MOMENTS NOT TO BE WASTED
A sequel to 'Wasted By Love'
It was all wrong, the effect that they had on each other. They had become ensnared by lust after what they had done the first time when Darryl had come home from his work and found her the worse for wear because of drink. His way of making her feel good about herself, again, after the wounding abandonment by her husband, Frank Jones, had dismayed her for the passionate intensity that he had brought to his seduction of her.
The seducing techniques deployed during his claims upon her, in body and mind, had not lessened over the month, or so, since it had all begun and that she had been unable to put a stop to. Nor had she wanted to, then.
She had felt an unquenchable need for him that first time and, immoral and illegal as their affair undoubtedly was, she had also been restored. She no longer resorted to the bottle and Darryl was gallant, and considerate, enough to tell her that she looked better and was her
'chatty and bubbly'
self once more.
"You're the woman I once knew, again."
She had kept from answering him by saying that it was because of his ardent loving and the attention that he paid to her whenever the opportunity arose and she conceded to him. It was not, quite, a one-way street when it came to them ending up in her bed and they pursued each other through what felt like unending sessions of frenzied coupling. For her, pleasure at his hands and what he brought to her body could never quite blot out the guilt that she felt because of all that they had each succumbed to.
There were Friday nights when she waited for him, restless and unable to sleep. He worked hard at his construction job, came home tired and dusty, and still had the energy and drive to go out and to see friends he had grown up with and who still lived in the area, or near enough, to keep those bonds alive.
She had her work in the local supermarket and had her friends, but, right now, the only company that she truly sought was Darryl's.
Darryl did not lack female company. He was, after all, a strong and fit-looking young man with reserves of energy in his broad-shouldered frame that went along with a captivating smile, and a passably handsome hollow-cheeked face. However, he did have a short fuse like his father, at times, but since their affair had begun he did not talk of them, the girls he may have gone with. She remained unsure if there were any, now that he found in her the passionate and experienced responses to satisfy that lustful and unquenchable need in him for a woman's touch and the demands on him of her body.
That they were related did not seem to prevail in his attitude and what he pursued with her, but she knew that could so easily change in him just as it could in her. The storm that was so often their life together would soon blow itself out, of that she was certain and perhaps recent news, that had reached her, might be the moment that it would.
Now, as she listened out for him to come home, and she was again reassured, she knew that who he was to her, as much as what Darryl brought so energetically and skilfully to their affair, and that excited her, always seemed to overcome her scruples about what they had fallen into doing together.
"Don't keep me waiting, Darryl, darling," she murmured, drowsily, reaching out to grab the alarm clock and seeing that it was past two o'clock on a Saturday morning.
She felt nervous about what she had to tell him.
♥
"Darryl?" she called out as a shaky hand found the bedside light and she turned it on. The room was lit by a warm glow.
"Yeah, Mabel, it's only me," he replied with a soft and teasing laugh that seemed to bounce off the walls of the landing. His footsteps made the floorboards outside her room creak eerily. "I'm having a shower then I'll be with you. I won't take long."
"Are you in a mess?" she went on, hoping that he would appear in the doorway of her cramped bedroom.
"Not from what you think," he answered. "The club was smokey and the others I was with all smoked when we were in the pub before that. I want to be nice and fresh for you."
"As you've become," she answered softly on hearing him speak in that way of his. She flopped back on the bed, shifting to lie on the cool sheet as she thought of what to say, how to say it, and touching herself as she did so and thinking of what he would, no doubt, pursue with her if she allowed it so late into the night. "Did you have a good time?"
There was the rustle of clothes to be heard from his room, then the creaking of the landing floorboards once more. Darryl stood in the doorway of her room and she gazed at him. Finally, Darryl answered her.
"Yeah, it went okay. I'm too wrecked from the week at work to go spinning it out any longer with them. I wanted to get back here and get rest of a different kind."
"I wonder what kind of rest that could be."
She said it on reaching out to caress his thigh. How strong her boy was and so ragingly confident in what he sought to do with her. What she felt for him went against all sense and decency, but she had needed his restorative company and concern that had become so much more.
Darryl stood close at her side of the bed and watched as she sat up, the heavy swell of her breasts, the wonderful dusting of freckles on them and her breastbone to be seen before she clutched her knees. He couldn't help but reach out and offer a fingertip caress to her bare shoulders. Compared to his bulk, she was slender-bodied and only too shapely.
