Chapter 11 - Chapter 10

"Yeah, I think we're done," I say, looking at Naledi and silently asking for confirmation.

"Um, yeah." She glances at Sphe, whose expression is serene as he takes another slice of pizza. "I think we have a plan."

I stand, jingling the keys in my pocket. "Then I'll head home. I'm tired and hungry and I want to switch off for a while. Early start tomorrow."

I pat my leg twice. "Mahlathini, you coming?"

I always ask, as if the dog gets the courtesy of deciding where he'll sleep. He could bounce between the houses the way the kids do, but he always stays with me. He stands and walks toward the entrance hall, head tilted to an imperial angle. Suka. Conceited bastard. After a bath he practically struts at Delta Park.

"I'll walk you out," Naledi says, getting off the stool and following Mahla.

I let her walk a little ahead of me. Yoh. These leggings she's wearing. The material must be hand-sewn by the devil and shipped up from hell the way it hugs her ass and her hips. The T-shirt crops just above her waist, gifting glimpses of her stomach — smooth and brown and toned. Beneath the top, her breasts hang ripe and overfull. When we were married she'd walk around the house with no bra on to torture me. I never missed a chance to drag her into the pantry or into a corner, tug up her shirt, bare her breasts and suck her nipples. It was our own kind of foreplay. There were times, if the kids were upstairs or out of the house, when I'd take her on the kitchen counter. Spread her wide. Eat her out.

Jesus, I'm hard.