The Rain

He lowered her slowly to the mattress and the rain poured down the window.

His hands, strong and rough, slid along her bare skin, careful in every movement. He trembled as he kissed her and she held him to her. Her red hair lay like silk against the comforter, and one hand cupped the back of his neck while the other clutched his shoulder as he lay over her.

She couldn't get over the feel of him.

He was so strong, so powerful, so warm, yet so tender as he pressed against her. She could smell his smooth cologne when she buried her face in his shirt, inhaling in deep, long breaths, taking in as much of him as she could. He pulled her away from his shoulder and moved her upward, and he kissed her mouth softly and carefully, giving her all the time in the world to melt into him. When he stopped, she clutched at him and forced him downward, forcing him to kiss her again. She wanted him to move deeper, and he did so. She touched his face as he held her.

The rain beat against the roof, but neither of them heard it.

“Jean-Luc,” she rasped when he released her. In the near-darkness of the bedroom, he propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at her, his fingers in her hair and his thumb caressing her cheekbone. She looked back at him and placed her hand over his own on her cheek.

He leaned in to kiss her again, and she forced him to linger longer than before. His other hand hand rested itself against the last few of her ribs, and began rhythmically stroking up and down in a slow, loving pace.

“I've missed you, Jean-Luc,” she told him as he shifted onto his elbow again. “I don't believe I've ever told you that.”

Jean-Luc merely stared at her in the darkness. He moved his hand down from her face to wrap his arms around her. She closed her eyes and, again, imprinted the feel of him in her memory. God, he was warm. And his scent, oh, she could smell the masculinity of him in his very breath. She ran her shortened nails gently up and down his back and felt him relax against her, and she breathed him in as deep as she could. She nuzzled the hollow of his neck as he hugged her closer and suddenly, for no reason at all, she felt like crying. She felt like clinging to his solid body and sobbing into his chest, his flat, strong chest. As if he understood, he began to stroke her belly in the most tender way, lightly dragging his fingers up and down over her dress.

He kissed her again.

He kissed her again and again, and oh, God, he straddled her and his tongue slid against her own, he kissed her so deeply, he held her so close, his fingers were so rough against her smooth skin. She arched up to him and he groaned in her mouth at the contact of body against body, his deep baritone sending electricity through her bones and out through her toes.

“Make love to me,” she whispered in his ear. Her breath made him shiver and lose his balance, his hands falling off of her as he steadied himself. “Please, Jean-Luc, we've ignored this for so long. Make love to me tonight.”

When he kissed her again, she felt something wet against her cheek.

She kissed him back with equal intensity, and felt his erection against her leg, pressing into the fabric of her dress. It made her feel overly-warm between the legs, and she fought the urge to press her hips to his.

“I will, Beverly,” he croaked. “Mon dieu, Beverly. I will forever.”

His voice shook and she felt something wet again.

He's crying...

She reached up to brush his tears away, but he caught her hand and kissed her fingers instead, letting his lips brush off each fingertip and onto the next, then curling them all in to kiss her knuckles before letting her go. She ran her hands down his chest, following the soft fabric to his waistband, where she pulled it out and slipped her hands underneath, grasping his bare back. He guided it over his head and tossed it to the floor, his eyes closed as she felt his back and chest, especially his chest, running her fingers through the sparse hairs there over and over. He shifted position and she felt his muscles tense, and when he slid his hands under her back to move her farther up the mattress, she could feel his back ripple.

Before she realized it, he moved lower. Tracing her figure with his fingers, he slid her dress up and off, and she sighed at the contact of the cool bed and his warm, coarse hands, gasping when he kissed her belly, a bit of stubble brushing her abdomen and sending waves of hot shivers through her. They all ended up between her legs, pulsating in a sweet warmth, and she suppressed a groan. He reached under her back and unfastened her bra, moving up to kiss her mouth again when he did so. She moaned softly when her bare skin touched his own, and he caressed her jawline as he kissed her to silence her. He moved to kiss her neck and she clutched at him, and little, almost inaudible sighs escaped her lips.

You feel so good, Jean-Luc... She had hugged him before on a few occasions, but never had he felt like he fit so perfect against her. She loved how the little hairs on his chest tickled her breasts, she loved how he stroked her face when he kissed her so passionately, she loved how his legs tangled in hers, and she loved the feel of his weight on her. Never, not once, had she imagined him feeling the way he did. She loved him.

Beverly fumbled for his belt, her hands clumsy and trembling like a teenager's. He stopped her and moved them away gently, leaving her confused. Lightly moving his fingers down her torso, stroking each breast as he did so, he lingered at the waistband of her underwear. She fought the little tremors he wracked through her as he caressed the sensitive skin there. When he moved his hand even lower, she could not help but release a tiny groan as he stroked her through the fabric, her wetness beginning to soak through.

“Oh, Beverly,” he whispered against her ear. She groaned again when his breath tickled her ear.
Trying not to match the movement of his hand with her own. she clutched at his back.

“Close your eyes, mon cherie,” he told her softly. When she did so, he leaned in and kissed her on her brow.

Slowly, tortuously, he slid her underwear down her long, shapely legs, his forefinger free and tracing them in his wake. Beverly felt the heat of her sex meet the cool air, and pulled him closer to her.

“Keep them closed, my love,” he breathed against her belly as he tossed the garment aside, making her gasp again. Kissing his way down to the soft thatch of copper curls, he could smell the heady scent of her and felt himself straining against his trousers. Quickly, he retreated and pressed his mouth to hers instead. She slipped a hand around the back of his head. Over and over, he kissed her, and between the sliding of their lips and their gasps for air, he whispered to in her ear in French, breathing into her ear rich, erotic sentences she did not understand. “Beautiful Beverly,” he whispered a few times in English, kissing her ears with his lips while he said it. “My beautiful Beverly.”

This time, when she reached for his belt, he did not stop her. She unfastened it and slid it out of its loops to be tossed to the side, undoing his button and feeling for the zipper. Pulling his trousers down as low as she could, she grasped his behind while he kicked them off.

He wears briefs...she thought as she felt the fabric. And they fit him so nicely...

She moved back, tracing his waist and imagining how the waistband of his briefs must look against the muscles of his lower back. When she cupped him, he unconsciously moaned, his deep baritone rumbling deep and low. The tip of him had soaked into the fabric and she grew weary of toying with the barrier. As she rid him of them, he kissed her tenderly and gently, his flat belly pressed against hers, and she pulled herself up to kiss his lips again and again.

She wondered if she'd ever forget how his mouth felt on hers. Again and again and again, she kissed him over and over, and he kissed her back with equal intensity, some light and soft, some intense and passionate.

Then, as if he could wait no longer, he began to kiss her all over. Her breasts, her neck, right below her ears, her collarbone, her shoulders, her cheeks, her lips, her belly in a straight line down to the naval, her thighs, her legs, even two to her needy core. Running his tongue gently through the slick folds, she fought hard to keep from digging her nails into his flesh. He kissed the insides of her thighs and moved back up to her mouth, leaving little cooling pools of moisture from his tears and kisses as he went.

“Please, Jean-Luc,” she groaned, her voice husky. She slid her hands lower on his back and pulled him lower, feeling his arousal rub against her thigh.

Stroking her hair, he hovered over her and trembled and she brushed his tears away. Wrapping his arms around her, he settled himself between her legs, his strong arms embracing her to him. With as much care as he could manage, he slid into her, and she arched up to kiss him as his thick erection filled her. He cupped her face and ran his thumb down her swollen lips when she released his mouth, and he groaned into her shoulder, bowing his head into her hair.

She smelled like roses.

Then slowly, oh so slowly, he began to move in and out, in and out, feeling the walls of her silky warmth squeeze him with each movement. She bucked only slightly to meet his gentle thrusts and her breath came hot against his neck, sweet and warm, and he still had the taste of her on his lips. He fought hard to keep his senses from overloading and sending him into a sea of ecstasy, but he would never know that Beverly fought harder. As he increased the pace ever so slightly, he noticed that her hands were unsteady on his back.

He brought one of them down and held it in his own, her long, graceful, white fingers held in his. She was so soft.

“Oh, Jean-Luc...” she whispered.

He did not notice himself crying. He never did.

However long they carried on, intertwined in each other in the midst of their passion, neither of them could tell. The rain poured down the window, the room grew cold, and Jean-Luc withdrew only for a moment for them to slip under the covers together, skin on skin on sheet, and she held him closer than before when he returned to her. She kissed him as they moved together, their breath coming in short, labored bursts, and Jean-Luc raised her hands above her head and held them there in his own as he pushed deeper. She tired not to cry out, yet failed. He moved as deep as he could in her, stretching her and causing the intense sweet feeling of sex to multiply by the hundred fold. Her fingers locked around his and her back arched upward, her breasts pressing harder into his chest, and she came over the edge.

She was still trembling when she felt his hot essence fill her, following her so closely.

Releasing her hands, he held his weight on his elbows as he shook, still firm enough to be linked to her, but rapidly fading. Her hands, her beautiful hands, moved all over him, over his back, his chest, his shoulders. She clung to him when he collapsed, sliding out of her, careful to move to the side as to not crush her.

“Oh, Jean-Luc,” she whispered as she lay next to him, her head on his shoulder. He lay on his stomach, one hand holding hers on his chest, the other arm wrapped around her. She kissed his cheek, and it felt like the most wondrous eternity had passed before her lips left his skin. He sighed and she hugged him impossibly closer.

Tilting her face up to meet his, he breathed her name, the taste of their kisses on his breath. “Beverly...”

She looked up at him, opening her eyes for the first time. He kissed her forehead.

“I love you, Beverly,” he whispered, his lips just grazing her forehead with each word. “I've always loved you.”

Beverly felt his tears again, and it caused her own to fall. Wriggling upwards to face him, she caught his lips in a deep, strong, tender kiss.

“I love you too, Jean-Luc.”

Oh, how those words felt as she said them...how those words made her love him even more.

“My beautiful Beverly...”

Exhausted, they nestled into each other, each with a tight hold on the other, naked under the covers and naked against each other. Sleep crept over them, their legs tangled together and their bodies warm from their lovemaking in the sweetest sort of way. Beverly kissed Jean-Luc's cheek one last time as he drifted off, that strong, masculine feel of him all around her.

“I've always loved you, too...”

The throws of sleep enveloped her before she could resist.

They slept.

The rain poured down the window.