Free Chance of Rain by Amber Lin Page B

bedroom, they tore off their wet clothes and met at the mouth. Their hot kiss spread through his whole body, her skin burned him wherever he touched her, everywhere. Her skin was pale, her caramel hair dark and slick from the rain. Her lips were full and red, from kissing him, from going down on him. He felt a pang in his chest, looking at her, but the throb in his cock was more familiar.
    “Is it...am I okay?” she stammered.
    He realized she was self-conscious, that he had been staring.
    “You’re so pretty.” It came out hoarse and inadequate, but maybe that was for the best. This was sex, and she was pretty, beautiful, a goddamned dream. “Lie back on the bed.”
    And obedient too.
    He loved the way apprehension and eagerness warred in her expression. He loved how her legs fell apart at his touch. Her pussy was like the rest of her—delicate, soft, and sweet. He ran his tongue from bottom to top, lingering at her clit.
    She tasted like rain, like nothing at all, until he drew her moisture out. He craved her feminine flavor, wanting to imprint it on his memory like a brand, something to remember on a future rainy night in some godforsaken part of the world, away from this, bereft of her. She strained up to his mouth in rhythmic undulations that drove him wild, but he clamped his hands over her thighs and held her down, determined to deliver the same amount of pleasure she had given him.
    He lapped at her as if he had forever, because he did. Rain lashed the window, the pitch black and steady patter creating a kind of sex cocoon, where there was only him and her and all they could do was fuck. He slipped his fingers inside her, steeling himself against the wetness and warmth. He ran his fingers along her slick walls, stroking, searching. There . Her hips bucked and a choked gasp escaped her. Again and again, he rubbed that spot, flicking her clit with his tongue.
    Her fingers scrabbled at his head, but his hair was still military short. There was nothing for her to hold on to, nothing for her to do but grasp and want and plead “oh, please” until he closed his lips around her clit and sucked, because— God , yes —anything, everything, whatever she wanted he would give to her.
    He rocked her through her climax, even though he was almost dying. He held back from spilling on the sheet only through sheer force of will, and when she collapsed, replete, he was up, ready to enter her.
    “A condom,” she moaned.
    “Shit, you’re right.” He could have cried. “I hate that you’re right.”
    He yanked open the drawer by the bed. Empty. He should have known that. He hadn’t stocked this place with anything, only emptied it. And he hadn’t had any reason to buy protection, but even in his ambivalence over returning home he wouldn’t have traveled condomless. He stumbled off the bed and found his wallet, dumped its contents on the floor. Expired? God hated him, that was the only possible explanation. Hard, hurting, he stumbled into the closet and rifled through his luggage. Natalie’s laughter was a small balm to his frustration, but, Christ, if he didn’t find something soon— aha!
    He rolled on the condom as he stalked over to the bed and mock-growled. “Care to share what was so funny, little girl?”
    She tried to adopt the proper serious expression. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a man running while naked. And you’re so very...well endowed.”
    He was between her thighs now, nudging at her entrance. “So you think you can placate me with dick compliments?” He nuzzled into her neck. “You might be right. Let’s hear another one.”
    She gasped as he pushed inside, halfway. “So big,” she managed, her eyes rolling back.
    “You already said that one.” He pulled back and thrust in again, a little deeper. “Try again.”
    He felt her moan right down to his balls.
    “I loved the feel of it in my mouth.”
    “Shit.”
    “So thick and warm. And the skin was so soft. I can still imagine it