Shrivelled Roses 2: Iyana Kleinbooi

26

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚-Six

-Iyana-

Clive's launch was a success, he seemed happy kwi pictures and she was happy for him. A part of her was sad that she couldn't reach Phathuxolo, she wanted to thank him again for taking her home and she also wanted to ask about his relationship with her boyfriend's wife: Buhle Mzimela.

"Ooh Iyana, what happened to loving yourself hard na baby girl?" the inner voice echoed in her ears and she blinked twice, pushing the tears back to their sockets. The whole "I want a future with you" vibe really killed her zeal to strive for the best life on her own because everything about her was centered around Zwelethu. She only had the life she had envisioned with him in it, nothing else.

She spent a couple of days at home, her father must have told umamakhe that she was home because wavela wathi gqi umamakhe unannounced and she was alone. She had just finished cooking dinner and her father was at the veld eyokhangela iigusha zakhe.

"Heeeh, umntu umgqibele ese Monti kanti uzozifihla kwezilali noyise!" was the first thing her mother said as she tossed her bag onto the other couch. Iyana giggled, trying to remain calm because she knew that her father had no secrets.

"Molo wethu mama, yintoni wangena ngezibane?" she asked, taking the bed to the main bedroom.

"Ndixakekile kaloku mna, oko bendiphume endlini ngo six andidinwe ndiyafa. Khawenze itea kaloku Madabane"

"Mnkq, ufikele loonto kanene! Whoah!"

Her mother laughed, turning on the TV that had been off the whole day.

Iyana made the tea, brought it with cookies and then sat across her mother as casually as she possibly could. Her heart was beating so hard against her chest...

"Hewethu, awusemhle. Unjani? Ufike nini apha?" her mother broke the ice after a couple of sips from her tea.

"Ndimhle? Hayi inoba ndithandwe ziilali. Akukudalanga ndikhona, inoba ndileqa iveki ngoku"

"Umsebenzi?"

"I took days off, ndidiniwe wethu mama" she lied knowing very well that her mom probably already knew the truth. Her mother nodded, and changed the subject making her comfortable and relaxed.

****

A few days later, she was back in East London but decided to go to Clive's house and found it empty. She had her own key, so just made herself at home, cooked and then got in bed and waited for him to come back from work.

A couple of hours later she heard him walk into the room and a butterfly fluttered from the bottom parts of her belly, but in a split second, her heart leaped from its place to her throat, she almost gagged. She frowned at herself as she realized that she was suddenly nervous... that alone was startling because she was never nervous around Zwelethu or in his space. His steps sounded as though they were calculated, and they were. He knew from the moment he walked in that she was in there too, her unmistakable scent was all over his lounge. So he knew. She sat up, and took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for whatever questions he would hurl her way. The door slowly opened, with a distant crackling sound and then he stood on the doorway, just looking at her...

Iyana: Hi?

Clive: Hi.

She swallowed hard, trying to read his face but he wasn't giving anything away.

Clive: You're back.

Iyana: I wanted us to talk.

Clive: How's my baby?

Iyana: She's fine.

Clive: She?

She rolled her eyes and didn't respond.

After standing by the door for almost fifteen minutes he walked inside, closed the door and walked up to her. He sat right next to her curled legs and kissed her full on her startled lips, gently, with increasing pressure, and with his tongue as he hadn't kissed her in so long. Iyana drew a deep breath, blocking Uyabukwa's voice that was suddenly loud in her head. She grabbed at Clive desperately, arms around his head, and Clive went for what he had been craving the whole time they were not talking. He grabbed the hem of her satin nightdress, broke the kiss briefly as he pulled it over her head and fumbled with the panties, finally ripping them off. He stroked her with skillful fingers and then with his skillful tongue he traced his way from her lips, down her slick oiled body and kissed between her legs, rubbing, nudging, poking in a rhythm like a giant pulse, Iyana's legs twined about his head and shoulders desperately. She began to buck her hips, began to come almost untimely. She wanted to cover herself in shame, but he was pleased to see that she had actually missed his touch that much.

He kissed his way back to her lips, and she kissed him back, the moment of embarrassment getting thrown out of the window almost immediately. Clive looked deep into her eyes as he dropped his lips to her exposed breast. A noise escaped Iyana, an embarrassingly deep sigh — like air rushing out of something... she couldn't believe that she's letting that happen; she wasn't not stopping it, she wasn't not screaming, she wanted it and she was definitely enjoying it. Zwelethu didn't utter a single word, instead, he kissed her again, checking if it was safe to go all the way. Their last conversation wasn't the prettiest, she said some stuff and so did he. A part of him wasn't sure if she really wanted him or she wanted to have sex and then cry rape afterwards.

"Women are wicked" Mzuvukile had warned while they were KZN but he was adamant that he wanted Iyana in his life, especially because she was now pregnant with his first child. Well, their first child.

Her tongue came forward and she touched his chest as he bit lightly on her lip, spreading moisture to her cheek and then kiss there. She made something like a sigh. "Zwe" she said, in a whisper "Oh Zwelethu" and in that moment, he pushed her backward, spread her legs apart and buried his head between her almost shaking legs, nuzzling at first. His beard was a little rough on the insides of her thighs, but that was one of the things she actually missed. Then with his lips, then his tongue, he struck fire. She arched her back, crying out in astonishment, in gratitude at being touched in that right place. Somehow, it always made her grateful when a man finds the right place, maybe because when she was young so many of them kept finding the wrong place, or a series of wrong places, or no place at all. But Zwelethu was different. In his toxicity, he was that one man that always found the right place. That strange feeling: gratitude and hunger. Her hunger was being teased. It also felt like a punishment. She kept thinking of the word "thrum," a cross between a throb and hum. She saw a flame trying to catch; she heard it, there was something she was after, something she was trying to achieve, and there was always the danger that she'd miss it, she wouldn't find it, or get hold of it. The terrible moment when you're afraid you won't, you'll lose it, it won't work, you won't work, it is unworkable and you are very, very desperate. At the same time, you want to stay in this place of desperation ... at the same time, you're saying to yourself, you're almost there, you're almost there, you can't possibly lose it now, keep on, keep on a bit longer, you are nearly there, I know it, don't give up, you cannot lose it. Then suddenly you're there.... She was there and it felt good to be there, in his bed, clutching at his sheets with his head working magic between her thighs.