Rain Makes Me Want To Be Indecent With You

I think of you when it rains. I think of you in so many indecent ways, in several lascivious ways that leave me hot with hunger despite the cool of the weather. 

I imagine it’s late at night and we’re in the living room, reading and ignoring each other. You like to savour the words when you read, and I prefer to be left alone so my imagination can run free. We’re comfortable enough with each other to not have to speak all the time. Our silences don’t need filling. 

Suddenly, it starts to rain and you decide that fucking in the rain is a good idea. I want to talk you out of it, but I don’t because I like it when you fuck me. We shed our clothes on the living room floor and run into the rain like little kids, thankful for the privacy of the enclosed backyard. The downpour washes away our inhibitions and common sense. We kiss each other between giggles, and with the rain streaming down our bodies, we fuck against the fence like a couple of horny teenagers who’ve just discovered the nuances of each other’s bodies and can’t keep their hands off each other. The sounds of our pleasure are swallowed up by nature’s turmoil, and when we’ve had our fun, we run back into the house and collapse onto the living room floor, shaking from the cold. 

Rain makes me hot for you. The drops that touch the earth are like the rivulets of sweat that would run down your back when you drive into me over and over to give me pleasure, to make me scream your name, louder than the thunder that shakes the eaves and makes lesser people cower. The soft yielding earth like my body when it responds to your touch, to the feelings you invoke deep inside of me with your body on mine. The sounds of the rain fading into a pleasing, incessant hum in the background as I ascend peaks that I can climb only with you. The brief but bright flashes of lightning like the colours that explode behind my closed eyelids, as I get lost in the essence of you. I feel unravelled, totally, like you’ve found the most secret parts of me and touched them. 

I think of you when it rains, in so many indecent ways. Like the times we would fuck on the floor on comfortable blankets that you seem to have an endless supply of. The power would cut, but the lack of fluorescent lighting is a welcome absence. The soft light of the scented candles we light around the room distract us from the lack of electricity, our legs locked around each other’s bodies, lost in the pleasure that we find in each other, hard and fast and rough, as if we’ve been apart for weeks, and we’re making up for all the sex we didn’t have. We’d snuggle into each other and hold on, the warmth of each other’s bodies keeping us oblivious to the cold. 

I think of you when it rains. When the raindrops are a lazy drizzle falling gently against the windows, and the accompanying breeze gently ruffles the leaves of the plants outside, I think of the times we would fuck on the couch. Me astride you, your hands on my hips, my nipple in your mouth and my head thrown back as I find the rhythm that unfurls all the tension gathering low in my belly. The sweet petrichor, like the scent of sex that sticks to our skin as we claw and bite and suck and lick at each other. It’s as if the coming of the rain takes away our patience, and we can’t get enough of each other, even though we’ve been here many times before, and will be many more times to come. 

I think of you when it rains, in so many indecent ways. I think of when we would make love as the raindrops made music with our windows, the rapid tattoo becoming a mellifluous symphony to which we would unconsciously match our rhythm and set the tone for our movements. Rain makes me think about taking off your clothes slowly, like the first raindrops that precede a heavy downpour, so gentle you’re deceived into thinking you won’t get drenched. I think of touching your body with mine, feasting on your skin like I’m starved, drinking you in like I’m parched and you’re the only oasis in the desert of my desire. 

Rain makes me want to be indecent with you, like right now, in the kitchen, as we do the dishes from dinner. The strong wind heralds the coming storm, and we shut the windows but leave the blinds up, because storms are beautiful in their unrest and we like to watch the havoc nature wreaks on herself. The windows rattle in their frames and a door bangs somewhere in the house. It’s going to be a loud storm. 

The last of the dishes wiped and put away, I turn to you to say something. I forget what, because there’s a loud clap of thunder and it makes me giggle. I put my arms around your neck and kiss you, forfeiting communication via speech. Everything I need to tell you is in this kiss. I want you, right here in the kitchen. Your arms go around me and I relax into your embrace. The rain starts to fall, and so do our clothes. 

The edge of the counter is cool against my lower back, a stark contrast to the warmth of your body against my front. Your nipples brush against mine, and I break the kiss to taste them. The power goes out, but I’m too hungry for you to care about visibility. I know your body like I know mine. I’ve traced the lines of your body so many times, all the planes and contours that make up your beautiful frame are indelibly imprinted on my memory. 

I hold your breasts together and lick both nipples at once, your erratic breathing encouraging me. My clit responds to the moan that escapes you when my teeth graze your nipples. I need more, and so I turn us around and you hop onto the counter without me having to ask. I bend and kiss you between your breasts, and leave a wet trail of kisses as I make my way slowly down your body. 

I can’t see a thing, and it heightens the taste of you. I want to go down on you, but I want to make you beg for it, in retaliation for how you made me beg this morning before you got your strap out. I take my sweet time on one thigh, kissing my way up. When I near your pussy, you hold your breath in anticipation and I smile wickedly as I move to your other thigh. 

“Stop teasing.” Your voice is hoarse with desire and I almost don’t hear your soft spoken sentence over the sound of the storm. I ignore you and continue my slow appreciation of your thigh. The scent of you fills my nostrils as I near your pussy again, and I can’t stop myself from kissing your vulva. I don’t do more than that, and suddenly, your hand is at the back of my head, pressing my face into you hard. Your fingers dig into my scalp to keep me there. I find you’ve parted your lips with your other hand, and I moan at how wet you are. I feel myself getting wet too. 

I like how turned on you are, how your want is turning you feral. As the rain fucks the earth over and over, drilling puddles into the more submissive parts of her, I drink you in. Your clit is hard and insistent and I suck it into my mouth. Your cries add to the sounds of the rain that fill the room. I feel my way up your body and squeeze your nipple while my tongue revels in your taste. 

There is a loud clap of thunder and as if that was the signal you were waiting for, your orgasm hits you, your warm cum bathing my face. I drink it all in, refusing to let up till your sensitive clit can’t take it anymore and you draw away. I give you a minute to recover, then I stand up and kiss you. 

You get off the counter and push me against it, pushing my upper body down. I gasp at the suddenness of your movements. As the rain continues to fall outside and the ground gets increasingly wetter, so do I, as you finger fuck me from behind. You spank me in between thrusts and I’m enjoying myself immensely. 

I think of you when it rains, regardless of the time of day or my mood. My mind has come to associate storms with you, the one constant in my ever tumultuous life.