14. The Name on the Table
The Name on the Table
Karl lowered himself heavily into Markus’s wooden chair. He hooked the bottle cap against the edge of the table and ripped it off with a hard jerk.
With a loud pop, the cap sprang free and clattered onto the floor. Karl took a long drink, leaving a little beer foam at the wrinkled corner of his mouth.
Nadja sat directly across from him. The short knit dress had ridden dangerously high, almost to her groin.
Her knees were only half closed. The bare skin of her thighs rested directly against the cool, hard wood of the chair.
Knife and fork clicked softly against the porcelain plate.
The heavy scent of fried onions and pork fat hung in the air.
“Your salad’s not bad.”
“Neither are your potatoes.”
Karl shrugged indifferently and chewed audibly. He swallowed a piece of fried egg and provocatively nodded toward the leather wallet lying on the counter.
“That thing with the card today… things still haven’t gotten any better with him?”
Nadja set down her fork. The metal struck the ceramic sharply. “Markus is trying.”
Karl nodded slowly and raised the beer bottle again.
“Yeah. Everybody tries.” He took a drink, shamelessly left the foam on his lip, and only then twisted his mouth into a mocking smile. “But with a man, Mrs. Keller… hard work alone just isn’t enough. In the end, there has to be something to show for it.”
His gaze kept drifting toward the knit dress stretched tightly over Nadja’s full breasts, then crawling down to the bare white thighs beneath the short hem. “Otherwise, it’s always the woman at home who ends up having to be ashamed.”
Nadja stabbed her fork hard into the yolk, bursting it thick and yellow across the plate. “And you? Living alone. No wife, no children?”
Karl raised one eyebrow without concern. Calmly, he cut off a piece of potato and chewed slowly. Swallowed. His voice was bone-dry and full of sarcasm.
“I had a wife once. Ran off with another man a long time ago. He was older then than I am now and… well, richer too.”
“Serves you right,” Nadja said coldly.
For a moment, silence settled over the table.
Karl didn’t even flinch. He didn’t look the least bit offended. The wrinkled corner of his mouth only pulled farther sideways.
“Maybe.” He leaned a little across the table. “But if she hadn’t run off back then, you probably wouldn’t be sitting here today having lunch with me — dressed like that.”
Nadja pressed her lips together. Heat flooded her face.
Karl gave a dry, rough laugh and casually waved it away. “Just a joke, Mrs. Keller.”
Nadja aggressively speared a potato. Her fingers were stiff with tension. The fork slipped from her hand.
The silverware clattered onto the wooden floor, bounced once, then skittered beneath the table until it stopped beside Karl’s dirty shoe.
“I’ll get it.”
Karl bent down before she could stop him.
Beneath the table, it was tighter and darker than above. It smelled of old wood and the heavy grease from the fried potatoes. Karl braced one hand against the floor and blindly felt around for the fork with the other.
Then he froze in mid-motion.
Directly in front of his face were Nadja’s bare legs.
Her soft white calves were slightly bent beneath the edge of the table. Her knees were only half closed. The soft skin of her thighs rested directly on the wooden chair—no tights, no panties, no layer of fabric to hide the heat of her body from him.
His dull gaze crawled upward along that naked line. From her knee. To the inside of her thighs. To where the skin became even smoother, more flawless, more sensitive. Deep into the dim darkness beneath the table.
Karl swallowed hard. The fork lay right beside his hand, but he’d long since forgotten it.
He tilted his head a little farther upward. From this low angle, Nadja’s short knit dress had ridden all the way up to her groin.
The dark, intimate place between her thighs lay completely exposed to his eyes. No panties. Her smooth-shaven pussy. The full lips parted by a forbidden sliver, the fleshy interior glistening wetly and visibly darker than the white skin around it.
Karl remained paralyzed in his crouched position. His throat tightened.
Only a few minutes earlier, his hand had possessively kneaded her ass through the knit dress. Outside only. Not underneath.
He hadn’t dreamed that beneath that scrap of fabric she was wearing absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.
She sat in front of him completely bare underneath, so close that he only had to move his head a little farther forward to brush her with his hot breath.
Karl jerked his gaze upward.
Nadja looked coldly down at him. One hand still rested calmly on the edge of the table.
Her expression was so icy that it might have been the most normal thing in the world to expose her open pussy to an old neighbor.
All she had to do was close her knees the tiniest bit. One small movement would have been enough to take the sight away from him immediately and completely.
But she didn’t close her legs. Karl grinned filthily.
Slowly, like a predator, he lowered himself fully onto his knees. He picked up the fork and carelessly set it aside.
His rough hands settled firmly on the insides of Nadja’s thighs—with exhausting slowness, as though one movement made too greedily might snap her out of her trance.
Her skin practically burned beneath his palms. Soft. Delicate.
His rough fingers stroked upward from her knees almost to her groin, then dug insistently into the flesh there.
Nadja didn’t say a word. She only opened her knees another tiny, fatal amount.
Karl’s breathing grew heavy and pumping when he felt her legs obediently drift farther apart.
He leaned forward. His bony, rough nose came dangerously close to the smooth, flawless skin of her inner thigh.
Sticky grease from the bacon and fried potatoes still coated his hands. His mouth too. The rancid taste of stale beer, salt, and pork fat clung to his lips, mixed with the sharp stink of old tobacco on his breath.
Karl inhaled deeply through his nose. Long. Hoarse. Animalistically greedy.
Nadja’s scent flooded his senses. The smell of her clean skin. The warm, heavy dampness between her legs. The unmistakable scent of her carefully groomed pussy, already soaking wet with arousal.
Warm knit fabric, heated flesh, pork fat from the lunch table. Everything merged into an intensely filthy, sweet mixture that tightened his throat.
She smelled unbelievably good.
That single clear thought hammered through Karl’s mind as his face sank purposefully between Nadja’s thighs.
He knew exactly how pathologically addicted he was to that smell. To the feeling of his old tongue deep inside her pussy. And to her clean, tight little asshole whenever she eventually bent over for him again.
A few days without licking Nadja had left his mouth as dry as a mangy old dog that had been deliberately starved.
And now, here, of all places, in the Kellers’ kitchen, directly beneath her own husband’s dining table, she was serving that scent to him again on a platter. Open wide for him.
Karl had to summon every scrap of willpower not to attack her like an animal. Something this wet had to be eaten slowly. Savored.
His tongue first touched her thigh hesitantly. He dragged a slow, wet, hot line along the soft inner skin, from just above her knee all the way up to her groin. There he stopped.
Nadja remained motionless on the chair. Her hand still clutched the edge of the table, her manicured nails digging hard into the wood.
Karl triumphantly switched to her other thigh. Another agonizingly slow, wet trail of his tongue. Then he shamelessly pressed his mouth against her smooth-shaven mound.
Karl’s old, rough lips pushed greedily against Nadja’s skin, leaving behind a sticky trace flavored with beer, pork fat, and the bacon from lunch.
That same mouth that only seconds ago had been chewing potatoes and swallowing beer— that oily, dirty mouth— was now kissing the most intimate, naked part of Mrs. Keller.
Nadja sucked in a sharp breath.
Karl lifted his dull gaze toward her for one fleeting moment, then deliberately pushed his head deeper between her legs.
The tip of his tongue drove directly into her wet slit.
Nadja let the other fork fall onto the table. The metal only clicked softly against the ceramic.
Karl licked again. This time provocatively slowly.
His broad tongue dragged relentlessly along the slippery line between the swollen lips of her pussy, deep from bottom to top, and stopped with perfect accuracy at the hard little clit already throbbing violently.
Nadja still sat with her back perfectly straight, her knees now spread far enough for his wrinkled face to fit comfortably between her legs.
His mouth was greasy. Her white thighs were covered in his heavy breath. Her wet pussy clung to his old tongue.
At first, that was exactly what it was. He licked. And she obediently let him lick her, like some perverse thank-you for the groceries he had paid for even though she had never asked him to.
But Nadja’s body couldn’t maintain that performed, icy distance for long.
Every filthy stroke of Karl’s tongue inevitably pulled more heat upward from her lower belly.
Every time he lingered on her swollen clit, sucked lightly at it, then let it go, the muscles of her inner thighs tightened convulsively.
Every time his beard stubble scraped her sensitive flesh, a violent shudder climbed her spine.
Karl shoved both rough hands deep beneath her thighs and brutally gripped the soft flesh of her ass. He lifted her insistently, dragged her pelvis a little farther forward, directly against his hungry mouth.
Nadja let it happen without resistance. Her full ass almost seemed to settle more deeply into his large hands on its own.
Karl sucked louder and harder at her clit now. Nadja trembled all over. A shaky breath escaped through her nose.