Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

“ T his is not coffee and pastry,” said Kiera when she walked into Seymour’s flat. She could smell the aroma of something delicious and spicy, a gentle smokiness in the air suggesting it had been on the hob for some time.

“Lamb tagine,” said Seymour. “My speciality.”

“Well,” said Kiera, “I’m delighted to be worthy of it.”

“I think you are,” said Seymour, looking up at Kiera, only briefly making eye contact.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you acting shy.”

Seymour flushed at Kiera’s words.

“No, don’t be embarrassed,” Kiera said, reaching out her hand to touch Seymour’s arm. “I’ve just not seen this side to you. It makes me feel like I’m getting to know more of you. That’s a good thing. Here, put down that wooden spoon.” Kiera gathered Seymour into her arms and kissed her.

“Well,” said Seymour a moment later. “I’ve never seen you acting so confidently. New sides to us both, I guess. And, FYI,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand, “it’s hot.” She sniggered. “And there you are, your turn to be shy.”

Kiera giggled at her own red cheeks. “I think we need some wine. I brought a rioja, as you suggested.”

“Excellent,” said Seymour.

They sat together in Seymour’s tiny kitchen-diner, eating dinner, talking about places they’d visited, things they enjoyed, food they loved – and hated. Kiera took in the knick-knacks adorning the shelves lining the room, including a colourful egg cup collection.

“They are my inheritance,” said Seymour, watching the path of Kiera’s eyes. “My aunt collected hundreds of them and her whole kitchen was full of them. She used to go to jumble sales and flea markets and collect any that she liked the look of. When she died, she left me a note saying I should choose my favourites.”

“They are beautiful and kitsch and brilliant,” said Kiera. “Tell me about them.”

“Really?” Kiera nodded.

Seymour got up and picked up two examples from the shelf. The first was one decorated with Picasso-style shapes and colours. It was lurid and old and attached to a plate onto which soldiers would presumably be placed.

“She loved travelling around Europe.” Kiera traced the curves of the egg cup with a finger. “She found this one in Madrid in the seventies and brought it home. Pamela. My mum’s sister. She never married. She told me she nearly joined a convent once. But instead she was around for me and Jack. She was like an extra parent, really.”

“It must have been hard when she died.” Kiera reached out her hand and placed it on Seymour’s.

“It was.” She turned to the other egg cup. “This one has Peter Rabbit on it. ”

“Oh, I had one like that when I was little,” said Kiera, smiling at the memory. “It came with a matching bowl, plate and cup. So cute.”

“It is, isn’t it? I remember liking it when I was little. She would boil me an egg and make me soldiers and then let me choose whichever egg cup I wanted. I almost always chose this one. It used to drive Mum mad because I would never eat eggs for her. But for Auntie Pamela, I always did.”

“Do you eat them now?”

“Ha, yes I do, much to my mum’s annoyance.”

“It must be nice to have part of Pamela here with you.”

“It is. And it’s nice to share that with you,” said Seymour, “if that doesn’t sound too trite.”

“It sounds really lovely. I don’t really care if it’s trite or not,” Kiera replied. There was a warmth and an ease to their conversation. Perhaps even an intimacy.

“Pudding?”

“Yes, please, although it will have to be small. I’m 70% cous-cous right now.”

“How about an affogato?”

They both laughed. “It would be rude not to, although I’d like to state for the record that this date is going very well and it isn’t a cry for help,” said Kiera. Her cheeks were warmed by the wine, and as she looked at Seymour she found herself wondering again why she hadn’t noticed her properly before.

“Well, I’m pleased to hear that,” said Seymour. “I quite agree. I honestly thought you were done with all the dating stuff when you went to Barcelona. You changed, somehow. It was like you stopped needing anyone.” She walked over to the tiny espresso machine in the corner of her kitchen. “Don’t get me wrong, it was great. It only made you more attrac tive, to be honest. I just thought my efforts to be supportive and helpful had been for nothing.”

“Oh, Seymour. No, they really weren’t. Perhaps I was a bit slow on the uptake.” She paused while the machine made its customary coffee-making noise. “Ok, very slow on the uptake. But even though I said I didn’t need anyone to complete me – and I really don’t – that doesn’t mean I don’t want to share things with someone. Someone like you, perhaps.”

“Someone.” Seymour raised her eyebrows and then continued with the construction of dessert.

“Ok, you. I think I could share things with you. And now I’m going to stop talking because I feel like I’ve exposed myself in the worst possible way.”

“Stick that in your mouth,” said Seymour with a smile, proffering a tea cup. “Vanilla ice cream, special espresso and just a dash of tia maria.”

“Grown up affogato, love it!” said Kiera, thankful that Seymour hadn’t pressed her further. “Ooh, hot and cold. Always good.”

“Contrast is always good – crunchy and soft, sweet and sour, shy and confident.”

“I see what you did there,” said Kiera through a mouthful of ice cream. “But this is amazing. You don’t serve this at the café.”

“No, I don’t have a license. This is just for you.” Seymour’s eyes were warm and inviting.

“Well, it’s certainly put a smile on my face. And, you know, so have you.” They smiled at each other. The evening and the alcohol had worn down their nerves and ragged edges.

“I’m glad,” said Seymour.

Once they had finished their desserts Seymour led Kiera throug h to her tiny sofa. They sat side by side, their legs touching. Seymour gently laid a hand on Kiera’s thigh and Kiera felt a spark travel through her body. She turned to face Seymour, put a hand on her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. She stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Seymour drew her face away, slightly, her brows furrowed.

Kiera took a breath and looked down before looking back up again at Seymour. “Nothing. Sorry.” A pause. “It’s just been a while since I did this.”

“This?” Seymour gave a half smile.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been close to someone. Someone who mattered. Someone who I know I want to have something real with.” Kiera’s cheeks glowed. Seymour stroked her cheek. “Too much?”

“Not too much. Just right. Stop thinking and kiss me, please.”

Kiera smiled, her shoulders dropped, and she did as she was asked.

Their lips met and all of the intimacy and the warmth and the closeness poured into one passionate kiss. Gently, Kiera pushed towards Seymour, bringing her hand to the back of the other woman’s neck, stroking her hair. Seymour sighed, and adjusted herself so that she was lying almost lengthways on the sofa. Kiera pulled away for a moment, admiring Seymour’s prone figure, before leaning down so that she was all but lying on top of her, and re-engaging.

Seymour pulled Kiera’s shirt up and ran her hands up her back, causing Kiera to shiver. There was something electric between them, an excitement that harked back to teenaged hormonal hours. It wasn’t graceful, but it felt incredible.

Kiera kissed Seymour’s neck and then pulled her shirt up a l ittle, gently kissing her stomach. “You were wasted on all those planks you dated,” said Seymour, breathless. “You are incredible.” Kiera didn’t know what to say, so she just carried on kissing.

They moved through to Seymour’s bedroom with minimal discussion, and soon they were lying side by side on the bed. The intensity hadn’t dropped, but for the moment it had changed. They looked at each other before gently coming back together, mouth to mouth, hands soft on each other’s backs.

“I have wanted this for so long,” said Seymour in a whisper.

“I am clearly an idiot for not seeing it,” replied Kiera, who could feel her desire building. Slowly, she pushed Seymour over onto her back. She laid on top of her, seeking eye contact to check that Seymour was comfortable with it. Seymour responded by sighing and pulling her in for another kiss. This time it was harder, messier. Kiera thought she might expire on the spot.

Kiera ran her hands down Seymour’s sides and then started to unbutton her top. “Tiny buttons,” she squeaked as her trembling fingers struggled with the task. Seymour laughed and started unbuttoning Kiera’s top in return.

“Race you,” said Seymour, although the effort of them both trying to unbutton the other’s shirt at the same time resulted in little success other than tangled limbs and helpless giggling. “Ok, I’ll do me, you do you.”

Tops discarded, Kiera kissed Seymour’s neck and shoulders and let her hand brush against Seymour’s bra. The intensity increased, and they both accelerated their actions, belts and zips now undone artlessly, and clothing discarded.

“How did I not see you sooner?” said Kiera, admiring Seymour’s body, now glistening with perspiration .

“It’s not about speed, it’s about getting there,” whispered Seymour, and then flipped Kiera over so that she was on top. Kiera groaned. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” breathed Kiera. “Yes.”

Seymour slipped her fingers into Kiera’s plain black knickers, feeling how ready she was for her touch. “Oh, God, you feel so good,” she said. Kiera’s response came not in the form of words, but in grabbing the back of Seymour’s neck and pulling her in to kiss her.

Kiera’s brain was full of this moment, this woman, this sensation. The rest of the world faded away. This was more than the hormone-fuelled sex she’d enjoyed with Clodagh all those weeks ago. This was different, it meant even more, it felt even better.

Seymour drew her fingers back and forth slowly and steadily. Kiera had one arm tightly around Seymour and the other above her head, eyes closed, letting it all happen. Soon she could bear it no more and came loudly, sighing in relief as the spasms eased. “Wow,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll talk in a bit.”

“Take your time. Oh my God, you’re so gorgeous. Your pink cheeks. Ugh. Gorgeous,” said Seymour, rolling over to lie beside Kiera’s spent form. She closed her eyes and brought her hands up to her head. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.

They lay there, side by side for several minutes. Breathing.

“Well,” said Kiera eventually. “That was impressive. I still have my bra and pants on.”

“And you look incredible in them.”

“You look incredible in yours, too,” said Kiera, “but now they need to come off.” She sat Seymour up and without fuss removed her bra, dipping her head to kiss her breasts. Seymou r arched her back, then reached out to Kiera’s bra. Seconds later they were both naked, and Kiera eased herself on top of Seymour, who sighed with the quiet intimacy of it all.

“You feel incredible,” said Kiera, closing her eyes. Gently, she kissed Seymour’s lips and then slowly began to kiss her neck, her chest, her arms, her breasts. She made her way down her stomach, Seymour’s eyes closed and her arms flung above her head. Keira’s mouth moved below her belly and Seymour gasped. “You taste incredible,” said Kiera, before returning to giving Seymour the pleasure she knew she deserved.

Seymour’s orgasm came quickly, but more quietly than her own. She brought her hands down to stroke Kiera’s hair and then pulled her back up to lie on top of her. For a time they held each other and breathed together. Kiera couldn’t stop replaying the evening, the words they were saying, the things they were doing, the events running through her head.

“I can feel you smiling,” said Seymour, her voice muffled.

“That’s because I am. Oh,” Kiera stopped talking; Seymour had reached down to slide her fingers inside her.

“Still smiling?”

“Mmhmm,” said Kiera unevenly. Her breathing hitched and she went with the moment, rocking in time with Seymour’s movements. There was no urgency this time, just a sense of closeness, of wholeness. Kiera felt she might be able to live in this moment forever, somewhere between real life and ecstasy.