11. Kelechi
Chapter Eleven
Kelechi
After we came back inside from the patio, Marley dragged a hand through her hair, messing it slightly. “I should change into something more comfortable for cooking but be my guest and make yourself at home.”
She disappeared back into her bedroom, leaving me alone with the lingering taste of her kiss and the scent of her apartment wrapping around me like an embrace.
I wandered back to the kitchen, trailing my fingers along the smooth granite countertop, still processing what had just happened between us.
We kissed. I kissed her. My first kiss.
I was freaking out.
When she came back out, my breath caught in my throat.
The tailored sweater was gone, replaced by a white cotton T-shirt that clung perfectly to her frame, skimming her shoulders and revealing the lean strength of her arms. Dark shorts sat low on her hips.
“Much better,” she said, catching me staring. “Ready to actually cook this time?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “What can I do to assist?”
She pulled the beef from one of the grocery bags, unwrapping it carefully. “Can you grab that large glass bowl from the cabinet above the coffee machine? And we’ll need the cutting board.”
I stretched up to reach the bowl, totally aware of her watching me. When I set it on the counter, she was already arranging spices in a neat line, each small jar and container positioned well.
“Normally this would marinate for three days,” she said, picking up a sharp knife. “But I’m going to share a family secret with you.” She glanced at me conspiratorially.
“Your secret is safe,” I said, moving closer to watch.
She began making small, shallow cuts across the surface of the meat. Her knife worked quickly and sharply. “The key is creating more surface area for the marinade to penetrate, like this.” Her hands guided the blade, creating a crosshatch pattern across the beef.
“Can I try?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Marley paused, studying my face. “Have you handled a knife such as this before?”
“Not really. We mostly used kitchen knives back home.”
“Here.” She moved behind me, her body warm against my back as she placed the knife in my hand and covered it with hers. “Feel the weight of it first.”
Her breath tickled my ear as she guided my hand, showing me the proper angle and pressure. Every point where our bodies touched lit up at once.
Her chest pressed lightly against my shoulder blades, her thighs brushing the backs of mine.
“Like that,” she murmured, her voice lower than before. “You’ve got to be gentle but confident.”
I tried to focus on the knife, on the meat, on anything except the way her presence was making me dizzy. But when she reached around me to adjust my grip, her arm brushing across my waist, I nearly dropped the blade entirely.
“Steady,” she said softly, and I wasn’t sure if she meant the knife or me.
Together, we finished preparing the meat, her hands occasionally covering mine to guide the cuts. By the time we moved to the marinade, my heart was beating so fast I wondered if she could hear it.
“Red wine vinegar,” she said, stepping away to grab bottles from the counter. The sudden absence of her warmth left me feeling oddly bereft. “Water, and now the real magic.”
She opened small containers of spices, each one releasing its own distinct aroma.
“Taste,” she said, holding out a spoon.
I leaned forward to sip from the spoon, but some of the marinade dripped onto my chin. Without thinking, Marley reached out with her thumb to catch it, her touch feather-light against my skin.
Time seemed to slow down as her thumb lingered at the corner of my mouth, and her eyes darkened as they focused on my lips. The marinade was forgotten entirely.
“Good?” she asked, her voice rough.
I nodded because speaking felt impossible.
She cleared her throat and stepped back, returning to the marinade with forced casualness. “It needs to sit in a warm place for about three hours. The oven light should do it.” But her shoulders looked just a little too stiff.
We submerged the beef in the spiced liquid, and she placed the covered bowl on top of the warm oven.
“Perfect timing for dinner around seven.”
“What should we do until then?” I asked, then immediately regretted how breathless I sounded.
“We could work on our project notes,” she suggested, pulling out her laptop. “And maybe watch something while it cooks later?”
We settled at the kitchen island, but concentration proved impossible. Every few minutes, she’d lean over to point something out on my screen, her shoulder brushing mine. When she reached across to me to grab her pen, her shirt rode up slightly, revealing a strip of skin that made my mouth go dry.
“Do you have any movie preferences?” she asked during one of our breaks, absently twirling her pen between her fingers.
“I don’t really watch many movies,” I admitted. “I’ve never really had the time to.”
Something shifted in her expression. “What kind of stories do you like? Books, maybe?”
“I love Jane Austen. And I’ve read some books by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.”
“Romance and strong female characters,” she mused. “I think I know exactly what we should watch.”
By six o’clock, the apartment smelled incredible. Rich, complex aromas filled the air as Marley transferred the beef to what she called a heavy Dutch oven, adding vegetables and the reduced marinade. She moved around the kitchen fluidly, tasting, adjusting seasonings, and explaining each step.
“Now we wait,” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “An hour should do it.”
We moved to the couch while the food cooked.
“I picked something I think you’ll like,” she said, settling beside me with the remote.
The opening credits began, but I found myself watching Marley instead of the screen. How she tucked one leg underneath her as she got comfortable. The unconscious way she played with the hem of her shirt when she was relaxed.
As the movie progressed, we gradually moved closer. First, she stretched her arm along the back of the couch. Then I found myself leaning into her warmth. By the time the main characters had their first almost-kiss, I was tucked against her side, her fingers absently stroking my shoulder.
But I wasn’t watching the screen anymore. I was remembering the weight of her hands on my face. The taste of her lips. The way my entire body had responded to her touch with an intensity that still scared me.
“You’re not watching,” she observed quietly, her hand stilling on my shoulder.
I looked up to find her studying my face with that same focused attention she’d given the marinade earlier. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
The honest answer stuck in my throat. Instead, I felt heat flood my cheeks as I looked away.
“Hey.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Look at me.”
I forced myself to meet her gaze.
“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
The endearment sent warmth spiralling through my chest. “I was thinking about earlier.”
“What about it?”
My throat went dry. “Earlier, on the patio.”
Her hand went still. “And?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” I whispered. “About how it felt… about how you felt.”
She reached up to cup my cheek, her thumb tracing the same path it had earlier. “How did I feel?”
“Perfect,” I breathed. “It felt… You felt perfect.”
“Kelechi.”
“Yes?”
“I want to kiss you again.” Her voice was direct, unashamed. “I want to do more than kiss you, but I need you to tell me what you want.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. No one had ever asked me what I wanted before. The question felt revolutionary.
“I want...” My throat tightened. “I want you to show me.”
Her thumb brushed my bottom lip, and I shivered.
“Show you what?”
“Everything,” I whispered. “I want to know what it feels like to want someone this much.”
“You want me?” she asked, her hand stilling.
“More than anything.”
She leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching mine. “Are you sure?”
Instead of answering with words, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to hers with more confidence than I’d had that afternoon. This time, I was ready for everything, for the way my body seemed to melt into hers.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard.
“Come here,” she said softly, her hands moving to my waist.
Before I could process what was happening, she was lifting me, guiding me until I was straddling her lap, my knees on either side of her thighs. The new position put us at eye level, very intimate.
Her hands settled on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of my jeans.
“Better.”
I gripped her shoulders for balance, overwhelmed by how close we were, how right this felt despite being completely outside my experience.
“What now?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Her smile turned slow and dangerous. “Now I will show you exactly what you’ve been missing.”
Her mouth crashed back onto mine, hungrier and deeper. I melted into her, gasping when she dragged my hips against the firm muscle of her thigh. The friction jolted through me.
She groaned against my lips and slid her hands lower, squeezing me hard. “Mist, I love your ass,” she rasped. “So soft, I could hold you here forever.”
The words stole the air from my lungs. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that, like I was something worth worshipping.
I tugged at her shirt, desperate to feel more of her. She stripped it off in one swift motion, and my breath caught.
Tattoos sprawled across her upper body….dark lines crawling over her arms and torso, a snake coiled around her upper arm, a butterfly resting on her forearm. And between her breasts, just above the hollow of her stomach, a small spiral sat at the centre of her sternum.
I couldn’t stop staring.
“You like them?” she teased, her grin wicked but intense.
“They’re beautiful,” I whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
Something flickered in her expression, then she kissed me again, flipping us and pressing me back onto the couch.
Her tatted body brushed my skin as her mouth slid down my throat, and my hands shook as I traced the ink along her arm.
She moaned, the sound vibrating against my neck, and rocked me harder into her thigh until I was whimpering.
“That’s it,” she coaxed. “Don’t hold back, princess. Feel me.”
My body obeyed, grinding against her helplessly. Sparks shot through me with every drag of her thigh against me, wetness pooling between my thighs.
She broke the kiss, panting. “You feel that?”
“Yes,” I gasped.
“That’s just my thigh, baby. Wait until I really touch you.”
Her words undid me. She stood up and dragged me up with her as she tugged my shirt over my head, and I froze under her gaze. Her eyes moved slowly over me, my breasts half-covered by my white lace bra, my rounded stomach, my hips, and the hunger in her eyes made me shiver.
“Du machst mich wild*” She made a tortured sound before kissing me hard.
“What did you say?” I mumbled between her lips.
“Sshhh,” she said, silencing me as she slid her hands beneath my jeans and panties and pulled them down, leaving me bare and trembling. I watched as she pushed her shorts and boxers off her hips, and I bit my lip instinctively.
Marley was more than beautiful. She looked like she was carved from the same sand that moulded Ares, the god of war.
Her shoulders were broad and her arms corded with lean muscles that made me wonder if she worked out steadily. Her breasts were small and tipped with pale pink nipples that made my mouth go dry. My gaze trailed lower, down to the curve of her hips.
She stood in front of me, daring me to look away. Her thighs were thick and powerful. Between them, her pussy was smooth and bare.
Heat curled low in my stomach, my body clenching with an ache I had no name for. She caught me staring, and instead of teasing, she smiled in a slow and predatory way as she tugged me toward the couch, sinking down and bringing me with her.
The couch felt cool against my back, a shock compared to her heat as she pressed herself against me.
When she hooked her thigh over mine and slid our bodies together, skin to slick skin, I cried out.
“Oh my God—”
“Yeah,” she groaned, rolling her clit into mine. “That’s us. That’s how good two women can fit together.”
The grind was everything. It was wet, hot, and obscene. Our clits dragged against each other, rhythm building as she guided my hips with a rough grip. The couch creaked beneath us as my moans filled the room.
“You’re so fucking wet,” she panted, biting at my throat. “I can feel how much you need me.”
Her words pushed me higher. My legs shook, toes curling against the cushions, nails digging into her back. The pressure coiled tight inside me, unbearable, and I bucked against her, desperate to fall.
I was close, too close, but she slowed, kissing me deep as if to steady me.
“Not yet,” she said, voice rough. “I want to taste you first.”
Before I could beg, she slid down my body, lips dragging fire over my stomach, my hips, the soft inside of my thighs. By the time she spread me open, I was shaking.
She looked up once, eyes locking on mine. “Trust me.”
Then her mouth was on me.
The first lick made me sob. My hips jerked, but she held me down, her tattooed arm braced across my waist.
“Easy,” she whispered, her breath hot against me. “Let me take care of you.”
Her tongue slid through me, slowly, teasing before pressing harder. Every flick made my body jolt; every circle dragged me closer. She moaned into me, the sound vibrating through my core, and the sensation had me clawing at the couch.
When she sucked, I screamed. My body arched off the cushions, and my thighs clamped around her head before I could stop myself. She groaned like she loved it while holding me open.
The coil inside me snapped. Pleasure ripped through me, violent and raw, and I came undone in her mouth. My cries filled the room as I shook, clutching her hair, my whole-body quaking under the waves.
She didn’t stop. She licked me through it, gentler now, coaxing every last tremor until I collapsed, boneless, against the couch.
When she finally slid back up my body, her lips glistened, and the look in her eyes nearly undid me all over again. She kissed me softly, letting me taste myself on her tongue.
When I opened my eyes again, she was looking at me with something soft and wrecked and tender all at once as she brushed her thumb over my cheek.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, voice shaking. Then, quieter— “Wow.”
She laughed softly against my forehead, then stopped and captured my lips.
“Now,” she whispered against my lips, “you know.”
* You drive me wild