The Fate of Rain

Word Count: 4580



        The rain fell like rocks upon the sidewalk, reflecting her mood as she trudged through puddles, ferociously stomping in the larger reservoirs of muddy spring water. Her feet were already soaked through the layers of Chuck Taylor canvas and white cotton sock. It no longer mattered whether she went through or around the growing lake of the sidewalk. Stomping her sneaker clad toes in the water helped cool her temper. The satisfying splash of puddle against her jeans clad legs gave her a sense of control over her wrecked emotions. The conversation from the past hour replaying in her head caused her to stamp her foot in frustration and mumble to herself as she continued the long walk to her car.

         “Accident!” She spat indignantly, “Yes. Clearly I have no right to be angry! It was a complete, unavoidable accident that your penis managed to fall out of your pants and into her vagina.”

         She glared venomously at the oncoming group of girls giggling at her outburst as they pranced toward her through the driving rain. In their smug water boots, holding dainty lemon umbrellas, she thought of kicking water at them as they passed. The polka dots sprinkled liberally along their feet were a mockery to what she was feeling. So bright and happy they tore at her, pulling her from annoyance into rage. Redirecting her anger on herself for her naiveté.

         Shoving strands of silken black hair from her dripping face, she shook her head and continued her solemn march to the parking lot. A thousand brilliant comebacks paraded through her mind as she considered what she should have said in response to his blasphemous apologies, and blame-ridden justifications. She squinted through the haze of rain, trying to remember where her rusted out Honda was parked among the classier Mercedes that abounded in the lot. Spotting it’s rusted hood she bent her head and dug her key out of the un-ripped pocket of skintight denim that clung to her soaked white thighs. As she stuck it into the door lock a large SUV skidded around the corner and smashed into a pothole throwing water in a gritty arc to land on her upturned face.

         Dropping her hand from the key she used the sleeve of her black t-shirt to wipe her face. When she noticed how bleary the car door had become she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. A nasty thought confirmed when she touched the offending eyeball. A gray contact was surely floating somewhere on the dripping pavement. Using one eye she tried to open the door but her key was no longer there, having slipped from the lock when she was scrubbing pothole water off her face. Trying to find that polished object she knelt down. Pointing her one seeing eye at the ground she did a haphazard perusal until the streetlight above her car flickered and with a whine went dark. Cursing, she pulled herself from under the front fender and sprawled against the driver’s side door.

         Letting her head fall back against the rusted green, she choked on the sob she’d been holding in since she’d got that gruesome excuse for a text message explaining why her fiancée couldn’t quite make it to her birthday celebration the night before. Lighting flashed above catching the gold that graced her left hand, barely shining on the diamond chip in the slender band. Blinking as tears burned through her throat, and poured from her squinting eyes, she looked with a critical bent at the symbol that was supposed to bring her happiness for the rest of her life.

         Wrenching it from her finger she grimaced when she saw the green circle that recently appeared with the rain. Frustration renewed with this latest slap in the face she launched the ring across the parking lot with a hysterical laugh bubbling in the back of her throat. A loud “Ouch!” sounds across the lot and she shrinks against the car door as boots appear under the bumper of the car in front of her.  A man’s head and shoulders, in the blue uniform of a county police officer, emerge and look with surprise at the bedraggled girl sprawled on the ground against her car door.

         “Miss?” He questions, crouching down and leaning toward her through the driving rain, “Are you okay?”

         “Fine, I’m fine.” She croaks flattening herself against the side of the car as though threatened by his presence. When he continues to look at her in disbelief she scrambles to her feet, “My keys, I dropped them.”

         She begins to look around a little wildly as the man beside her moves gracefully into an upright position, and looks at the ground surrounding the car. A small shape is a lump on the ground under the back tire, near his boot, and he leans down to pick it up. With water dripping into her eyes, and tears being washed down her face, she uses her soaked shirtsleeve to wipe her face as the uniform rises once again and extends a hand to her with her key ring in his palm.

         “Are these it?” He asks gently as she hesitates before taking them from his hand.

         “Yes, thank you.” She puts the key in the door lock and grabs her purse from the ground, tossing it onto the front seat. “I lost a contact and couldn’t quite see well enough to find them.” She adds as she pulls a worn pair of glasses from the cup holder.

         But when she looks the man isn’t paying attention to what she has said but is frowning intently as he stares at her where the dome light has illuminated her face in its eerie glow. He reaches a hand out and runs a finger down her cheekbone, from her temple to the side of her mouth. When she flinches at the contact he lets his hand drop back to his side and clenches his fist.

         “If I asked, would you say you ran into a door?” he questions softly.

         She looks down at the question, seeing the shirtsleeve she used to wipe her face is the brownish color of the makeup she used that morning. What the rain hadn’t washed away her vigorous wiping had destroyed. “I wouldn’t try to explain, I don’t know you at all.”

         “You know the uniform even if you don’t know the man wearing it. I could help you.”

         Lifting tortured eyes to his face she shakes her head, “Bruises fade, it’s the memories that won’t go away. You can’t help me.” And despite his offer, she thanks him for finding her keys and slides into her car, trying to ignore the figure in the rearview mirror as he watches her through the falling rain. The chime of her phone breaks the silence and she glares at it in annoyance, recognizing the jingle of the tone.

         She grasps its offending edge and flips open the top, “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

         “Now baby don’t be like that, we’re getting married in a couple months”

         “You just fucked my best friend! Like hell we’re getting married, you didn’t even buy a real wedding band.”

         His cajoling tone changes to anger at her accusations, “You’re such a bitch Carly. No one else would ever have you. If it wasn’t for me you’d still be a twenty-something virgin buried in romance books.”

         Feeling her confidence slip she glances in the rearview mirror in agitation and upset. The policeman still stands in the rain, presumably waiting for her to get up the nerve to drive away. An idea begins to form in her head, a twisted way of one-upping Jeff and proving to herself she doesn’t need his disgusting version of love.

         “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got a date in about five minutes and he can’t keep his hands off that milky skin you can’t stand.” She hears him curse and has the satisfaction of slamming the phone shut on his denial of her appeal. Checking her face in the mirror, she grimaces at the material she has to work with to entice said date into her bed. Half-heartedly swiping at mascara stains and dripping hair she throws her car door open as she readjusts her slipping glasses. She sighs in relief as the man in blue walks toward her from the back of the car, a frown marring the handsome features of his face. He keeps moving and she gains resolve with his advance.

         “Your engine won’t start?”

         She surveys him with the interest of a homemaker selecting prime cuts at the supermarket, “Oh it’ll start. It just needs the right incentive.”

         He continues to frown as he views the hunk of rusted metal sitting in the up-scale lot, “Right. Maybe I should just check under the hood.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s pouring down rain and we’re both soaked. Why don’t you just drive me home and I’ll have the car picked up in the morning.”

         He returns her earlier look of scrutiny and purses his lips in thought. Rain continues to wash down around them as he stands with one hand on the gun belt at his hip.

         Realization dawns as she sees his indecision, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I’m keeping you from something aren’t I.” She smacks herself with an open palm to the forehead as she sees her brilliant plan begin to crumble around the edges.

         “Just pool with some of the guys from work.”

         Miserable all over again she waves her hands in a shooing motion, “Go right ahead, I’ll just fiddle with this some more and then catch the bus.”

         “It’s after nine.”

         Grasping at straws she gapes at him, “Then I’ll call a taxi.”

         He shakes his head, “I’m not all that fond of pool. I’ll drive you home Miss…”

         “Carmichael. Carly Carmichael.”

         There in the pouring rain, with lightning streaking indiscriminately across the sky, he offers his hand as though they are in the fanciest restaurant in town, “Pleased to meet you Carly. Now if you’d just follow me around this way for a moment I’ll get the truck and we can get out of the rain.”

         Skirting around the passenger side of an old Bronco he holds the door as she climbs in. As he turns the key in the ignition he glances across the middle console at his dripping passenger.

         “Michael”

         Carly pauses in the act of wringing her hair.

         “My name is Michael Greenly.”

         “Oh.” She whispers watching through the windshield as they exit the dimly lit parking lot.

         “So, where to?”

         “Rosewood Apartments. Its about fifteen minutes from here.”

         He nods and flicks a turn signal; “Want to tell me about that bruise on your face? Kinda stands out with skin like yours.”

         “Are you married? Dating someone?” She fires back, not quite willing to tell her secrets to a man she’s just met, even if his seduction is on the agenda.

         “Answer for answer. I tell you and you tell me?”

         She grimaces but nods her acceptance.

         “Curiosity’s a bitch isn’t it,” he grins unrepentantly at his tactics of information gathering, “Michael Greenly, twenty-four, joined the police force at twenty. Vowed to serve and protect. No kids, never married, currently single.”

         Blowing out a breath she looks across the Bronco as he steers around puddles and potholes in the wreck of the downtown road. She has a plan but the key is how much to reveal, she’s only got fifteen minutes to make a deal.

         “Carly Carmichael, twenty-one, history major, recently broke off her engagement to a cheating, lying, ignorant, son of a…etc. etc.”

         “And the bruise?”

         Her fingers lightly feel the puffier side of her face, “Compliments of said person. He didn’t take it too kindly that I ended the relationship. At least that was his newest excuse. It’s amazing the damage a fist to the face can do.”

         Michael’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as his mouth creases to a thin line. The black hair lying across his forehead has started to curl from the rain its imbibed, but the steel gray of his eyes belay the harmlessness of the rogue curls. They ride in silence each lost in thought until they pull up to the apartment complex; the blacktop lot is scarcely lit by the lamps hanging from the few poles, casting more shadows than light through the complex.

         Turning in her seat she faces him as he cuts off the engine. Using her best no nonsense voice she lays her proposition on the table, “I’ve never done this before so I’m not sure about the correct proceedings, however, I find that I’m looking for a little revenge and I think you could help me out.”

         “You want me to shoot him.” Michael nods as though such a request would be perfectly acceptable. “I think I’d rather beat him with my bare hands.”

         “No.” Leaning across the seat she twines her arms around his neck and jerks his face down to hers, “This is what I want.” She presses her open mouth to his shocked one. Thunder rumbles outside the car and lighting splits the air but the electricity that arcs between Carly and Michael in the confines of the Bronco is much more dangerous and potent.

         As Michael’s shock turns to appreciation, his lips begin to move against Carly’s. At first hesitant, then with growing abandon, as their mouths meet and open to admit the searching of their ardent tongues. Carly’s breath catches as she experiences warmth and a shocking surge of desire pooling in her lower body. Feeling her gasp against his mouth, Michael jerks from her grasp. Breathing heavily in the darkness, he watches her from hooded eyes, across the console of the front seat. Dazed she touches her lips where his mouth had fed so voraciously only moments before.

         “In for a penny in for a pound.” She whispers leaning toward him, “Come upstairs with me.”

         He doesn’t answer, but moves away, leaning against the door with a look of horror on his face. Her face crumples under that look and shame begins to creep into her body. A dread to replace the burning fire he had ignited with the press of his lips to hers. Exhaling she reaches for the door handle and climbs from the Bronco, pausing before she shuts the door.

         “Michael?” His name is spoken as a caress. She sees him flinch at the sound. “Thank you for taking me home.” The door clicks shut as she moves away, a fresh sheen of tears light upon her face, as slowly, she makes her way across the darkened lot.

         Michael stays glued to the seat of the Bronco, watching with burning eyes as Carly ascends the staircase to the second story of the apartment building. As she moves down the balcony to her door he admires the way her hair reflects a bluish sheen under the glowing lights of the occupied rooms. He swallows convulsively as he again feels her hands caressing the side of his neck, the slide of her hair across his face, and the eagerness of her sweet mouth moving over his lips. He’d wanted nothing more than to lay her across the seat and ravish her delectable body, but caution had held him back. One-night stands weren’t his style, and he knew within a split second they weren’t hers either. She’d offered him her body in exchange for his, and a night of forgetting the mess she’d found herself in. Squinting at the balcony he recites the number on her door. Maybe it doesn’t have to be one night; maybe he shouldn’t go home. Dialing numbers in his phone he makes excuses for his absence at the pool game. Drumming anxious hands on the steering wheel, he tries to gather courage for facing Carly.

         Carly lay curled on the coach, watching without interest the newest reality show on TV, something about couples and the jungle. Her hair was nearly dry from the rinse she’d given it and her skin showed with lustre from the lotion she’d used. She’d scrubbed and lotioned, dried and dressed, all with the taste of Michael lying on her tongue. She’d only just condemned herself to a sleepless night staring at the TV when the knocker drops against her apartment door. Unsteady she flips the lock and moves the chain to peer into the darkness.

         “Did you even look to see who it was?” A gruff voice demands.

         She looks at him in confusion; surely she’d heard his truck leave the lot before she’d ever thought to take a shower. “Michael?”

         His steel gray eyes move over her face like mercury before lighting on her teal satin pajamas. Sparking in appreciation for the tap pants and spaghetti string top, he looks to see her nipples peaked against the thin material. Noticing his appreciation, a flush begins to spread across the exposed planes of her chest. Raising his face he looks and falls in the depths of her endless green eyes. Placing his hands around the dip of her waist, he propels her gently back from the door kicking it shut with the edge of his foot.

         “I’ve been sitting in that truck for the better part of an hour telling myself all the reasons I should go home and maybe come back tomorrow. Why I shouldn’t follow you to your apartment and break down your door. How you’d be better off pretending you’d never propositioned me in a parking lot, while it poured outside, and we steamed up the windows.”

         Her face lifts with the gentle insistence of his cupped hand under her chin. He brushes gentle fingers down the purplish bruise marring the side of her face.

         “What changed your mind?” Carly’s voice inquires softly. Daring to look him in the face, she rubs like a cat against the hand trailing over her skin.

         “I kept thinking about your taste. I couldn’t get it out of my head” Michael bends his head to her mouth, fitting his lips to hers as her face lifts. Tracing the outline of her mouth with his tongue he slides calloused palms from her wrists up and over her arms to rest on the shoulders exposed by her skimpy top. Hooking his fingers in the slippery straps he pulls until the top pools at her waist and slithers around her ankles, exposing creamy breasts tipped by mauve peaks.

         “Carly.” He whispers holding her arms away from her body, “You’re beautiful.”

         Embarrassment deepens as he starts on the buttons of his shirt, reaching over only long enough to throw the bolt on the door. Her fingers slide down his chest in a hesitant motion, stopping on the remaining buttons that hold his shirt closed. The butterfly touch causes his breath to catch as he moves closer to her bent head. Pulling the open shirt from the waistband of his uniform pants she glides her hands down muscular stomach and sides. Shuddering at her touch he grips the globes of her perfectly rounded bottom, skimming across the satin tap pants. Circling and dancing along the edge, he slowly pushes his fingers inside. Thumbs hooked in the waist he pulls and pushes until they too are pooled on the floor at their feet. Looking his fill, he trails the tips of his fingers over the peaches and cream of her body, marred by bruises parading across her delicate skin.

         Tracing one yellowing mark across her hipbone he growls low in his throat, “I thought there was only one. I should’ve known better.”

         He watches as her head dips in shame. As she shrinks away from his wandering hands, “I know they’re ugly. I can turn out the light if that’d make it better.” She stumbles to a halt darting a quick look at his face, “I mean, if you still want to stay.”

         Disgust for whatever monster had made her feel useless turns his mind to a hazy pit. Anger rides him hard as he shakes his head at her pleading offering of the darkness. Bending swiftly he scoops her off the floor, pulling her close to the warmth radiating from his chest. Burying his nose in the fragrant valley between her breasts he listens as she sucks in air at the touch of his whiskers on her sensitized skin.

         “I want to see every inch of you. I want to know every part of you, and I can’t do that nearly as well if I can’t see you.”

         “Are you sure?”

         “Very. Bedroom, which way?”

         She points. He strides across the carpeted floor to the darkened room across the hall. As they passed through the doorway she reaches out an arm and flips the switch on the light. Michael never pauses as he moves through the room, depositing Carly on the neatly turned down comforter on the canopied queen bed. He watches with curious face as she pulls the top of the blanket back and settles back against the pillows. Folding her hands she turns to observe his movements as he works on the belt around his waist. Careful of the gun still safely holstered he lays it across the nightstand and crouches to work on the laces of his shoes.

         Carly giggles as his back presents itself to her. Chaos of color stretches across one shoulder and dives to settle at the edge of his waistband. “A dragon?”

         He rises from the floor shirtless. His pants sagging around lean hips as he admires the curve of her body against the sheets of the bed. “I thought it was a good idea at the time. A little alcohol and eighteen years old’ll do that to you.”

         “It suits you.”

         His hands drop back to his pants, shoving them to the ground, revealing black boxers. Her voice trails off in a whisper of sound. Glancing at her rapt face, he tilts his head, “You don’t have to do this.”

         She shakes her head, “I want to. I need to know what it is to want, to feel that burn under my skin.” Rubbing her hands down the sides of her body she devours him with eyes that flame, “I felt that when you touched me, I couldn’t get your taste out of my mouth.”

         Mesmerized by the sight of Carly’s hands running down the paleness of her body he kicks his feet free and climbs across the bed. His erection bobs as he slides up beside her on the sheets. “I want to make you burn. Carly, I want you to scream. I want you so overcome by pleasure you beg me to take you over and over again.”

         Reaching out a hand she runs her fingers down the line of dark hair sprinkling his chest, drawing a fingernail down the bulge pushing up toward his navel. A low moan greets her touch as he grasps and stills her hand. Michael’s dark head bends and catches her mouth with his. Thrusting his tongue inside her they duel; wet tongues throwing wood on a conflagration of desire that is quickly flaring out of control. Unclenching his hands from the bed he draws one across the pebbled tip of one plump breast. Following his stroking fingers with the wetness of tongue and the nip teeth. Painting a line from each breast he begins a descent to the treasure at the core of her body.

         Nuzzling her thatch of black curls with the side of his face, he wallows in her low moan as felt the breath catches in her throat.  Using tongue and fingers, he finds and holds, that pink nub hidden in her damp folds. Hands alternately clutch his shoulders and the comforter beside her as his tongue flicks with quickening movements. Her body writhes and his arms reach out to steady her hips.

         “Michael?”

         Sweat makes a fine sheen on his skin as he blows on her damp bound, “Almost baby, stay with me. You’re so wet, I don’t want you to cum til I’m buried deep inside you.”

         His erection throbs in time to her moans as she continues to thrash on the bed under his tender ministrations. “Michael, hurry. Please.”

         “Not yet. I want you so ready I slide deep and drown in you. I don’t want you thinking of anything else but the way it feels when I’m inside you.”

         Grasping his head in her hands Carly pulls and squirms until he obliges by moving up her body. Kissing her mouth he rubs her juices across her lips, spreading her scent and taste as he licks and sucks at exposed skin. Running damp palms down his heaving sides she slides her palms to the front of his body and cups his straining member in demand. Yanking at the material covering him she uses feet and hands to remove the offending cloth until he’s was completely naked against her waiting sheathe.

         Lacing his fingers through hers Michael positions her against him, allowing only the tip of his sex to brush against her damp core. They moan in unison as he slips only the engorged head inside. Her nails score his back in demand. Raising her legs she locks her ankles in the middle of his back and pushes forward on his waiting staff. He thrusts forward, feeling the tight walls of her sheathe grip and weep as she convulses with his possession.

         There is only the slap of flesh against flesh as they move at an every quickening pace. Reaching for fulfillment as the wave of pleasure rises and crests over them, they cling together. Carly begs, screaming his name as he promised she would. Shivering as she sinks back to earth, only to be driven up again with his heat moving inside her. Watching Carly bucking against him in abandon, Michael sees the pupils swallow the green of her eyes. Her body stiffens as it contracts around him. Squeezing and milking it demands his release until he can do nothing but flood her welcoming body with his seed. Momentarily sated they collapse to the bed, holding each other in comfort and shared pleasure.

         Trailing kisses from his neck to the junction of his shoulder Carly licks the salty sweat from his skin. Sighing with pleasure she hugs him to her, “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

         Moving off her still trembling body, Michael slides to her side. Pulling her against his chest he squeezes her back. “It isn’t always.”

         “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

         He peers at her face where it rests in the damp hair of his chest, already feeling the first stirrings of desire though he’s still wet with sweat, “One night isn’t going to be enough.”

         “Good. I don’t think I’m cut out for a one-night stand.” She moves to prop an elbow on the pillow, staring into his face as she deliberately rubs her nipples against the hair of his chest.

         He places a kiss on her swollen mouth, biting the lower lip lightly so she shudders and leans farther in, “Well, I’m not cut out for a two-night stand. How about a series of nights and days, maybe weeks and years?”

         “Even better.”

         Thunder rumbles outside as Michael rolls and pins Carly to the bed, stretching her arms far above her head. Neither hears, already running searching hands over quivering skin.