Heat 38

This was my first story. I guess it's a little bit of fact and a little bit of fiction too. I hope you enjoy it. If you do like this one, a second story about Hari and Hannah is called 'Try A Little Tenderness'.

I dig my hands deep in the sink, not minding the heat of the water or the soap suds clinging to my arms. The view out the window is softening, darkening down from the intense heat of the long afternoon. I can hear Margo, Dan and Becca laughing as they carry the garden chairs from the back garden to the front, chatting and laughing together, enjoying the shared chore, the anticipation of the carnival parade and fireworks. A warm silken brush across my calves momentarily startles me, then sends a shiver of pleasure up my spine.

'Oscar!' I smile as I look down at the huge marmalade cat stalking his way around the kitchen perimeter. I laugh as the shiver turns to goose bumps, that prickle along my arms and legs. The day's heat is definitely dissipating somewhat, but I know my physical response is about more than just Oscar's touch. The day has been warm and languorous. Lunch in the garden. Crunchy lettuce leaves, juicy beef burgers and sweet sticky fruit. Ice cubes chinking in the heavy glass, bumping up against my lips. Licking fingers and tying my hair up high, hungry for the slightest breeze on my neck. Drowsing in the sun, watching the others floating in the pool. The way Becca and Dan touch each other -- on the shoulder, the elbow, the small of her back, the nape of his neck -- so tenderly. Wondering at Margo's astonishing red hair as it gleamed and dried, long down her back, following the twists and flicks of her fingers as she braided it. Seeing her excitement at the sound of Eli's truck as he pulled up the gravel driveway and she walked with that characteristic sway towards the front of the house to greet him. Returning with his arm draped around her shoulders, a hand tucked into her dress strap at the shoulder. As the afternoon wore on, more people had begun to arrive, gathering in time for drinks and then the passing of the carnival parade, right along the road here. Margo and Eli had been so excited to buy this place for this very reason.

'Imagine the parties!' she'd exclaimed as we'd pored over the realtor's details on the laptop screen. 'It'll be so fun!'

I'd cleared away some of the lunch detritus, given the table a scrub with a wet cloth, and then had gone upstairs to wash and change. I felt alive and expectant as I stood under the shower, stroking the soap along my arms and through my long hair. It tingled a little -- true I had caught some sun -- but that wasn't the whole reason for feeling so sensitive. Tipping my head back to rinse my hair, I thought back to last night, specifically to when Hari had looked at me across the restaurant table and, as the rest of the party had been focused on frantically curtailing the spill of water from the overturned jug, flapping about with napkins and shuffling chairs out of the way, he had held my gaze for what felt like a very long time. The look felt like it was more than the friendly intimacy we had been used to. It was hungry. And I had looked back at him, willing myself not to turn away but to allow him to look into me. Until Margo has started swatting at the table right in front of me with bunched up napkins and squealing at me to move out of the way of the runaway water. By the time I was ready to look up at him again, he was discussing the menu with Jackson. But the heat of his look didn't leave me for the rest of the meal. And as he had poured the last of the wine into my glass, he'd looked at me again, this time with a half smile that brought specks of light into those dark brown eyes. It had been a while since I'd last seen him -- two, maybe three years? His temples had turned grey, but he looked like he'd taken up running or cycling or something. I mentioned this.

'Kept me busy out there,' he'd replied. 'Geneva's pretty boring.'

I'd smiled. I didn't know if Geneva was to blame or not, but he sure looked good for whatever reason.

'You still taking ballet classes?' he'd asked me in return.

I wondered if he was fishing for reasons to keep talking to me, or if he was just being polite, so I flustered and said; 'Yes, although I'm getting a bit old for it.'

And he'd laughed and shaken his head at me. I'd found it hard to sleep after that.

When he'd arrived at the house for lunch today I'd been chopping tomatoes in the kitchen. He'd walked in, carrying beer in one hand and flowers in the other. He'd lifted both up and raised his eyebrows.

I pointed towards the refrigerator with one hand and said, 'Put the flowers here,' indicating with my other hand, 'and I'll see if I can find a vase for Margo in a minute.'

'Who said they were for Margo?' he'd asked and had held them out to me.

'For me?' I was startled. 'Why?'

He'd laughed again -- a sort of bark of delight -- and simply put them down on the countertop in front of me. 'Why not?'

He started to lean in towards me when Margo pushed open the patio door and we both drew back, like kids. I started chopping at the tomatoes again, having to concentrate so I didn't chop my own shaking fingers off, and as she bustled loudly and busily through the kitchen, I managed to look up again, and saw Hari was still looking at me with that hungry look. I smiled, suddenly feeling nervous and unsure. And then Margo swept back through the kitchen and commandeered Hari into carrying burgers out to the grill.

But now, in the shower, I thought about that moment -- his look. I stroked my hand along the inside of my thighs and touched myself. It felt good. I sighed and turned the shower off. Time to get dressed and get into the party spirit. I wondered if there would be a chance to get close to Hari again tonight. To touch him. I wondered if that's what he wanted too. I sigh to myself, brushing out my hair. I'm so out of practice. It's been so long. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The shock and grief have left my face by now, but have left behind little lines around my eyes. Like Hari, my hair's turning grey in places, although I get it coloured a little. We'd known each other before. Before he'd left for Geneva, before his divorce. Before my best friend and lover had died in his bed at the hospice, just as the birds had started to wake up and greet the new day. Not before telling me he loved me, had always loved me, and that he wanted me to be happy and loved again. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second or two. I smooth my dress. Maybe I'll wear a necklace. Hari and me had been friends. We'd usually find a way to sit together at some point during the party, dinner or day at the beach -- wherever we were -- to talk, sharing our thoughts about the last books we'd read, what we'd seen at the movies, that sort of thing. I guess we'd flirted a little, in that good natured way of people happily married to someone else, but not afraid of showing mutual attraction. I didn't think much about it at the time, but as soon as Margo had lazily reeled his name off along with all the others on her invite list, I'd felt a sudden, unexpected, thrill of heat.

'Yes, he's back from Geneva. Didn't care for it, but it got him away for a few years, while him and Anya sorted things out, you know.'

'Back?'

'Yes. For good, I think.'

Night falls so quickly here. I look up out of the window and am surprised how dark it is now.

'Hey, this is where you are.' Hari is standing right behind me -- how did he sneak in so quietly? -- and I nearly jump clean out of my skin. I pull my arms out of the dishwater and nod.

'Yes. Just cleaning up a little.'

He is handing me a dishtowel to dry my hands and as I look down, I see he is barefoot. Big, handsome feet, I think to myself. And then shake my head. Just what am I thinking?

'Everyone is out front, getting settled in for the procession and fireworks,' he says.

I can feel his breath. 'Don't you want to go out and see?'

I pull out the plug to drain the water. 'Sure.' But as I say that, he lays his hand on my shoulder and then runs it down my arm to my elbow. I hold my breath.

'Hannah. It's so good to see you again.' His voice seems deeper, strained. 'After all this time, I wasn't sure if -.'

I breathe again, and put my hand on his.

'I know. So much has happened.'

I press his hand, making it clear how much I like it that he is touching me. He spreads his fingers so they encircle my elbow. An elbow! How can an elbow, of all places, feel this good? We stand this way for a while, I don't know how long, but I don't want to break the spell. I can feel my heat rising. It's been so, so long. Hari's hand is moving to my waist. The cotton of my sundress depresses against my skin as he pushes against it.

'Last night,' he is murmuring, 'you looked so beautiful. I'd forgotten how beautiful you are. I kept wondering if we -.'

Both of his hands are around my waist now, holding me, and I feel him step closer to me, closing the gap between us. I reach up to touch his face. I can see him reflected in the glass of the kitchen window now, and I want to feel his face, his neck, his hair. As I watch, he takes my finders in his mouth. I gasp. The wetness is a shock. His tongue pulls and pushes and licks and a low moan escapes from me. He releases my fingers.

'What about the others?' I tip my head towards the front, where the sounds of drinking and talking and laughing can just be heard over the rushing blood in my ears.

'They are all eyes on the parade, don't you think?'

And he drops his head down to my exposed neck, grazing my skin with his lips. One of his hands cups my breast. My hard nipple is easy to find underneath the cotton, and he pinches it. Gently at first, then more firmly. Another moan escapes from me. I'm gripping the top of the sink, feeling my hips against it, enjoying the constriction. Hari's breath is hot and hard across my neck. I look up again and see, in the window, that he is looking back at me with that hungry look.

'Oh! Don't mind us.'

Margo is suddenly in the kitchen with us, Becca behind her. She's picked out a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, hands it to Becca, and reaches back in for beers, before closing the door, turning around, almost shoving Becca out of the kitchen, and firmly closing that door rather theatrically and loudly behind her.

We have separated a little, and I shiver.

'Are you cold?' Hari asks. He's still looking at me with such intensity that I shiver again.

'No,' I giggle then gulp and try to breathe normally. 'Nervous.'

He turns me around. 'Me too. Feel.' And he holds my hand to his chest. 'It's been a while,' he smiles.

I nod, reach up to his face and pull him down towards me. Kissing him as deeply as I can, feeling his stubble, his tongue, his lips. He pushes me back against the sink, his hands pushing my ass into him, into his crotch. Already I can feel his rhythm, and I am responding. He brings his hands up, one to hold the back of my neck, his fingers splayed into my hair, and his other hand slides underneath my dress strap. Finds my nipple again. I sigh.

'You ok?' he asks.

I'm trembling all over now.

'Not too fast?' He pinches harder and I gasp. Shake my head.

'No. I thought about this all last night.'

At this, he pushes harder up against my belly and groans quietly.

'Hannah.'

I hold on tight, slipping my hands around his wide back and down to his waist, pushing up his t-shirt, finding his skin. He groans again. I can feel his heat, smell his sweat. I trace a finger along his spine, up and down, marvelling at the feel of a man's body after so many years. His smell is complex -- soap, a light aftershave maybe, and a deep, sweet, musk. Intoxicating and I want to breathe it in. His skin is smooth and downy. I pull his face to mine again, but he pulls his head back just enough to look in my eyes. His are so dark, so brown, it's impossible to tell what is pupil and what is iris. I lift and hook one leg around his hips to pull him in tighter. I'm only a little shorter than him and we are a good fit.

'Here?' he asks with a quizzical look.

I nod and smile. 'They've got enough drink out there to last them for a while.' I laugh and then catch my breath as he lifts me up and wraps my other leg around him, smiling at me, enjoying my surprise.

As he finds his rhythm again, I realise how wet I am. My knickers are slippery. Wet through. I can feel his hard heat through them. I push his t-shirt up higher, tweak at his nipples. I flick one and can feel the jump in his crotch and up his back.

'You like that too,' I say and he nods.

I feel an overwhelming rush of warmth and lean into it, rubbing against him until he has to make a sudden grab at my waist as I arch my back and gasp. My heart is hammering and I can't stop pushing and grinding and panting until I let go and feel it roll over me. I shudder and can't catch my breath, and when I finally open my eyes, I search his face. He holds me there, big hands in the small of my back, holding me safe.

'You're beautiful, you really are,' he smiles. 'And not so nervous anymore.' His eyes are kind, but even so, I feel more than a little embarrassed. Before I can dwell on it too much, he's rocking his hips against me, and saying, 'Let's do this some more, shall we?' He's laughing and kissing my neck. 'Lord, Hannah, I want to do this with you over and over again.'

I laugh, giddy with relief. 'Me too,' I say, and bite down on his earlobe.

He makes that low groan again, and all I can think about is feeling the whole length of his body against mine, his cock inside me. But he is pulling away, pushing my legs down until I am standing on the floor again. He takes my hand.

'C'mon Hannah. I need to see you naked, for the sake of my sanity.'

He'd grabbed his car keys from the countertop and pulled me along out of the house and to where he'd parked his car. The night air was still hot and I realised I was sweating. He drove down across the meadow, away from the front of the house, the party of friends, the torchlit procession. We could just see them, holding up their torches of fire, to the side of us, as we drove on through the tall grass.

'Where are you staying?' I'd suddenly asked, realising I had no idea where we're going.

'I rented a house on Kendall Road,' he replied, pulling the wheel and bumping the car up onto the road. 'You'll see.'

I've always found men driving sexy. But there was something about him driving barefoot that was making it even harder for me to concentrate on where we were going. I reach out and lay my hand on his thigh. He's wearing shorts, and I savour the feeling of his body hair.

'I won't be able to drive at all if you do that,' he laughs and I laugh too, and we're both laughing hard together, unable to stop.

'What are we? Sixteen?'

We pull up in front of a small house. The porch light is on, and the last of the fireflies are dancing in the grass.

'Hey, this is a pretty house,' I say, but he's suddenly across the seat, kissing me full on my mouth, exploring me so hungrily I can hardly keep up.

And then he's swinging those long legs out of the car, pulling me out of my side, slamming the car door shut behind me, loping up the porch steps still holding my hand so that I have to run to keep up, fumbling the key into the lock, and then we are inside. I take it in - an open living room with a couch, fireplace, bookshelves, unopened cartons and boxes on the floor, a daybed running along the back window. He walks over to a floor lamp and turns it on, a pool of warm light spilling out from the shade. He looks around and I can feel a shyness coming over him, his shoulders suddenly looking stiff, his head to one side. I walk across the room, the crisp cotton deliciously stiff against my hard nipples. Standing in front of him I push the straps of my dress off my shoulders and shrug them down until the dress drops away to my waist. I watch him looking at me as I loosen the zip and let the dress slip to the floor. I'm naked except for my knickers and sandals, and it feels good to have this man's eyes looking at me like this. I step closer to him and he brushes my breasts, down my back and into the top of my knickers. I sigh.

'Your turn,' I say and I take his t-shirt up over his chest, forcing him to leave my knickers alone, to pull the shirt all the way over his head. His skin is beautiful - smooth, brown. I can see a sheen of sweat across his shoulders and chest, it's still so hot. A small scar just below his collarbone, that I trace with a finger, and then lick my finger to trace it again, leaving a glistening line along it.

'Hannah,' he says and makes to pull me towards him, but I step backwards, shaking my head.

'You're not as naked as I am,' I say, and grab his belt, unbuckling it, pulling down the zip to release his cock. 'No shoes AND no underwear,' I say, raising my eyebrows.

'No.'

His voice is so low I can hardly hear it. I take him in my hand, run my fingers along the length of him, feeling his hardness and his softness all at once.

He steps closer. Groans. 'Yes.'

I encircle him at the base and slowly stroke upwards, and I can hear him starting to breathe harder. I reach with the other hand and stroke his buttock, sliding down to feel the top of his thigh, parting his cheeks to touch him there, just lightly. Hari is panting now, his head resting on my shoulder. I keep stroking him. And then I am panting. Suddenly he's picking me up and lying me down onto the daybed. I feel the rub of the velvet against my back, my ass. He leans in to kiss me again. His eyes are open this time and we look at each other for a long time. I blink, and then he's kissing my neck, my breasts.

'You are so beautiful,' he says again.

'So are you, Hari,' I say, pulling his head back towards mine.

'I want to be inside you,' he waits for my response. I open my legs and pull him down towards me. 'Do we need to be careful?' he asks.

I shake my head. No need to share that sadness now, maybe there'll be time for that later. He pulls at my knickers and I raise my hips up so he can pull them off. And gasp as his fingers touch my wet cunt, stroking and tickling and pressing me. I open my legs wider, impatient now. He climbs on the daybed, kneeling between my legs, his cock long, firm and twitching. I sit up and take him in my hands again. He groans as I lean down to take him in my mouth. I lick him and feel a fierce heat building in my belly as I rock against the velvet.

'No,' he growls, and pushes my head up. His cock is wet with my saliva. I let him push me down onto my back again. 'I need to come inside you, Hannah,' his eyes are bright in the soft lamplight.

I pull him towards me, longing for the feel of his skin against mine, his body against mine, in mine. I reach for his cock. He twitches again as I touch him and raise my hips up towards his, guiding him along my lips. He shudders and pushes and slides against my wetness. I gasp, and know I'm not far away from letting go again. And then he pulls back, finds a new position, and starts to push, using his hand to find the right spot.

'Yes', I urge him.

He's pressing and circling my clit with his thumb and I squirm and rock my hips until I can feel him entering me, pushing up, making room. It feels tight, and then I feel his thumb finding my clit again, circling, and stroking, and relaxing my muscles as he pushes deeper. And in a glorious rush, he's in me up to his balls, gasping, the weight of his chest heavy on mine. I'm already arching my back, pulsing, rippling up and down my whole body, calling out. I have never felt so full, so complete. We rock and slide and push and fuck. When he comes, he groans into my neck, his breath hot and rapid. At each thrust, I can feel myself opening out, losing my self, finding our self. His cock stays hard as I finish myself off.