and brushed my fingers across her cheek.  I should have kissed her, whispered to her how beautiful she is.  Held her and caressed her. 

I should have, but I didn’t.

Someone taps lightly on the door.  I pull back and stare at the misted figure.  When I open the door, she is standing in front of me, her expression pensive.  She asks if I am okay.  She saw me leaning on the door panel and thought I might be sick or something.  I don’t tell her that I am sick.  Sick with lust because the rain has made the cotton jersey she is wearing damp and the material is clinging to her figure, outlining her breasts in such a way that I have to drag my eyes back up to her face.  I step back and hold the door open.  I ask her in because she is getting wet.  She steps into the hall and we are back where we started, inches apart, not speaking.  A radio is playing in the house, something from the Seventies; the sound is muffled and reassuring like the warmth of a good memory.

We haven’t spoken.  I wonder what she will do if I kiss her.  When I move her eyes widen slightly and I see the blue of her iris’ glisten with anticipation.  Our first kiss is fleeting, a sweet contact.  She takes a breath, as if to speak, and I don’t want her to say no so I step close. This time, she meets me until my weight pushes her back into the wall and I feel her body move against mine, like a roll of the ocean.  Her breath is hot in my mouth.  We kiss with hunger, bruising our lips, tongues together.  My hands are on her hips and then her waist, moving up to cup her breasts when she pushes me away.  I step back and keep going until I stop against the other wall of the hall.  I want her.  My cock is hard and my pulse is racing.

‘We can’t,’ she says.

‘I’ve wanted you since the day we first met,’ I say.  ‘You’re beautiful. I see those long legs of yours in thigh high boots.  I see you in a leather corset, holding a whip and ready to punish me.’

She smiles a shaky smile. ‘I’m not into that sort of thing.’

‘Neither am I, but I still can’t get the picture out of my head.’

There is a silence between us.  She looks away, unable to meet my eyes,  so I look at her body again. I think I can see the outline of nipples through her blouse.  I wait for her to speak.  She says nothing but moves to the door, putting one hand on the latch before pausing to rest her forehead on the cool glass pane just as I had done.  I count my heartbeats to one hundred and then step to stand beside her.  I take one hand in mine.  She doesn’t resist as I lead her down the hall and into the living room.  She is as tall as me; her dark blond hair falls in loose waves to her shoulders.  We turn like dancers and when I am behind her, I put my hands on her shoulders and with the gentlest of pressure she goes to her knees and then forward to rest on her hands.  I kneel behind her, just as I have dreamed, and stroke her thighs and ass before reaching to undo her jeans and slide them down to mid thigh.

She hasn’t uttered a sound until I draw down the pink cotton of her panties.  Now she sighs, as if a line has been crossed and there is no going back.  Her skin is smooth and warm.  I fight the urge to be reckless and rest back to gaze at the gap between her thighs that cups the folds of her cunt.  She waits for me, rocking back and forth expectantly, until I see the spill of her lips and the shine of her need.  I touch and stroke until her hips slide back and present her pussy completely to my fingers.  Now she is hot to touch, and as the folds of her labia open, she is wet as well.  She makes a noise in her throat, a sound of need that I respond to by sliding a path to her clit.  When my fingertip touches the swollen bud, she flinches and cries out.  I circle the nub of flesh, sometimes with a feather light touch and then with pressure that makes her whimper.

I am so hard my cock is aching, twisted and trapped in my own jeans.  I want to release it but I am absorbed by what I can see, smell and touch.  She trembles to every move I make, her breathing hard.  I want her to come; I want to hear her cry out the passion that is flooding across my hands, so I slide my finger beneath the hood of her clit and touch the soul of her desire.  One stroke, two strokes, three…she comes with a perfect cry of release that makes my heart jump with excitement.  I watch her ass and thighs clench and relax and take the moment to free my cock from its prison.  The relief almost makes me come.  I wait a few seconds and then edge forward until my crown brushes her skin.  It is already smooth with clear liquid that paints her flesh with a shine of lust.  She reaches back to hold me, rubbing my cock along her labia.  I bite my lip and hold back until she realises how desperate I am and places me at the gateway to heaven.

I enter her with a sigh as her smooth warmth encloses and holds me.  I grasp her hips and rock to a gentle rhythm that sends electric fire into my stomach and thighs.  I feel the sudden rush of heat in my cock, a boiling liquid that gathers at the base, and I know I can hold back no longer.  I fuck her hard as my orgasm builds, unable to control myself, I want her to feel my cock as deep and hard as I can get.

I come in a surge that makes her gasp.  We buck upon each other, she arching her back and pushing onto my shaft.  I sink my nails into her waist and pull her onto me as I come again.  We are together, trembling, making sounds and saying unintelligible words, until she falls forward and pulls me down with her.  We lie like that, my cock still in her until it softens and spills out and I feel like I have lost a part of me.

I kiss a mole at the nape of her neck that is beaded with her perspiration.  She stirs, rolling onto her side and then standing.  I look up her long, lean legs and know that I want her again as she pulls her clothing back into position.  I stand as well, on legs that barely hold me.  Still we do not speak.  She turns and I follow her to the front door.  I want to say something, but don’t want to lose her.  She is my lover now and I want her back.

She opens the door and goes outside, pausing to turn her face up to the sky and let the rain cool her.  She looks at me.

‘We shouldn’t have done that.  It was wrong,’ she says.

I try to think of the right words, but all I can say is, ‘You’re beautiful.’

She smiles a little with narrowed eyes and says, ‘Next time, I will punish you.’