by L. B. Dunbar
Her mouth falls open as I glance down at myself and sway my hips, lifting an arm for the back of my head.
“First off, handsome. If that’s how you have sex, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” She laughs. “And second, I don’t do that either, so I wouldn’t know.”
I stop moving and stare at her. “You don’t do what?” I ask, swallowing around the fear of what she’ll say next.
“I don’t have sex.”
Mother of all things holy. My eyes widen, and Rita’s mood sobers again. “I mean, I know how, but I haven’t . . . and the last time just wasn’t . . .” Rita pulls at her hands and slips free of mine, but I capture one of her wrists to keep us connected.
“Relax,” I say quietly, stroking my thumb over the veins at her wrist. “We’ll take it slow.”
“I am not having sex with you,” Rita blurts, and I’m the one to let out a snort.
“As if,” I state. “I meant we’ll take the dancing slowly.” Not releasing her wrist, I lift my phone again and scroll through my music. Finding something I think she’ll like, I smile slowly. Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” fills the room. The song is all Rita. She’s fire, and I’m rain, and I’m burning for her. I turn the volume down a bit, then toss the phone to the couch and place my hands at Rita’s hips.
“Just follow my lead.”
“This is stupid,” she mutters.
“Good thing it’s only me then,” I jest, glancing down at where my hands are placed. “It might help if you touch me.”
Her head pops up, and our eyes meet. “I mean, place your hands on my shoulders.” Rita does, but she’s stiff. As the song begins, I move her by guiding her hips.
“Side to side,” I state, leading her with a subtle double bounce with each sway. As Adele carries on, I slip an arm around Rita’s lower back and clasp her hand in mine, holding her in a typical dance stance. As the tempo builds, I swing Rita around and dip her to the singer’s rising voice. Our eyes meet as I right her before we dance faster, our hips coming closer to match the rhythm.
“You’re doing it,” I mutter, pride in my voice as Rita follows my lead, and I hum the lyrics about fire and rain, and all things burning between them. Rita slowly begins to relax in my arms, following the sway of my hips and the gentle thrust of my pelvis near hers. The song is energizing while seductive, and it might have been a poor selection, but I’m not letting Rita go now that I have her in my arms. Let her fire burn my rain. I’ll take the torture.
As the song ends, I bend for my phone on the couch but don’t release my hand at Rita’s hip. I quickly find another song I enjoy although it’s more somber. John Hiatt’s “Feels Like Rain” is a sultry song about rain and love, and keeping my voice low, I sing. Rita watches my lips as I murmur, and the anxiety she had over dancing slips into me with my singing.
“I don’t have much of a voice,” I whisper.
“I like it,” Rita quietly says, but her eyes say more. Heat flames in those blue orbs. Our bodies are responding to each other as my lower half presses against hers. Her breasts rest on my chest, but she doesn’t dip her head. She watches me.
When that song ends, I pick one more, knowing I need a break from holding Rita in my arms. She’s too close, and I want to kiss her again. Like the rain, I’m thirsting for something more with this woman.
The next song begins, and I step back from Rita, belting out the opening rap. “Come on, Rita. Give me your best Flashdance moves.”
“You cannot be serious,” she teases.
“Totally serious,” I state, moving to the beat and holding out my fisted hand like it’s a microphone. Rita slowly follows my lead, exaggerating her leaning hips, swinging her arms back and forth.
“Come on, sweet. Everyone knows this song.” Rita joins in singing “It’s Raining Men” by The Weather Girls. She’s awful, but she’s so dang cute in her red glasses and her work pants while swinging her arms. Her head gets into it as she repeats the words. Her hair starts flying around her face. Her hips join next, and she’s really moving—hands in the air, double clapping. I wrap an arm around her, thrusting my hips at her, matching the repetition in the song, until Rita stumbles against the couch and takes me with her. We fall to the covered cushions.
My phone drops, and the plastic under the drop cloth crinkles. Rita breaks into laughter, and I join her, taking a second to catch our breaths before Rita checks the window. It’s still raining just as hard as it was before.
Slowly, she clears her throat. “Maybe I should check the basement for water.” She quickly stands, and I follow her retreat.
“Sweet,” I quietly say, stopping her by catching her wrist again. She turns to face me.
“Why do you call me that?” I shrug, not wanting to tell her the real reason. Then a surprise lands on my lips. Her mouth has crashed onto mine. Unprepared for the sudden rush, I remain still like a dufus. My brain is slow to catch up, but my body takes over. My lips respond to hers. The rain is our new soundtrack as we stand in the dark living room and kiss.
And Rita can kiss.
This isn’t like that first attempt I made on her. This is a woman who wants something from me. Slowly, I guide her backward until I have us returning to the couch once more with the crinkling plastic and musty drop cloth underneath us.
“This okay?” I whisper to her lips, lingering against mine. Rita doesn’t answer, just continues to kiss me. What I notice as we lay horizontal is how the kiss slows. It’s still heated, still demanding, but something more is happening here as we settle into the tender nips and soft suction of lips on lips. The kiss stays sweet but never-ending, and as far as I’m concerned, it can rain all night.
10
Rita
I’d blame it on the rain, but I can’t. This was all Jake. Jake washing away my bad mood when I can’t even remember why I was out of sorts. Jake making me dance and not making me feel silly about it. Jake kissing me.
I’m pinned to the inside of the couch, my back along the back while Jake cushions me against his chest. Our mouths move as one, but his hands aren’t roaming, and I want him to roam. I want him to travel the topography of my body, so I have an excuse to explore his.
Slowly, he pulls back, brushing at my hair, curling it around my ear. “You okay?” His voice is quiet. I don’t know why he’s asking, but I appreciate it all the same.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, and it’s even sweeter than checking in with me.
His mouth returns to mine, and finally, his hands move. Sliding down the front of me, he cups the swell of one breast, and I arch into his touch. He’s hesitant at first, like a schoolboy on his first feel. Quickly, the pressure increases. He squeezes. He kneads. He pinches my nipple, sharp and ripe under my bra.
Jake breaks the kiss to glance at his movements. His hand slips back to the center, and he gently tugs my blouse upward. Slipping his callused palm underneath the silky material, he touches my skin. I’m still dressed in my work clothes from the day—a pantsuit minus the jacket and my hiking boots. I should feel clumsy, but the care he’s taking to skate up my belly and cover my breast once more makes me feel sexy. He makes me feel alive.
I reach down and unbutton my own shirt, not wanting him to stop what he’s doing. Once the buttons are free, Jake pushes the material back, exposing me to him.
“Purple again?”
“Again?” I question, wondering when he saw me in a purple bra the first time. He doesn’t answer but removes my shirt completely. His fingertips tease over the swell exposed above the silky fabric. He traces along the lacy edge before dipping his fingers into the cup and pinching my nipple hard. His mouth returns to mine, swallowing my shocked gasp as I arch into him once more. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by another, so long since a touch has been this intimate, yet this is nothing like what I remember.
Too soon, his hand leaves my breast and travels down my middle, leading to the catch at my waist. He pops the clasp on my pa
nts and then pulls back from kissing me.
“Maybe we should stop.” He’s leaning away from me, but I fist his T-shirt just above his heart.
“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
Jake works at the zipper next, watching his fingers maneuver the closure before dipping his hand lower. He dives fast and deep, right into my underwear to cup me where no one has touched me in too long.
As I moan at the tenderness, his fingertips stroke over sensitive folds, damp and desperate for more.
“How long’s it been, sweet?”
Licking my lips, I meet his eyes in the darkness. “Six years.” Raspy and rough, my answer chokes a little as I fight the past and focus on the present. The year after Ian’s death, I was a mess, but Jake doesn’t need to know those details. His thick fingers quickly divert my thoughts.
“You’re wet,” he tells me as if I’m not aware of how soaked I am. “And that’s for me.”
I nod to agree. He’s turning me on. He’s the one touching me. He’s the one present. His fingers continue their magic, slipping easily over the swollen nub and entering me first with one finger and then another. Relishing the full sensation, my hips rock, drawing him deeper. I don’t want the feeling to end, but he pulls back quickly, pressing at my trigger spot. My eyes close in bliss as he rubs in circles, teasing me, toying with me, and bringing me to the brink so quickly, I break within seconds.
“Oh. My God.” I purr, curling into his hand between my legs, and groaning at the rush. I’ve never come so fast, and I need a moment to catch my breath. I don’t allow myself too long, though, as I don’t want my head catching up to what we’re doing.
Once I settle, Jake withdraws his fingers and shifts so he’s over me. He removes his shirt, pulling it over his head with one tug from the back of his neck, a sexy move mastered by men. Balancing over me, I admire the full effect of his chest before he lowers to place his warm skin against mine. He kisses me, and I’m lost again.
His kisses travel down my jaw and above my bra, where he sets his tongue in the valley exposed between my breasts. Then he moves down to my belly, sucking at my skin as he lowers. At my waist, he pauses.
“Still okay?” he asks, with his hands on the waistband of my pants. My eyes prickle for some reason, but I nod. Blinking several times, I wish away the telltale warning of tears. He’s being so . . . understanding? Considerate? Tender? I can’t think. He’s moving so slowly, taking his time to touch me. Every motion is deliberate, cautious even, and it’s so unexpected.
I don’t want to think about the past, so I fight it as my pants are removed to my boots, and then Jake makes quick work of tugging my feet free of the footwear. He stands next to the couch for a second, peering down at me in my purple bra and underwear.
“You’re so pretty, sweet.” It’s not something I often hear and definitely haven’t heard in seven years, so those damn threatening tears blur my vision. Jake hastily kicks off his boots and removes his work pants. He pulls out his wallet and fumbles within it for a second. Then he’s back over me, and I open my thighs, allowing him between them.
“Rita?” he questions, noting my water-filled eyes.
“Please,” I whisper again, my voice hoarse and low. “Don’t stop.” This isn’t about him. This is about me. I need him to continue. I need us to connect. I want to feel complete with him.
Pressing kisses to my belly again, he works my underwear down to my knees, where I wiggle them off my shins. He removes his own boxer briefs and then reaches over my thigh for the floor. Holding up a square packet, I can see what it is.
“It’s new. After Nolan’s oops in high school, we kept stock, but it’s been a while. I want to assure you this is new.” I watch the concentration of his face more than his motions to cover himself. He’s such a handsome man. Those cheekbones. Those dancing eyes. Those puffy lips. When he settles between me once more, he notices a tear trickles free.
Jake reaches for the wet drop with his thumb, wiping it clean but doesn’t mention it. His hand lowers, stroking down my side, taking his time to outline my body, which is nothing spectacular. I’m not curvy or straight; I’m just me. Jake travels back up my side to my armpit, then presses his open palm down the underside of my arm. He pushes my elbow upward, forcing my arm over my head as he coasts his hand along my forearm to my wrist. Eventually, he clasps my hand, linking our fingers together.
I feel strangely treasured by his touch and this final detail. Holding me, he balances up on a knee and positions himself at my entrance.
“Are you sure, sweet?”
I nod and feel the slow pressure of him enter me. He leans forward and licks at a second tear rolling to my hairline.
“Relax,” he whispers as he enters me, filling me in a way I haven’t been filled in a long, long time. Sliding inward, he’s so gentle, I swear I feel every ridge and ripple until he’s to the hilt. Pausing when he’s buried within me, he clutches my fingers tight and returns his mouth to mine, kissing me tenderly once more. My heart races as his tongue strokes over mine, savoring the seconds before I can’t take it anymore.
“You can move,” I mutter under his lips, softly chuckling.
“It’s been a long time for me, too, and I’m almost afraid to.” His eyes glance from one to the other of mine, taking in my face and brushing back my hair. “This could be over embarrassingly fast.”
“How long has it been for you?” It’s an awkward time to ask, but I’m curious as he went out with Louisa. I don’t dare ask if he slept with her specifically. I don’t even want to know if he kissed her.
“Seven years,” he admits, his voice low and quiet. We’ve gone from rousing dance partners to whisper-soft lovers. Seven years is a long time. In his case, I suppose he hasn’t had much of a choice. Jake kisses me again and mutters directly to my lips. “I feel as if I’ve been waiting for this exact moment for seven long years.”
His hips shift, and he pulls back, teasing me at my entrance before sliding forward with deliberately slow movements once more. We both moan as he continues to hold my hand like he’s holding on for dear life, but the dam has broken, and at any second, we’re both about to lose control.
“Gotta move,” he strains as he balances on an elbow while continuing to grip my hand. His hips jut back, and then he rushes forward. A few more thrusts matched by my reaction, and he moves his free hand to the back of the couch, pressing himself upward. He slips a leg off the cushions, placing one foot on the floor. The position forces my leg up over his hip, causing me to open wider to him. He’s got a Spiderman appearance happening, as his limbs spread in all directions while pinning me in place. And then he really moves. He moves like he dances. Hips thrusting. Legs flexing. With his dick thick and long, he’s tapping me in a way I’ve never been tapped, and he lowers his gaze, watching himself disappear inside me.
“You’re so . . . it’s so . . . Oh God, sweet. Oh God.”
He hammers harder, rocking faster. When he pistons into me, the entire couch quakes, and the plastic underneath us somewhere below the drop cloth crinkles. It isn’t exactly how or where or who I thought I’d have sex with after all this time, but I wouldn’t change one second of this experience.
Because Jake Drummond is an experience.
The way he moves. The way he squeezes my hand. The way he falls apart, slamming into me a final time, giving me every pulse, every pump, all the pressure of seven years. I’ve been waiting for this exact moment. Stilled in this sprawled position, he lowers only his head and kisses me hard. Lips meld together. Tongues crash and twirl. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Jake was claiming me for the next seven years.
He releases my hand and moves it between us. Instantly, he’s stroking me, circling my clit, and brushing the slickness while he’s still inside me.
“What are you doing?” My voice chokes as the tension builds. He might be only semi-hard, but he’s quickly recovering.
“I want to feel you, sweet. Come alive on me.”
Come alive. It’s exactly how I feel. It’s not that I’ve been dead inside or even numb, but I haven’t felt this electrified in years. Maybe not ever, if I’m honest. Jake works at my tender nub and rocks into me, restoring his hard-on. The sound of us coming together, along with the intense friction he places on that spot, sets me off. My toes curl as everything rushes to my center and bursts. With my back arched and my head tipped back, Jake follows once more and then collapses over me.
As he breathes heavily into my neck, I wrap my arms around him.
“I thought I’d be too old for that to happen, but I couldn’t help myself.”
I softly chuckle. I’m not sure if there’s a compliment in that confession, but then Jake pops up on his elbows, his face only an inch from mine. He drags his nose along mine and closes his eyes.
“Thank you for giving that to me.” His whisper is just as tender as all his touches. The words are a kiss against my lips. I feel the same way. I’m grateful for what he’s given me—at least for a few precious minutes.
11
Jake
The slam of a truck door has me jolting awake, and it takes me a second to register where I am. I’m covered by a drop cloth on a couch, naked as the day I was born underneath it, and alone. My thoughts catch up to me.
Rain. Rita. Sex.
My head twists, and the bright sunlight blinds me. It’s morning, and the rain is finished for the moment.
Another slam sounds like the release of a tailgate, and everything flips in my head.
Naked. Work. Sunshine.
Quickly, I roll out from under the covering, scrambling for my clothing piled beside the couch. Keeping low to the ground, I slip into my underwear and pants. My fingers shake as I rush to redress, needing more time and a stiff cup of coffee. My shirt comes next, and I tug it over my head, smoothing down the smelly, wrinkled front of a day-old tee. I skip the flannel and pop up to the couch, forcing my feet into my boots as Sullivan walks in the front door. The entrance opens directly into the living room, and I’m the first thing Sullivan sees.