The kitchen on Saturdays

The kitchen on Saturdays

The floor smelled of toasted thyme and bee wax. Clara had opened the window at all and the mid-afternoon sun entered oblique, dyed with greenish reflections from the bougainvillea on the terrace. Laura, sitting on the high stool, removed the pancake dough with slow movements, as if she did not want to break the spell of the moment. Both wore loose and stockings t-shirts to the knee; nothing below.

"Tell him he can stay if he wants to," Clara said, looking at the pan.

Laura looked up, the phone was resting face down next to the sugar maker.

"Are you sure?" she asked, but the smile that popped into her lips already told her the answer pleased her.

"I've been thinking about it all week," Clara replied. "She wet her finger in the whipped cream and took it to her mouth." I want to see you look at it just like you look at me.

Laura came down from the stool, crossed the kitchen and kissed her. The kiss tasted like vanilla and promise. Then she picked up her mobile phone and typed a short message: “Stay for dinner. Bring red wine.” When pressing to send, the heartbeat she felt between her legs was not nervous, but calm in anticipation.

Mara arrived shortly after eight, with a bottle under her arm and freshly ironed clothes. Short hair brushed her neck. When she took off her jacket, the freckles of the neckline were exposed. Clara felt the urge to count them with her tongue, but she held back. Not yet.

They had dinner at the lower table of the living room. The wine was denser than expected and the conversation slipped into the usual themes: books read, new music, that series that all three followed. Mara crossed and crossed her legs naturally; Laura watched her ankle naked above the edge of the cup.

When the last cup was empty, Clara picked up the dishes and Laura approached Mara to whisper something in her ear. The answer was a low laugh and an assent. Laura then returned to Clara, passed her arms around her waist and spoke against her shoulder:

• He says yes, if we want to.

Clara released the kitchen cloth and looked at Mara. She waited standing, without moving, giving them time.

"Do you want it?" Clara asked Laura, a clear and paused voice.

• Yeah.

"And you want me to be here, looking at us and joining you when you feel like it?"

"Yes," said Laura, this time with a thread of urgency that swept all three of them like a stream.

Clara reached out to Mara. The invitation did not require words. Mara took it and let herself be taken to the sofa. Before sitting, she asked:

• Can I kiss you, Clara?

"Yes," she replied, and the kiss was soft, exploratory, without haste. Laura watched them closely, biting her lower lip.

As she separated, Mara looked at Laura.

• And you?

Laura answered by leaning forward and kissing her more insistently, as Clara caressed her back under her shirt. Mara groaned against Laura’s mouth and Clara felt the sound nailed right under her belly button.

Undressing was a matter of minutes and low laughs. Each garment fell to the ground like a border less. When all three remained in underwear, Mara knelt down in front of Laura and asked her:

• Can I lick you?

Laura nodded and spread her legs. Clara placed herself behind her girlfriend, holding her breasts, kissing her neck as she watched Mara’s tongue charting slow and humid paths. Laura’s breath became cut short; her hips moved to the rhythm of her mouth. Clara, while kissing her, slipped a hand between Mara’s thighs and saw how excited she was to have them like this.

"Come here," Laura asked Clara, a snoring voice. "I want to see you with her.

Clara obeyed. They changed their position: Mara turned her back and Clara strung herself on her face. Mara’s tongue was decisive, precise; she soon found the exact point that made Clara cling to the back of the sofa. Laura, meanwhile, kissed Mara’s belly, descended, opened her legs and licked her with the same devotion that Mara had shown to her. Mara’s groans vibrated against Clara’s clitoris, multiplying the sensation.

Clara’s climax came first: a long and deep heartbeat that left her trembling over Mara’s mouth. Laura looked up, her lips bright, and smiled. Then she went up to kiss her girlfriend, sharing Mara’s taste between the two.

"Your turn," Clara said to Mara, making her lie down so that she could see them both.

Together, Laura and Clara toured Mara’s body with hands and mouths. One licked her nipples while the other slid two fingers into her; Mara arched her back and asked for more. When orgasm came, she did so with a choked sound and the fingers of both inside, feeling how she contracted around them.

The three were then tangled on the sofa, intermingled breaths, sweating cooled in the skin. Clara caressed Mara’s hair; Laura kissed Clara’s temple.

"All right?" Laura asked.

"Very well," answered Mara, with a lazy smile.

Clara let go of a soft laugh.

"There's half a bottle of wine left and all night," he said.

Mara was barely enough to reach the cups.

"Then," he replied, "let us drink to the long Sabbaths.

And toast.