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Autumn blossom: the shadow of the past

Autumn blossom: the shadow of the past

The second part of the sequel to Summer loving, in which a shadow falls across Kate and Cath

I smiled.

“If you were not called Adrian, and called me a Posh lesbian cunt, I should walk out now. I shouldn’t want my skin to touch yours, but since you are Adrian, your plc is pleased to finally meet you. And yes, I am wearing what you think I am under here. I got your usual message.”

He laughed, relieved, I thought, that there had been a frisson and not a fuss. On-line relationships can translate poorly into real life.

“I suppose, given where you live, and the fact you come here, it was bound to happen one day?”

He smiled gently.

“I am glad it has. Have you just seen the wonderful Kate off on the bus?”

I smiled back. He knew my routines.

“Yes, she loves her new job – good list of authors, and some new ones tempted by her being there.”

In a moment of mad impulse, an idea came, and I blurted it out.

“I am not in the habit of inviting gentlemen to dinner at High Table,” I said, “but would you be free one night next week?”

“Dear lady, for you I could be free tonight.” said with his usual self-effacing charm.

“I shall use our usual means to send a date then.” I smiled across, seeing his pleasure. I was glad I had yielded to the impulse.

He smiled back.

“That, my dear Cath, would be an utter delight, as, indeed, this unexpected meeting has been.”

I smiled back, warmly. I felt his melancholy lift, a flash of warmth in a cold season; a ray of light in a dark place.

My phone beeped.

“Sorry, Adrian, I have to go now.”

“Ah, we measure out our lives in meeting room, both. I shall await my invitation. Might I suggest your dress for the evening?”

I looked at his eyes, twinkling.

“Your plc would be saddened if you did not.”

With that, and a peck on the cheek, I was gone. As I wandered round the corner and looked in, I saw him sitting there still, smiling. That was a good sign.

I told Kate about it that evening.

“Cath, I sometimes think you want to be the little healer of the hurts of the world.”

She looked at me with those emerald green eyes, her freckles, adorable, her lips (get a grip woman, no, not a grip). It was too late. I pulled her into my arms.

“And you, Kate, are the most adorable lover anyone ever had. Hell, I have been meaning to say this, and now seems as good a time as ever.”

I pulled away.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

“Kate Finnegan, will you marry me?”

She squealed with delight, grabbed me by the waist, pulled me to her and kissed me passionately. As she pulled away I looked at her huge smile.

“I take it that was a yes then.”

“Yes, yes, yes and yes again, I want to be your wife, and I want you to be my wife.”

I looked at her. She was adorable, desirable, gentle, passionate, a rare woman. Did she really want to be all mine?

“And darling Kate, I want to be your wife too. And I have another question.”

“We are all questions tonight, my wife to be. Ok, what’s this one?”

She smiled, and the earth stopped.

I had hesitated to ask this, but had to, I wanted it so much.

“I know if is very modern to keep one’s own name, but when we are married I should like it if I were Mrs Finnegan.”

I was glad I had asked, the look on her face told its own story.

“Would you really do that for me?”

“Yes, silly goose,” I responded happily.

It was supper time. Who cared?

I swept her into my arms, and moved us both to the sofa. As we got close, my hands slid up her skirt, raising it so that it would be easier to removed her panties (girl must think ahead) when she was seated. I knelt between her open thighs, look at her flushed face with lust. I wanted her so much.

“Up, darling!”

She raised her bottom so I could pull her panties down. As I did so, I was delighted to see how wet they were. But who needed those when I could get straight to the source of that nectar?

My mouth ran along her swollen lips. My tongue just curling into her wetness, gently lapping at her petals, opening them.

I looked up at her, smiling. Then, back to pleasuring my Kate.

My fingers gently parted her wet lips. My soft tongue was feather light around her swelling bud. I licked, gently flicking with my tongue, encircling her clit with my lips, sucking it slowly into my mouth. I sucked more firmly, closing my lips and pulling more urgently. She moaned as I lapped at her.

“Oh, oh Cath, Cath, that’s heavenly, more, more!”

Always happy to oblige such a passionate lover, I moved my tongue along the wetness of her opening puss. Her wetness flowed onto my cheeks and tongue. I sucked hungrily, not wishing to lose a drop of her precious nectar. My fingers sliding along her wetness, parting her lips, probing into her. She was all swollen – her clit swelling in response to my ministrations. My fingers gently probed the depths of her wetness.

She groaned softly.

My fingers probed deeper, opening her up, filling her, feeling her respond. I moved them, slowly and, then with more urgency. My mouth circling that beautiful, tender bud, which was swelling and unhooding itself for me. She was so beautiful, so desirable. I felt my own thighs get wetter.

As she responded with pleasure to my fingers and mouth, I pushed my face harder into her open wetness. My fingers now more urgent in their motion, in and out. I could feel her wetness on my hand too.

So much girl goo, wonderful nectar. In a moment of inspiration, I dipped two fingers from my left hand into her gooey juice and then, sliding under her thighs, began to search for her star hole, feeling it move, responding to my wet finger’s probing.

Aroused myself, I moved my mouth around her wetness, savoring the taste and the scent.

She lifted her hips slightly, just enough, my finger gently, but firmly, began to insert itself, her muscle yielding to me. I loved her reaction, so much urgency in her movement and her response.

For a second I looked up from my position. I could see only that she was right back now on the sofa, lost in the moment. She shifted, wanting my mouth back whence it had come. I obliged, sinking my tongue into her warm wetness.

My mouth played with your bud. Two fingers curled round into her tunnel, I felt its warmth embrace me.  Two fingers moving in and out of that sweet puss. A finger playing urgently in and out of her delicious ass. I was devouring her now, her girl goo all over my lips. I was as lost in her as she was in me.

My fingers now moved faster in her pussy, urgently, wanting all of her. My other finger teasing her pulsing ass. I felt her rising and falling in time to my fingers and mouth. My fingers taking her where she needed to go, my mouth giving her what you craved. I could feel her wetness all over my face. I gave a little moan to match the one she gave. Her breathing now more labored.

Thrusting now, my own passion as hot, I wanted her so badly. My fingers took on a rhythm of their own, and her body responded. The harder I moved, the more she did. It was close. The signs were there.

“Ohhhh fuckkkkkkkkkkk,” she moaned, and then groaning, she came – hard, shuddering intensely, shaking, quaking.

Her scent filled the air. I loved it, and her thick nectar. I feasted on it. I felt her holes contract around my fingers, then she relaxed.

She wriggled free.

“Come here you wonderful girl.” She knew I loved her calling me that.

Reluctantly I left the soft warmth of her thighs (thinking in a stray moment that I would have to wash the sofa throw). I wriggled next to her on the sofa. She drew me to her, sighing contentedly.

“You do that to me so well my love!”

She kissed my face, wet with her own juice. An erotic thrill for us both.

“And now, my dear, for you!”

“Alas, my darling, today the pleasure must be mainly yours.”

She looked puzzled at me.

“Ah, I must have put the tampax away before you went into the bathroom this morning. Sorry darling, that time.”

I knew some women did, but I was not one of them. I didn’t stop me feeling horny as hell, but I was happy to give my woman what she wanted, knowing the favour would be reciprocated when I felt more able to participate.

We giggled like a couple of schoolgirls. It was wonderful just to be able to be silly with her. We cuddled up on the sofa and snuggled each other. It felt warm, safe, and as though we were all that we needed. A moment of real bliss.

We must have slept in each other’s arms.

I felt her stir. I looked across at her red hair, scattered across her shoulders and the sofa, like sleepy storm. I grinned.

“What’s up my love?”

“Just hungry, darling.”

I looked. I was not convinced. But being a good wife to be, I went and put the oven on. Pizza and merlot, it would have to be, with some rocket salad, with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. I had some mozzarella which would eke our spinach and ricotta feast.

As I was busy about my domestic duties, I heard Kate in the other room. She was unusually silent.

I called her for supper. Usually she would have been in like a flash. Tonight, I had to call again. Surely her orgasm couldn’t have rendered the poor woman deaf?

I went into the sitting room. She was pale.

“Kate, darling, what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s all right.”

“Clearly it isn’t, you goose. Come and have supper and tell me all about it.”

I kissed her. I poured her a glass of merlot and sliced the pizza – who needs wheels when a good sharp knife will do, I joked. Her silence, her mood, unsettled me.

She sipped, she looked up. There was a look there I did not like.

“Spill the beans, Kate, come on, I am not, despite being madly in love with you, a complete blithering idiot.”

“It’s Summer.”

“No, it’s autumn.” I stopped. Realizing there was a capital S in that noun.

“What about her?’ I asked.

“She’s submitted a novel to the publishers. They want me to read it. Jess asked for me specially.”

“Well, Jess Stark can stick that one where the sun has never shone,” I exclaimed with venom.

“The senior editor would like to acquire Jess for our list, and thinks this could be a way in. Says that as this is my area, and I was asked for, I ought to seize the chance. She is a best-seller, after all.’

“Yes, darling, but bloody Summer isn’t, and I don’t see how the hell she’s written a novel in a few months – unless?”

“Precisely,” said Kate, “unless it is really written by Jess and her. Or even by Jess, and she is using Summer.”

“Jess, using someone, surely not, how can that be?” I laughed, ironically. Jess did nothing but use people. I had begun to think she was a kind of sociopath.

“We both know that is likely, even probable. I can’t say no.”

“What’s the bloody thing called then?”

Kate looked at her phone for the email.

“The agony abides: Rowena’s revenge.”

“Oh, how utterly unexpected.”

Back to those lines of Eliot about things changing, people smiling, but the wounds of old hurts running deep. It had been the subject of a talk Kate had given when she was Jess’s ‘Rowena”. She had been replaced in that role by Summer, my day-long lover, the May-fly in my erotic sky.

I looked at Kate.

“She’s getting at us, isn’t she?”

“Cath, I’m scared. This was too good to be true. She’s coming for us.”

“Sod that for a game of soldiers, girl, it is good, and it is true.”

I spoke with more confidence than I felt.

Our world was small. She would be bound to find out that Kate and I were going to get married.

She had managed to cast a pall over our day, as it was. What would she do when she learned we were to be one. She had never tasted defeat and rejection. It was clear she wanted revenge for the summer. That would only grow when she discovered our plans. She was already reaching out. I felt a chill in the air.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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