Let's Have Dinner

 

 

“My favorite dream began slow at first,” said Wren, fondling Spencer’s breast and nipple softly, making small circles below her nipple. “I’d like to show you what I dreamed that I did to you, but that is going to require fortification in the manner of food first.” Wren kissed her nipple, pulling at the hardened tissue and sucking with his mouth. Spencer gasped. “So get dressed. That’s how that particular dream begins.”

Spencer remained lying on the bed, watching Wren hunt for his underwear. Wren left to look for clothes left in the kitchen. She visualized Wren’s hand on her breast and copied his motions on herself. She began to think about how good it felt to grind against him and tentatively moved her free hand against her hip and outer thigh, wanting to touch—there. Spencer lightly dragged her hand up her inner thigh slowly, reaching the wet crease before her folds. The hot rush of blood encouraged Spencer to curl her first finger and begin to move inside herself, feeling the wet mixture of Wren’s semen and her own excitement, grinding the heel of her palm into her vulva.

“Spencer, I’ve got your shirt and your skirt. Have you found your pants—” said Wren, returning to the bedroom, speechless at the sight of Spencer touching herself. Spencer stopped moving when she heard him at the doorway. “Please don’t stop on my account.” Spencer grabbed her bra and sat up, swung her legs to the side of the bed and faced away from Wren.  Spencer saw her underwear on top of the dresser, grabbed them and pulled them on. “You have my shirt?” asked Spencer. “Thanks,” said Spencer as Wren passed her clothes to her, not meeting Wren’s lustful stare. Spencer pulled on her skirt, fastened the hook and fumbled with the zipper. She left it undone and pulled on her shirt.  Spencer moved to leave the bedroom. “May I zip you?” asked Wren. Spencer nodded. Wren smoothed the fabric surrounding the hidden zipper of the skirt and tugged it upwards. Then he began to slowly button her shirt, starting at the bottom and working his way up, meeting Spencer’s gaze as he neared her breasts. They smiled, and kissed softly. “Hungry?”

“Yes. You mentioned something about curry?”

“Chicken vindaloo, there’s korma and rice too.” Spencer followed Wren into the open kitchen and wandered over to his bookshelves while he reheated dinner.

“Do you mind if I reorganize your books?”

“Sorry? Uh—please don’t—”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” said Spencer as she scanned the titles on the shelves. The Great Influenza, A Short History of Nearly Everything, The Master and Margarita, Guns, Germs, and Steel, Le Comte de Monte Cristo, James Herriot set, Half the Sky, Freakonomics…

“A Short History of Nearly Everything?”

“Do you like Bill Bryson?”

“Yeah, I loved Mother Tongue and A Walk in the Woods. I’ve been meaning to read At Home.”

“You should, it’s really interesting.

 “Le Comte de Monte Cristo?”

“Attendre et espérer. Oui, j’aime bien l’historie de revanche et aventure. Est-ce que tu aimes?”

“Oui, je l’aime bien. Mais, dépêche-toi, j’ai faim et je voudrais te baiser encore une fois avant que je dois quitter.” Wren turned and stared, then smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Tout de suite. Maintenant, tiens.” Wren held out a plate to her.

Settling at the kitchen table, they ate in companionable silence, occasionally exchanging shy smiles. “Why did you stop when you realized I was watching you?”

“I’ve never had an audience before. Not that I’ve done that a lot.”

“Why not?”

“Mostly because I haven’t been successful in the past—and you know how much I hate not being the best at something.” They laughed.

“Did it bother you that I was watching?”

“I was surprised, so I panicked and froze. But I like the idea of you watching me touch myself, if I know you’re there and you’re coming with me.”

After dinner, they moved to the leather sofa. Wren reached for Spencer’s hand, what had changed? why she had started grabbing and kissing him? will this ever happen again? “So how have you been?”

“I’ve been okay. The field hockey team has been winning. Being captain is great. School’s going well.” Spencer looked up into Wren’s eyes. “I lied. I haven’t been okay. I am anxious, suspicious, and paranoid. I have nightmares. I feel hands around my neck, squeezing the life out of me and I wake up in a cold sweat.” Spencer explained the Ghost Train, Bryon Montgomery’s last meeting with Alison, Garret’s death, being strangled by ‘A’, and Toby’s wounded hand. Wren listened, holding her hand. “Spencer, somehow it will all work out. I don’t know how, but it will work out.”

“It won’t. People have died. I’ve almost died—twice,” sobbed Spencer.

“Shh, come here.” Wren pulled Spencer into his arms and onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried uncontrollably. “Shh, you are safe here.” Wren held her, rubbing her back gently until her breathing returned to normal. “Better?”

“Better,” said Spencer, and cupped his cheek and kissed him. “You make everything better,” Spencer whispered, nipping his ear and kissing her way down his neck to the collarbone just visible beneath his collar. Wren smirked and asked suggestively, “everything?” Spencer’s mind replayed through the previous hour. She felt heat between her legs.

“Yes, everything,” she whispered and brushed her lips against his, opening her mouth to kiss him, but stopping, teasing him with her mouth. Suddenly his mouth was on hers and his hands were everywhere. She begin to throb inside. “So how did this dream of yours begin?”