My second attempt is the table where I sit all the time, another version of home. It isn't good, but it isn't too bad. It was fun to do.
Since the birds and squirrels have abandoned me I had to take matters into my own hands (feet?) and made tracks in the snow this morning when I went out to fill the birdbath.
I made my Investment Cooking order at Meijer today and it was a big one. Big enough that I took the tosses to Goodwill so that I could open the garage door and the back hatch of the car for her to put the shopping into when she delivered it because there were too many bags for the porch. It's very handy but I miss shopping.
Tonight I finished Cast Sock #10 while I watched Museum Secrets on PBS. It's a series about things in big museums, different artifacts, their histories, and provenance. It's about 10 years old and I'm enjoying it.
30 December--Barbara Malcolm, The Seaview.
Chapter 30
It was just about seven o'clock when I walked back down the road to Sydan's. We hadn't talked more about tonight's menu but we'd eaten together enough that I figured we wouldn't starve.
I hung my swimsuit and towel to dry over a rack Anne had put along the back of her house out of sight of passersby and went in to put on a clean shirt and shorts, and get the lobsters ready for grilling. A look through the food in the fridge showed me that I had more fruit than vegetables so I hoped Iggy brought some. While the lobster tails soaked in a bowl of water to remove some of the salt, I chopped the lettuce, cut up a piece of red onion, and then sliced and chopped the bits of mango, orange, banana, and melon to top it. A splash of white wine with a little salt, pepper, and sugar whisked with olive oil made the dressing. I'd hold off on tossing the salad until Iggy arrived. Poking around in the fridge again the only bread I found was an almost petrified end of a baguette. "Croutons," I said.
A voice behind me said, "I am in favor of them."
I turned to smile at Iggy. "Me too. This bread is too dry for anything else. I'll cube it, then toast it in a skillet with a little butter." He set a carrier on the kitchen breakfast bar. "What did you find in your larder?"
He smiled at me. "Nothing special. Just some corn and carrots, and a bit of lime custard pie."
"Perfect," I said. "I'm out of vegetables except for this bit of lettuce and onion at the bottom of the salad. I'm glad you have pie. Did you know that I love pie?"
"I did not. I will remember."
"Will you start the grill, please? Swimming makes me hungry."
He touched the tip of my nose. "My employer is such a task mistress that I am hungry most of the time."
I growled and grabbed the front of his shirt. "Go light the grill, if you know what's good for you."
He half-bowed. "Yes, ma'am."
Soon the lobsters were grilled, the salad tossed, the carrots and corn sautéed in the skillet I'd used to toast the croutons. We set a table in the courtyard and for once there were no other guests around and Anne's house was dark.
We lingered over the last of the wine watching the palm trees sway over the salt pond and the moon rise to draw a shining path across the shallow water
Iggy made sure the charcoal wasn't going to tip over and burn the place down while I stacked the dishes on a tray. He carried the tray; I carried the empty wine bottle and our glasses. He set the tray on the breakfast bar and I ran hot soapy water into the dishpan. I'd learned long ago not to leave food-covered dishes lying around in the tropics. I had begun to wash the dishes when Iggy set down his glass. He took the plate out of my hand, and then he drew me around to his side of the counter.
"Now," he said when I was standing right in front of him, "where were we?" He lowered his lips to mine. "Oh yes, now I remember."
For the second time that evening my mouth became the center of my universe. Iggy's warm lips tickled mine and slid to my neck where he kissed and nibbled his way down to my shoulder.
I shivered with the sensations and my hands raised on their own to caress his broad, strong back and work their way up to hold his head, to keep his lips where I could reach them.
He backed up and sat down on one of the stools so that our heads were on the same level. Our mouths explored each other, our tongues played tag, teasing and flicking, until we were both gasping.
In the dim light coming in through the transom over the sliding glass doors, I saw desire flaming in his deep chocolate brown as eyes as I am sure he could in mine. His strong, work-roughened hands caressed my face and neck, roamed over my shoulders, and hesitated as they slid down my upper arms.
My breasts ached with wanting his touch. I slid my hands down from his shoulders, down his arms to his hands, and led them to my breasts. Our groans mingled as our lips came back together, Iggy's thumbs teasing my nipples into firm nubs.
I returned the favor, finding his small nipples under his shirt. His hand dropped to slide up under my shirt, feeling warm on my midriff. My breath caught in my throat when he touched my bare skin.
He lifted his lips from mine and said, "We can stop if you want."
In response I lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His hairless chest gleamed in the pale light. He tugged up the hem of my shirt and hesitated, cocking his eyebrows at me as if asking for permission. I took a deep breath and nodded.
Not quickly the way I had done with his, but slowly, teasingly he pulled up my shirt. I raised my arms over my head and felt the damp cotton slide up and off my hands. He tossed my shirt aside, keeping one hand on my hands. Then he slid his hands back down my up-stretched arms until they reached my shoulders, down across my shoulder blades, and then under my arms to finally reach my breasts, still covered by my cotton sports bra. Even in the dim light I could see my nipples harden, poking the fabric, rising to a man's touch for the first time in years.
Iggy's nipples were peeking at me from his dark brown chest, little coins of even darker flesh standing up asking for attention. I leaned forward and caught one on the tip of my tongue. I lapped at it and felt him shiver. I pushed my face closer to his chest and nipped at his nipple making it even harder as my hand teased its twin. I felt as much as heard his breath stop, his hands touching my back as I pressed myself to him.
Our mouths found each other again as our hands smoothed over skin we had not seen before. I began to feel cheated that my breasts were still captive in my bra but Iggy's fingers slid under the tight elastic bottom band and stretched the sweat-moist fabric up and over my head so that we were both bare from the waist up. He held me away from him to allow his eyes to roam over my flesh. I felt that look as if it had substance. I could feel a blush rising from my chest, up my neck, to flush my pale cheeks with color.
The contrast of our skin excited me. His strong dark fingers wrapped around my no longer perky breast, cupping it, and nudging the nipple to new heights. Breath hissed between my teeth as he leaned down to nibble at the pale brown areola pushing itself out as if asking for his attention. I have always wished that my nipples and areolas were darker brown instead of the pale fawn color that they are but that night, that first time Iggy murmured "so beautiful" against my soft flesh, I liked them, liked the way they looked because he did. Iggy teased my nipples and lapped at my breasts, not favoring one over the other, until they were aching with desire.
I pulled him up and kissed his lips, then I steered him back to the stool and sat him down. I caught my breath as a droplet of perspiration rolled down my spine and I wondered if I was ready, really ready, to do this.
My sudden doubt must have shown on my face because Iggy tipped my chin up with one finger. "What?"
I took a deep breath and reached for our glasses of juice on the counter beside him. "I am, um, feeling a bit afraid." I took a big sip of juice to give me a moment to gather what I wanted to say.
I didn't toss anything when I got home from Goodwill so that there would be room for groceries. Writing went okay today. I veered away from the prompt but managed a page of scribbling. Ahh.
Tomorrow I'm going to see if I can find some wool, 100% wool, to knit some more mittens for me. The ones I wore this morning are fuzzy enough that the fuzz gets caught on the handle of the snowblower. So I need unfuzzy wool. I wonder if I have any of that left or did I get rid of it all. Time will tell.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Your Picasso-esque drawings are really good. Fun little project and nice you had the tools to make it happen. OK - I had to stop reading for a minute there with Rose and Iggy!! No way can she make him stop now. He'll explode!
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