Chapter 2 - Upstairs

CHAPTER 2: UPSTAIRS

Thula’s hand was still in Karabo’s when they reached her bedroom. He closed the door behind them and did nothing else. The pause was so deliberate that it made her breath shake.

“Tell me to stop and I stop,” he said.

She had spent years wishing someone would tell her exactly what was right. The answer sat in her now, small but steady. “I do not want you to stop.”

His expression changed at that—not triumph, not relief exactly, but attention. He kissed her again, slower than downstairs. Thula rose onto her toes to meet him. Her palms found the hard line of his chest through his shirt, then the broad warmth of his shoulders when he bent to kiss the back of her neck. The scent of bergamot and clean skin surrounded her until the room, the family photographs in the corridor, even the sermon waiting for Sunday, all fell away.

Karabo’s hands settled at her waist. “You are sure?”

“Yes.” This time the word did not whisper.

He moved the cardigan off her shoulders. Then his fingers found the belt at her waist, waiting. Thula took a breath, undid it herself and let it fall to the carpet. The zip of her dress felt loud in the quiet room as she pulled it down. When the blue fabric slid to her feet, Karabo looked at her navy lace bra and matching panties as though she had offered him a secret instead of a body.

“You came prepared?” he asked, voice rougher now.

“I came to show you the city.” Her attempt at teasing wobbled.

He smiled. “You are doing a very bad job.”