Everybody Loves Saturday Night
20
__________ _
After our conversation and open conclusion, a gentle sense of tranquility settles over us. I close my laptop, pick a new panty and the sweatshirt Special had given me this morning, sniff it and, not bad. With that, I head to the bathroom to freshen up.
While in the bathroom, he asks what I want to do tonight, and I suggest we chill indoors. After that drama, and with me heading back to Dublin tomorrow night, I’m not in the mood to step out. I want to absorb all the time with him I can get and to also assure him that we’ve got this and can do this, together.
When I step out of the bathroom, he invites me to the living room where he’s microwaved a mountain of jollof rice and chicken with freshly fried plantains. We eat from the same dish, which is quiet intimate, opting to watch TV. I reach for the remote control on the coffee table and navigate to Netflix.
“What are you in the mood for?” I ask, tossing a quick glance at him .
Chewing, he shrugs. “I don’t mind. You pick something.”
I scroll through the options, before stopping on a Korean drama that piques my interest. I click on it, and the opening scene fills the screen with vibrant colors and unfamiliar faces.
He raises an eyebrow. “Korean drama?” His voice laced with amusement.
I chuckle, leaning back on my seat. “Why not?”
He laughs softly, his eyes fixed on the screen as the movie plays. “I didn’t peg you for a Korean drama fan.”
Gasping, I let my spoon clatter back into the dish. “You don’t know the hidden depths I have. Jokes apart,” I say, picking my spoon, “I heard this series is good.”
He shrugs, his gaze returning to the screen. “Fair enough. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.”
The characters on the screen come to life, their emotions and stories drawing me in. Despite his initial skepticism, Special seems content to watch with me, occasionally offering amusing commentary.
We pause the episode to return our dishes to the kitchen, then return with glasses of red wine to continue watching, while I sneakily position myself to sit thigh to thigh with him. He scoffs, tossing his arm around my shoulders and I tongue out, adjusting until I’m comfortable, hands between my thighs.
As the plot unfolds, I find myself engrossed in the romantic tension and the heartwarming moments that play out before us.
Hours pass as we watch episode after episode, the ambiance of the room shifting from the dim glow of the screen to the cozy warmth we’ve created. I steal glances at him when he chuckles at some of the comedic scenes, grateful for these simple moments we’ve dreamt of, but never had.
As the credits roll on yet another episode, Special asks, “So, when did you start watching Korean dramas?”
I chuckle, shrugging nonchalantly. “I used to watch them back in Hopewell, but I stopped. Then recently, I picked it back up. It keeps me company and it’s pretty engaging.”
He smiles, his fingers absentmindedly reaching for mine. “Well, you’ve got good taste—this is enjoyable.”
“Ye p. Say that again. You know, it was actually Itohan who re-introduced them to me.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I can practically sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. “Itohan? Same Itohan?”
I nod, suppressing a chuckle at his reaction. “Yeah.”
His expression tightens, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the couch’s armrest. It’s a small gesture that speaks volumes.
I shrug, choosing to ignore his uncalled reaction, my finger hovering above the remote’s play button. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” he says stiffly. “Go ahead.”
I hit play, and we return our attention to the screen for the fourth and final episode, the drama’s storyline taking center stage once more.
What is this beef he has with Itohan? I really want to know why he doesn’t like her. With a slight tilt of my head, I turn to him, my tone gentle yet inquisitive. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask—why don’t you seem to like Itohan?”
His eyes briefly flicker away from the screen, and there’s a moment of hesitation before he shifts his gaze back to me. His expression is guarded, as though he’s choosing his words carefully. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just... I’ve sensed something about her.”
I furrow my brows, confused at his bland reason. “Something? What do you mean?”
He sighs, his fingers absentmindedly tapping my shoulder. “It’s hard to explain. She seems like a bad influence. And she doesn’t understand boundaries or have respect. Using lewd words and stuff, that’s not the kind of woman you are.”
Bad influence? Boundaries and respect? I pause for a moment, digesting his words before responding. “Itohan—Itohan is not like that. Yes, she might come off as annoying, but she’s not like that. You haven’t even met her in person.”
He nods slowly, his gaze still fixed on the screen, his demeanor contemplative. “I trust your judgement. It’s just... you know how it is,” he shrugs. “It’s just my perception of her. I’ve also picked up on a certain familiarity, an intimacy in your conversations. And it makes me wonder. You know how people leave home and start experimenting with western idea s—”
Itohan? Is it because she calls me boo and that her voice is deep? I hold back a chuckle. “I understand your concerns, and… you have nothing to worry about. Itohan and I are just friends, she loves the opposite sex, and our conversations are nothing more than that.”
He offers a faint smile, his tension easing slightly. “I appreciate your honesty. Thanks.”
I’m so glad I suggested we stay indoors because with this job upgrade, Lord knows when I’ll have the time to visit again. For now, I want to bask in the warmth of this evening and cherish the love we have.
“Fifi baby…” he starts and I frown silently asking what, before following the direction of his eyes on my hands. In a teasing tone, he continues, “aren’t we getting a bit adventurous?”
Oh… I laugh, feeling my cheeks warm. Being so engrossed in the show, our physical proximity feels natural, almost magnetic, that my hand somehow found its way to the V of his crotch. “Oops, I didn’t mean for it to end up here.”
He chuckles, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of my hand. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help you preserve your virtue.”
I honestly didn’t mean for it to get there. But now that I know it’s there, I’m loving the warmth. Playfully, I roll my eyes, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Oh, really? And how do you propose to do that?”
He adopts a mock-serious expression, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, I’ll start by making sure your hand doesn’t wander into dangerous territories.”
I burst into laughter as he dramatically takes my hand from its comfort space and place it closer to his knee.
“There,” he pats my hand, “isn’t that better?”
I chuckle harder as he continues patting my hand and grinning. It’s these light-hearted moments and playful banter that makes being around him so enjoyable—one of the things I adore about him from scratch.
Our laughter subsides with his hand covering mine. We share a smile, and in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. It’s just the two of us.
Us ag ainst the world.
Us against time.
Us against distance.
“Thank you for this evening,” I whisper.
He squeezes my hand gently. “No, thank you for being here.”
Still smiling into each other’s eyes, we settle into a comfortable silence, the TV’s illumination creating a soft glow around us. And that’s how I see it—all I need. A tiny spark of desire. A silent invitation I find impossible to resist. I let nature and the energy between us guide my actions.
Leaning in, I press my lips against his in a tender, lingering kiss. The initial touch is soft, almost hesitant, as if we’re both testing the waters. He leans in, his lips hovering just above mine, his breath warm against my skin. The world around us fades away as I become acutely aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest, mirroring my own erratic breathing. My hesitation fades, replaced by a growing hunger that has been simmering beneath the surface.
His lips respond with a gentle urgency, and the kiss deepens as our mouths move in a delicate dance. My fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair as I pull him closer. He wraps his arms around me, drawing me in as if he’s afraid to let go.
The room fades away, leaving only the heat of our bodies in its wake. His hand glides down my side, his touch setting my skin ablaze. Bold, I lick his tongue. He licks mine. I suck his. He sucks mine, the taste of the red wine on his lips intoxicating.
Shivering and moaning, I press into him whenever his fingers traces patterns on my back. It’s as if we’re discovering each other afresh.
I lose myself in the sensation of his hands on my skin, the taste of his lips against mine, the rhythm of our breaths intertwining in perfect harmony. With each caress, each kiss, my desire builds.
I want you. I want you in ways that I’ve never allowed myself to fully explore before. Inside me. Filling me. Oh my… yes… yes.. I moan into his lips, bucking and pressing my body into his. I don’t know when I did, but I’m straddling him on the cushion, grinding into him. Loving the feel of his erection against my core.
Benea th the sweater, he grabs my ass, smoothening and kneading it as we kiss. I shiver, savoring the sensation of his touch.
“Are you sure?” he manages to say, and I moan a “Yes,” in between kisses.
He nudges my legs further apart, his hands slipping beneath the waistband of the flimsy excuse of the fabric I call panties, and I see stars. “You need to relax.”
“Hmm…” I moan, arching into his touch. Wishing I could brush myself against anything. Something. I’ve never felt this way before.
He chuckles softly, rubbing his fingers over my pulsing core, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. “You’re so responsive and wet.”
Wet?
I don’t shy away from his touch. Instead, I lean into it, a silent invitation for him to explore further. I wish he would stop playing with my labia and touch my clitoris itself. “It’s not funny,” I bite back.
Then his fingers are at my asshole, his legs urging mine further apart, and I flinch, tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to go slow. Just relax, okay?” he says, planting teasing kisses on my lips, cheek, and neck. “Relax your muscles and I’ll show you something new. Trust me, okay? We don’t have to do it the boring way.”
Blinded by lust and craving I never knew existed until now, I nod, getting pulled in by his kisses until they become fervent again. His fingers sweep my vagina, left, right, left, right, causing me to press further into him, making sounds I never knew I was capable of. From behind, he makes circular motions around my asshole, stimulating multiple sensations through my body. Being touched intimately for the first time in both places has me feeling both good and weird and—oh!
“Spesh!” I bite and hold onto his lips, bucking my hips against him as he inserts and pumps his finger in my vagina with practiced ease, increasing his tempo while still making circular motions around my asshole.
“Mmmm…” I pull away from his lips, moaning in response with my eyes closed. This guy is driving me to the brink of madness. There’s a tension building inside me, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke and pump of his fingers.
It’s too much.
I can ’t—I cant—“Oh. Oh…” There’s something—something—I’m going to—“Spesh!” I scream, bucking away from his fingers.
When I open my eyes, his gaze is locked onto mine. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, a silent agreement that this moment is just the beginning of something more profound.
“What was that?” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the rush of blood in my ears. His hand finally retreats, leaving a trail of warmth behind, making me lean into his touch one last time.
When we finally pull away, our breaths still recovering from that experience, I see in his gaze an expression I can’t put a finger to.
“You,” he murmurs, his voice husky, “are a dangerous woman, Fifi.”
Smiling, I pout, my heart pounding rapidly. “And you,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper, “make me want to take risks.”