MUNICH/THE BLACK FOREST, BRUSSELS, EARLY/MID JUNE
LUKE, MAGDA
As they trooped out, I sighed and sat back. That was it for the week, and tomorrow I'd be in Munich. I closed my eyes and tried to stretch the kinks out of my spine. Six hours teaching with one short break is no picnic. I thought of my hold-all lying next door, packed and ready, and chided myself for being so impatient: whatever happened to cool Luke? Heels clattered along the corridor and the door opened.
'Luke?' My heart sank.
'What is it Magda? I won't give you any more homework, and I've got your promise that you'll spend at least one full afternoon and evening with Jurgen.' I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was smothering a smile.
'Don't be silly. I'm going to meet him now. I just wanted to say, "have a nice break and give my love to Uli", and remember that planes leave the airport day and night.' She bent and kissed me lightly and hurried out. I stared at the closed door and listened to her retreating footsteps.
'Why the hell didn't I think of that?' I said out loud.
ULI, LUKE, LOTTIE
Uli looked at her luggage, stacked neatly by the door. A single bag with clothes and toiletries; a daypack and a pair of boots; another daypack in case he was traveling extra light. Everything ready and it was only Thursday night. She ran her hands through her mop of blonde hair and smiled wryly to herself.
She checked the flight arrival times again, and did sums in her head. He'd arrive at the airport at ten-thirty, so... two hours in the car, thirty minutes to check in and play games in the shower; it was eleven thirty now... in thirteen and a half hours her body would be filled with the hard, thick length of him, and her arms would be wrapped round him, and her legs would be locked over his slim hips while he thrust into her in the way that she missed so much. But it might as well be thirteen and a half days, or weeks, or months, she thought, and laughed at herself for being such a child. She flicked the TV on and zapped through channels looking for something, anything that might distract her. The usual collection of nothing flickered across the screen, and she turned the set off again with a snort of irritation.
When in doubt nibble something, she told herself, rolling off the sofa and padding into the kitchen. The fridge was almost empty, but a half-full bottle of white wine and a can of olives whispered to her. The wave of cold air when she opened the fridge door tightened her nipples and she felt the hard tips scraping against the weave of her T-shirt as she collected a glass and turned the olives out into a bowl. The faint scratching sent sparks through her, clear down to her pussy, and she stripped off her shorts and panties and tossed them into her bedroom. The T-shirt was thigh length, so even if Lottie brought someone back, she'd be decent enough. She flopped back onto the sofa and picked up the remote again, looking for something soft-focus and erotic. No hurry, girl, she told herself as she flipped stations: you've got thirteen hours to get through somehow.
She chewed olives, and sipped, and zapped, and then stopped and backed up. A man and a woman in eighteenth century costume filled the screen, gazing into each other's eyes. Uli sat up and uncrossed her legs, then leaned back into the sofa's embrace, enjoying the sensation of the air on her exposed pussy, and imagined how she and Luke would greet each other. The special kiss at the airport, his arms holding her tight, his eyes closed. She wondered if he realized that he always inhaled deeply when they hugged, as if all his senses needed her. Her nipples stiffened again as she relived the totality of his desire, and her hand wandered across her breasts. A tingle of anticipation sparkled through her, settling in her groin, and she steeled herself not to touch herself there just yet.
The man and woman were kissing now, nuzzling each other, and her tongue snaked out unconsciously and ran over her lips; her hand slid under the T-shirt and traced its way to her breasts, circling her nipples, coaxing the pebbled flesh of her areolas to pucker even more. She pinched her teats gently, stimulating them to an almost painful hardness as she watched the man slip the woman's dress off her shoulders, revealing a lacy corset over ripe breasts. The woman crushed the man's head to her chest, and his tongue lapped round the edges of the constricting garment. Her own breasts were hot and tingling, and she dipped two fingers in her wine glass and rubbed them over her nipples, massaging the liquid into her skin. She felt the stirrings of need in her pussy and squirmed as the faint scent of arousal announced the dew that was forming between her labia.
The scene cut to a bedroom, the man and woman, both naked, entwined in each other's arms on a huge four-poster. Uli hitched the T-shirt to her waist and began to stroke her smooth mound, flexing her thighs slightly and lifting her hips to meet her tentative fingers. She knew what the woman was feeling as her lover's hands roamed over her. The quickening heartbeat, the slight feeling of dizziness as a warm thumb danced down her spine from her neck to the crease of her buttocks, the involuntary shudder as lips grazed her nipple, the feel of male hardness trapped between their bodies, both of them content to let desire wash through them, growing and mingling. All the advances and responses that she shared with Luke, always new, always familiar, always, from the first time he'd touched her, absolutely right. She pushed the heel of her hand hard against her pubic bone, putting pressure on her clit, still refusing to touch herself directly. On the screen, the man's head slithered down the woman's stomach, his tongue flickering lower. The picture cut to the woman's face, head thrown back, eyes closed as she waited for the smooth gliding strokes to reach her centre.
Uli's hand slipped lower too, her fingers drifting down to the top of her slit, rubbing the little bump of her clitoral hood, sliding through her moist lips, spreading the juices of her need across the folds that guarded her hungry lower mouth. Just like on the TV, everything was happening too fast. Her thighs tensed as her fingertips circled the ring of muscle that protected her vagina, and then she arched her back and thrust them into her. On the TV the woman was riding the man, his hands at her breasts, coy shots of her writhing buttocks cutting to his face, twisted in pleasure. Uli sat forward, forcing her fingers deeper into herself, and rolled her hips so that her thumb dragged across her clit. She closed her eyes and imagined that it was Luke she was straddling, that it was his cock that was plunging into her, that her breath was his, hot in her ear as he drove her forward to climax. She felt her orgasm beginning to build and with an effort withdrew her fingers. You said you were going to make this last, she told herself, and forced herself to go back to caressing her mons, teasing herself and testing her will power. The sex scene had ended, and now the man and woman were in a carriage, driving somewhere, but she didn't see them. Her eyes were closed again as she relived the last time, and how he had tortured her, refusing to let her take the last step until she was twisting beneath him, begging for the final strokes that would give her release.
The buzz of the doorbell jerked her out of her dream and she looked at the clock. Midnight. Who the hell went round ringing people's doorbells at midnight? Her legs felt wobbly as she went to the intercom.
'Yes.' She slipped her hand under her T-shirt again, not wanting to slide back down the slope she'd been climbing.
