Pray For Rain

December Ink

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 5,826
0 Ratings (0.0)

Walking is Bonnie's escape. Her addiction. She watches the construction crew as she clocks her miles, rain or shine. But Bonnie's not the only one watching. Mr. Clean, the young one in the impossibly white shirt and the perfectly crooked grin, is watching her too. It all changes during a storm when he corners her in a dark alcove. Then all Bonnie can do is pray for rain. (Approx 5,800 words)

READER WARNINGS: explicit sex and language including infidelity and anal sex. FOR ADULTS ONLY

Pray For Rain
0 Ratings (0.0)

Pray For Rain

December Ink

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 5,826
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Sommer Marsden
Excerpt

EXCERPT COPYRIGHT Sommer Marsden/2009

“You’re not very bright, are you? Too silly to come in out of the rain?” There’s that crooked smile, it’s good natured teasing is all. My stomach knots up, my throat double clutches. I touch his cheek because I don’t believe he’s real. It is warm and wet and stubbly. My thumb makes a scratchy sound as it moves over his skin.

“I am. I mean, I wasn’t done. My walk. I wasn’t finished.” There’s a little balk in my tone and I don’t voice the silent, and I needed to know if you were still here. I wanted you to still be here. It's his turn to touch my cheek back and I shiver in my cold wet clothes. “So, you’re walking in circles is more important than not getting fried by a lightning bolt?”

His lips are a mere inch from my face. I can feel the warm puffs of air from his mouth. Big hands settle on my waist and I have to concentrate on not shaking like a leaf in a high wind. It is all I can do not to make some small needy sound. The rain is pounding loudly now. Shutting out all o f the world but the tall, handsome man in front of me. In his impossibly white shirt and incredibly well worn jeans and his dirty boots. “Um...Yes?”

He laughs. A soft, secretive sound that shoots little bits of electricity up my spine. The wind picks up and flings rain into our small area of dryness. “Come on.” He pulls me into a covered walkway. Built once upon a time when they expanded the building. “Now then. We have some privacy. What’s your name? I’ll go first. I’m Ben.”

He’s so close to me I can see his heart fluttering the thin fabric of his shirt. I can count the freckles on his nose if I want. I can see the flecks and streaks of blue and green in his gray eyes. “Bonnie.” I sound like I’m suffocating. My voice is high and thin. None of my normal confidence resonates. I touch a single finger to the jumping of his heart. He stops and looks at it. Takes my hand.

“Okay. Bonnie, I’m going to kiss you now. So don’t be afraid. But I’ve been waiting about a thousand laps of yours to do it.” And then his mouth covers mine and his tongue darts in between my lips. His tongue is warm and sweet and he tastes like sugared coffee.

I just stand and there, touching his chest with just the tips of my fingers. His body hard and warm and wet under my fingers. His kiss is gentle at first, but when he realizes I’m not going to bolt off like a frightened animal, he deepens it. His hand holds the back of my head so I can’t pull back. I have no intention of pulling back but it goes straight to my cunt to realize that he had taken that option from me. I have no choice but to let him kiss me. I make a small sound and he laughs.

“Your tongue tastes like apples,” he says.

The Granny Smith apple I ate for lunch pops to mind and I smile. I open my mouth to tell him but he’s diving back in, stroking his tongue against mine until I sink against him like I’m boneless. “I shouldn’t,” I say, but I’m a fucking liar.

“I know. But you are. And now that I have you here, I’m not letting you out. Not yet. And besides…” His dark eyes indicate the rain sheeting outside of our cramped shelter, “The rain is too heavy for you to go out.”

I sigh as if all hope is lost. As if rain can physically stop me. I touch his stomach with my fingers and the muscles contract under my stroke. “I’ll have to wait for the rain to stop.”

Thunder and lighting - the end of the world - the apocalypse. At least that is what it sounds like. And here I am, trapped in a mix of heaven and hell. Here in the cramped stone walkway with a man I want so badly and shouldn't. “I’m saving your life. Hear that storm? I can’t let you go,” he says and leans in, pinning me to the cold damp wall with his arms.

I feel thrilled and terrified, giddy and guilty. It is, in fact, the feeling of being alive, this chaotic swirl of emotions. Conflict and confusion, all the things that make our hearts beat faster and our stomachs twirl with nerves. My pulse raps insistently against my throat and I gasp when he slides his fingers under the waistband of my capris. Just the surge of warmth from him brushing the backs of his knuckles to my skin. Soothing the goose bump covered flesh with a gentle touch. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” I blurt it like a confession.

He moves his hand lower and places his lips to my temple. A kiss that is never ending. His mouth pressed to my flesh. The elastic waistband of my workout pants lets him in and he slides his hand lower. And then lower still, inside the meager barrier of my panties. May I?”

Such a gentleman, his lips still at my temple. “Yes,” I blurt again. “Yes, hurry,” I add because now that we have come to this place, I simply can't stand another minute without knowing what it will feel like when he touches me.

He pauses. Waits. Spots bloom before my eyes in the dusky air. I might pass out. I’m not breathing. And then his finger skitters along the outer flesh of my nether lips, parts me. I am slippery and wet and when he nudges my clit with his fingers, I clutch at him like I’m going to fall. I feel like I will. “You’re very wet. You like me just a little, then?” he says and gives a low chuckle. The sound raises the hair along my nape, makes my scalp prickle. I thrust against his finger, already on the verge of coming apart.

He stops and my mind goes blank. Why? Why has he stopped? And then something clicks and I say, “I do. I like you a little bit.”

He laughs again, pleased at my observation and moves his fingers in a maddening tempo over my clitoris. I am pressing back against the dirty stone wall so I won’t fall down or float away. He stops again. “What are you running from?”

Our eyes lock and even in the murky light I can see that he knows. He can see me for what I am - an unhappy woman clinging to a thread. “I’m not running. I’m walking.” I thrust against his finger to show that I am strong and I don’t need him to get me off. I brace myself for him to get angry and remove his hand, storm off. I expect him to take his toys and go because I won’t play his way. All the things I am used to when it comes to the male of the species.

Instead, he shocks me by kissing my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose. He moves his fingers so softly, I’m not sure they are moving but my heart knows because it jitters to life. “Tell me, Bonnie, who marches like a soldier, what are you running from? No judgment, I just have to know. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen you make that loop. How many far off looks I’ve seen. How many times you look angry. And sometimes like you’ve been crying.” His fingers are pushing against my pussy and he’s pinned me fully to the wall. “Tell me.”

“A terrible man. Not enough that makes me feel alive. Weight. Gravity. His women, my barrenness.” It all comes out of me as he penetrates me with his blunt fingers. A poisonous waterfall of truths. As each one drops from my lips, I feel lighter. He thrusts harder and then I sob out. “I don’t know who I really am. Not for a long, long time.” And then I come, clutching at his glowing white shirt in the dusty, narrow walkway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says and kisses my mouth. He runs his fingers, slick with my own juices along my lower lip and then licks it clean. One more kiss and he’s turned to go. His boots beat dully on the cracked concrete.

“But wait! Don’t you want…I mean, can’t I…for you?” I’m blushing hot and awkward. It has been a million years since I have been with anyone but Edward. A million years since I felt that almost sickening excitement at the thought of a man. Of fucking. Of putting my mouth to a cock.

“Another day. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“But what if it rains?” I ask, my body thumping as the orgasm still seems to be unwinding in my womb.

“Then I’ll meet you right here.”

Suddenly, I'm wishing for rain.

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