She sat, leaning up against the kitchen wall like a defiant Amazon, knowing that he often looked out at her, admiring what he could see, enthralled by everything about her, especially by her breasts, but not only by those. Her naked body had this other effect on him too. He seemed to become even more fixated, aroused, and excited, each time he looked out at her.
She made a conscious effort to close her eyes, so that she wouldn’t see him looking at her, and put him off seeing her as he wanted to. She liked to be admired, the way he did it.
She was becoming increasingly aware of this wonderful bond developing between them, and of his inability to ignore her, sitting there entirely naked in front of him, constantly bringing him to life. She was still in a little discomfort from that earlier accident, but she was rapidly getting over it. She had other things to occupy her mind now.
Malcolm, brought a small pile of clothes back with him, putting them on the table beside her.
It was obvious that she wouldn’t be able to dress herself, but he would be more than happy to do it for her, and to get up to even more mischief with her as he did so, if she’d let him.
He wanted to. He might take some getting used to, with his constant need for her. He would have to get himself under control or he’d scare her and put her off him.
“I’ll get you dressed. You can’t do it for yourself.” She was beginning to feel pampered and spoiled, just like a child again, liking the attention.
He wasn’t shy to work around her, naked, himself but she was causing him to be like that, by sitting on his clothes.
He’d leave the final tidying up of his things, and getting himself dressed, until after he’d got her dressed, and with everything else ready to go.
“If your mother hadn’t been expecting us, we could have spent the night here, Malcolm. I brought my own sheets and pillow.” It would also avoid the embarrassment of seeing his mother after that little misstep with the phone.
That, sounded so tempting to him.
She sighed. “The problem… is that there is no food in the house other than for some milk and few eggs, and cans of stuff. They won’t be back until later in the day tomorrow.”
But that assumption might be risking things. Her family was never that predictable.
He wouldn’t have minded being alone with her too, for a few more hours, except... his mother would be a problem.
“I can’t stay here. I am still on call as long as my father is not at the surgery to deal with it. We can be alone in the house over there, as much as we need to be.
“The office end of it, with the patient bed, is out of the way and I’ll plead that I need to keep an eye on you tonight, at least. Mom won’t disturb us there. She knows how we feel about each other.”
Cassie was aware of that. His mother knew all about them for sure, after listening to that intimate conversation they’d had, after he thought he’d disconnected.
She wouldn’t spoil his evening by telling him.
After hearing that conversation, his mother would know enough to leave them strictly alone… even to wash her hands of them, deeply disappointed. It was only the first few minutes that would be tricky, seeing what their reception was likely to be… how his mother would greet them… her, and the way she looked at them after that outrageous lapse of judgement.
He was preparing her bra, to thread it on her arms.
Cassie put a hand on his arm and shook her head at him, setting her breasts moving at the same time. He was hypnotized by them.
“No bra, Malcolm, not yet. I don’t think I could stand that tightness on me at this time, and not with it likely to aggravate my back where that hook was. It’s still very tender.”
Another part of her would be tender for a while too, but he would never want to leave that one alone. However, she would have to be in control of that.
He put her bra back on the table and picked up her panties. They were so light and delicate, even translucent, against the bright light of the doorway. He could see details of his fingers through the paper-thin material. He swallowed hard. She was going to be a never-ending torment for him for the rest of his life.
Years ago, he’d sorted and separated enough of those (sturdier panties), and of her bras and other clothing, out of his own clothes in the dryer, when he’d gone looking for a sock. A ten-second search, had turned into ten minutes of intense curiosity about her, while his mother wasn’t there. There was something exciting about handling such personal pieces of clothing belonging to her and that had been in contact with her body in such an intimate place as he constantly dreamed of being. There always had been that feeling. He’d held them up to his face to try and detect much more of her, but the wash had removed her more intimate smells.
He’d had to go into the ones waiting to be washed to learn what he so needed to know. It had been a strong, vaginal smell. One that drove him entirely wild. He’d hidden those panties away for a while, taking them to school with him in his backpack, so that they would not be found in his room. He often referred back to them and replaced them when he could.
She, had also helped his mother sort his clothes out too, and even to put them away into his drawers, allowing her full access to his bedroom. She even vacuumed, cleaned around in there, as well as stripping his bed for the wash and learning even more about him... boy things... as she'd picked up his dirty clothes from the laundry hamper.
He wondered if she ever did the same thing with his underwear as he did with hers. They would soon be able to talk about that.
He’d had no secrets from her, outside of his own inner feelings, and soon, even they would be fully revealed.
She folded his clothes differently, and sometimes left him little clues that she’d done it, in small, sticky paper circles with a heart on them (early e-mojis), sticking to them somewhere; or a star, or a check mark, like the ones his mother used in her teaching to show approval of a piece of student’s work. He’d saved everything.
The two of them had been desperate, even then, to find any way they could, to get in touch with each other, and to let the other know that they had been here, and done this, or that. It usually fired them both up to become even more inventive to connect… all without tangible success, until now.
He still had a collection of little Origami, paper figures she’d left by his place at table, each morning he was home. She’d started those to thank him for his help with math, and for leaving her some books.
No wonder he’d been crazy in love with her, and she, with him, and now it had all come to life, and those feelings were much stronger now, and better than he’d ever been able to believe.