Page 20 of Studfinder

“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.