The Lover's Children

Chapter 52 – April’s Tears #3

KLEMPNER

Retracing my path, I circle in, tracing circles around her sex. Not penetrating. Simply stroking…

Waiting for her arousal…

Willing her arousal…

Mitch groans. "God... Larry...”

My shaft pulses and I move, sliding down the length of her, opening my mouth over the cleft between

her breasts, the undulation of rib under skin, the bare swell of her belly.

But she tangles fingers into my hair, staying me, “No. It's wonderful. But I want you inside me.”

“I wanted to make you climax.”

She sounds rushy, breathless. “You will.” Her touch on me tightens, urging me back. “Please. Inside

me. Let me feel you.”

I kiss the shallow dimple of her navel, the pale lines drawn over her stomach by her second pregnancy

with Vicky. I know they trouble her. As though I don’t also carry the marks of the life I’ve led. Drawing

lips and tongue over skin tasting a little of salt, and now scented of no more than the perfume of Mitch,

I ease my way along until I meet the dip of her collar bone. Rolling atop her, for a bare moment our

chests, bellies and loins touch and slide, before I lift myself, taking my weight as I enter her.

I watch as I penetrate, her beautiful face, eyes squeezing closed, lips peeling back. As I'm fully inside,

her eyes open, settle on me, and she smiles.

And how can I not smile too?

She reaches to meet me, her face to mine, the lush warmth of her lips, the wet burn of her tongue, the

smooth edge of her teeth… The hardness of my shaft within the yielding softness of her sex as I move

inside her, pressing in, drawing out, coaxing her response.

Mitch lets her head fall back, eyes closing. “Harder.”

Rearing over her, I drive in, slamming into her hard, revelling in her involuntary gasp as I knock the air

from her lungs, and the wild sound wrenched from her throat…

Fingers clutch into my shoulders, clawing in as she arches, straining under me as we ride together.

Slanting to support myself on an elbow, I cup under her hind end, lifting her to meet me as I drive in.

She gurgles, crying out with every thrust…

Am I hurting you?

… I falter, checking my rhythm, the power of my stroke, but the nails bite again. Her voice is raw. “Don’t

stop…”

Again, I plunge into her: deep, forceful, close to violent. But she wants this, her hips pistoning with mine

as we move together…

The moment comes: she arches, stills, and tenses. Trembling and quaking, she throbs within, and her

cry of orgasm is hoarse, glorious and triumphant.

Mitch clutches at me, within and without. And my own climax is born of hers. It wells inside me:

unstoppable, consuming, and complete in the way I never found with any but her. The pleasure takes

me and leaves me blind and deaf to anything except the woman who brought me to this.

Gasping, sated…

… exhausted…

…and my head still ringing, I drop…

… then belatedly, at the answering whoof from Mitch, realise I have collapsed my weight onto her.

“Sorry.” I roll away.

She chuckles, low and fruity. “That’s okay. I didn’t need a ribcage anyway.”

I loop an arm around her and she snuggles closer.

“Am I forgiven?”

“Forgiven?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. It was the last thing on my mind.”

She doesn’t reply…

The silence draws out…

“Mitch?”

“You did wrong to Borje. You should apologise to him.”

Hmmm…

“You think?”

“Yes, I do.” She rolls, stares me in the face, pinches at my chin. “You had nothing on him except

unwarranted suspicions.”

“Not unwarranted. I saw him the day of the murder. And he was at the site.”

“A forensic pathologist? Borje had a perfectly valid reason for being there.” She levels a finger at me.

“More so than you. It’s his job.”

Diplomatic silence seems my best reply.

Mitch sits up, plumps a pillow behind herself. “Are you going to apologise to him or not?” When I still

don’t answer, her face sets. “Why are you so sceptical of him? I can’t see you have any real cause for

suspicion. What has he actually done?” Her head tilts. “Or have you simply taken an irrational dislike to

him?”

“It’s not irrational, Mitch. I… can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t trust his manner with Georgie, why he

behaves the way he does with her.”

Her mouth twitches. “When did you become an expert on human relationships?”

“Alright, “I snap. “Score one for you. But Borje doesn't behave normally with her…”

“In what way, not normal?”

“Normal in the way a man behaves with a woman he’s attracted to.”

“They’ve been seeing each other for a while now.” Mitch presses a forefinger to her lips. “Georgie’s © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

never accused him of hurting her, has she? Or behaved badly?”

I sit up beside her, think for a moment. “Not that I’m aware of, no. But… you said it yourself, they’ve

been dating for some time. Why haven’t they slept together?”

Her jaw hangs. “Why is that any business of yours? How would you even know it’s true? Besides,

Georgie’s a grown woman. She can…”

“Alright, it’s not any of my business. As for how I know, I see him drop her off by the hotel entrance. He

gives her a peck on the cheek and that’s about it. Georgie’s a good-looking woman. She’s clearly

attracted to him. If Borje is really attracted to her, why hasn’t he done something about it by now?”

Mitch hovers, frowning… “… When a man wants a woman, he wants to get physical with her…” I hold

her eye… “Doesn’t he?”

She huffs a laugh, bats my chest with the back of her hand. “Point taken. Perhaps Borje just wants

friendship? A platonic relationship with her.”

Despite myself, I snort. “Platonic? Does that feel right to you? And do you think that’s what Georgie

wants from him?”

She swings her head, slowly, looking down. Her long hair sways and ripples with the movement. “No,

as you say, it doesn’t feel right.”

“So, perhaps you can see why I’m concerned for her.”

*****

JAMES

Life is good.

One of my favourite parts of the day: the ‘family’ gathers for breakfast.

Humming to myself, I assemble what I need by the stove: bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms…

Something missing…

?

Oh, yes…

Sausages.

I retrieve the paper-wrapped package from the fridge.

It took me years to get to this ‘place’. So much of my life I spent either alone, after my divorce, or

before my divorce, effectively alone. It never felt like family.

But now, my ‘wife’ plays ‘aeroplane spoons’ with my little daughter, zooming mashed banana in the

general direction of her mouth. Cara, with her spiky explosion of hair glinting in that peculiar ginger-

black shade I’ve never seen anywhere else, and a face like a laughing marigold, opens wide.

Champing on the mush, I’d say it’s about fifty-fifty what goes in and what dribbles down the bib.

And I’m at least making progress with my elder daughter.

My closest and oldest friend lays out the table. Michael pours boiling water over the mint tea Mitch

enjoys, setting it beside the two coffee pots already in place. Fruit, cereals and yoghurt next. Then he

slots bread into the toaster. Charlotte has her hands full trying to keep Cara, in ‘wriggly’ mode, in her

high chair. But levering herself up against the plastic tray of the chair, the toddler’s not quite made the

connection between freedom and the clip-in safety harness at her waist.

From above us, movement. More family.

A quick check: Richard’s newspaper lies neatly folded by his place-mat.

From out in the hall, the clunk of the front door.

Klempner strolls in. “Mitch is right behind me. Said something about fixing her hair.”

Michael looks up from where he’s rummaging through the cutlery drawer. “What’s wrong with Mitch’s

hair?”

Klempner shrugs. “Damned if I know.”

I unhook a pan from its peg. “Larry, you’ll be having poached eggs, I suppose?”

“Thank you, James, yes.”

“Eggies, Nunky Jammy!” Cara bangs down on the plastic tray with plastic knife and fork. “Eggies!”

“You want an eggy for breakfast, Cara?”

My little black-eyed marigold beams. “Eggy!”

“Charlotte?”

“Sounds good. Cara, would you like dippy toast too?”

More banging. “Dippy! Dippy… Dippy… Dippy…”

I collect another carton from the fridge. “Eggies all round, then.”

Charlotte slides a couple of slices into the toaster. “Anything special on for today?”

“Not really. I may be late back from the office. The car needs some work. I asked Benny to do it. Ah,

good morning, Mitch.”

Klempner pours pale green tea into a china cup and saucer, slides it across the table to her. “What’s

the problem with your car, James? Want me to take a look?”

“Some odd noises coming from somewhere below. Could be the suspension. These mountains roads

take a heavy toll. You’re welcome to look if you’d like to, but Benny’s qualified now and it’ll bolster his

confidence. I asked specifically that he be given the job but until he gets back to me, I don’t know when

I’ll be mobile again. Ah, Richard, Beth. Good morning. Eggs for you too? And Adam?”

“I’ll come pick you up,” says Klempner. “There’s no need to rush your staff.”

“Thanks, but if I have to leave the car, Richard can bring me back.”

“Ah-ha.” Richard hovers between coffee pots. Shakes his head. “I’ll not be there. Got an afternoon

meeting with Mayor Vandervoort and his cronies, about the plans for the teenagers’ refuge…” He nods

an acknowledgement to Klempner… “Your idea’s been very well received. So we’re going through the

discussions on what services and facilities will be needed.”

I scoop eggs onto plates. “You don’t want me along for that?”