Page 58 of AMS.TER.strum

‘’Fraid not.’

‘Not even the one for your little fans?’

‘That’s a goodnight song. I don’t want to put you to sleep.’

‘That’s the last thing on my mind.’

Time stands still when he leans to whisper in my ear. ‘What’s the first thing?’

The words come in light breaths, like silky ribbons about to tie us together. How desperate is it to want to jump this man’s very fine bones in a public space?

And because my self-restraint is dwindling due to lack of sleep, plus a dry spell that’s the size of a desert, and because my silicone toy is only that good, and because I’ve been fantasizing about Luuk every single time I’ve used it lately…

I push up on my toes and press my lips to his.

Chapter twenty-Seven

Luuk

Wild dreams do come true sometimes. I’m living mine, right here, right now, in this old industrial space, dancing with Corrie amongst the colourful images that tell the story of her namesake and how Neil Gaiman’s fan Iris envisioned her daughter to be: a courageous girl, strong like the woman I’m holding in my arms, never wanting to let go.

It’s as if the Corrie and the Luuk of back then are meeting their versions of today, and everyone we’ve been in between—dancing to the rhythm of one word: together.

Her laugh resonates in the empty space, and with every song, it becomes more relaxed and carefree, closer to the laugh of the woman I met seven years ago. I’m kicking myself for not having researched more songs with boots.

I want this night to go on forever. Hear more of this laugh; and is it vain to love the fact that I have something to do with it?

When the final notes fade, we don’t let go. We keep swaying to the melody in our bodies, lost in each other’s eyes. Corrie’s face is flushed, she’s excited and a bit tipsy—we’ve been sipping between songs, probably to calm our nerves. Or to give our hearts a brief reprieve from the closeness that keeps nudging us towards something more.

So when Corrie’s lips touch mine, I freeze for a moment. Thankfully, it lasts only a fraction of a second before she can mistake it for hesitation.

Despite its recklessness, it’s a hesitant kiss, like testing the waters, like one of those we’ve been exchanging over the years on the cheek, the corner of the mouth temptingly close, neither of us willing to risk the friendship by crossing that bridge.

Until now.

Now, Corrie’s lips press against mine—no longer chaste cheek, no longer safe—asking a question I might have paused to consider, if caution were still on duty.

It’s not. I’ve given it the night off.

My lips slide the rest of the way, as if touching cotton candy, afraid to smash it with too much pressure. Every nerve ending is a live wire, the touch shaking loose years of frustration, of fantasizing, of looking for this kiss elsewhere and coming up empty.

Our lips slightly part, as if we want to speak, but it’s only to catch every breath, like being underwater and this—each other’s breath—is oxygen.

For a few moments, we test it, making sure this won’t disappear, that this is real. Then the tip of Corrie’s tongue touches my bottom lip and zaps me to the most amazing reality! I don’t need to think how to cross the line; I’m granted permission to play along.

I trace her upper lip, my tongue prodding into her mouth as if to make sure we’re still on, dreading the possibility of her thinking that her spontaneous kiss should stop there, when she retracts. But then she sucks on my bottom lip, teeth grazing, her breath fanning against mine. I cup her face, seal her lips with mine, not wanting to let go.

I’m like a kid at a candy store, wanting everything at once from this breathtaking person. I slide my hands into her hair, the pressure on her scalp eliciting another moan. As her arms tighten their grip around my waist, her torso rubs against my chest, her peaked nipples pressing a button directly connected to the bulge in my trousers. My hips shift against her pelvis, her mouth pausing its exploring to breathe an “O”, while mine peppers her face with kisses, every peck fuelling the need for more.

I regret not asking how long we have here in this cocoon built just for us. But as much as I hate to stop—and fear that if I do, this might shatter—I press one last soft, lingering kiss to her lips and pull back.

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to make a move before they kick us out.’

Corrie chuckles, but I can tell she’s left as wanting as I am. ‘Shall we go back to my place?’

If I could, I would beam us up there. Instead, I collect her raincoat and hold it for her to wear and she teases me for having become such a Southern gentleman. She slides her arms into the sleeves, pushing momentarily to rub her back against my chest.

Kudos for my self-restraint, because I only kiss the crook of her neck, while all I want is to trap her in my arms from behind and pull her against me, to rub my aching cock between her buttcheeks, then grab her tits and sweetly torture them, but I doubt I’d be able to stop.