Stranded Seduction In Summer Shower

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This is a submission for the SUMMER LOVIN 2019 contest.

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The downpour had rendered the night into a misty blur; the lights of the city against the darkness blended the vista into one Impressionistic canvas.

"You ready?" Gabriel asked Rosaline as he extended the umbrella at the edge of the marquee.

She nodded, tucking herself under the nylon canopy.

And then they braved into the fury of the summer rainstorm.

It was a ten-minute walk to her apartment on a sunny day, but the stormy rain had turned the short walk ahead into an infinite outdoor shower. Gabriel let the water drench his uncovered side, providing more coverage for Rosaline, and hoped that the rain would pour some senses into him.

If The Order was willing to exchange one member, in this case Gabriel, who had familial ties with the prominent members of the powerful organization, with a runaway girl with alleged mind controlling power, then how could he let his desire for her thief the freedom that he so longed for?

He watched the droplets pool at the end of the umbrella rib in a rapid succession, landing on her bare shoulder. Following the soft curves there, they rolled themselves down her tanned arm. Her wet sundress flattened against the swell of her breast, the dimple in her waist, and the outline of her shapely thigh.

She caught his gaze. Her lips moved; voice swallowed by the rapping rain against the city.

He lowered himself to her ear and asked, "Are you ok?"

Her hand pointed to the umbrella while she shook her head. "The umbrella is not working," she mouthed the words.

A distant thunder roared, and Rosaline jumped out from her skin. Gabriel gathered her in his embrace, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, protecting her from the elements. Then he felt her relax; she drew herself closer, her arm gliding around his waist and her soft breast pressed against his chest.

"Don't get ideas," he teased against her ear. He had enough ideas for the both of them.

She lifted her gaze to him, eyes wide with feigned horror, soft plump lips agape. He grew hard at the sight of those lips; his cock strained against the wet jeans. The rain had turned the walk into a Müller-Lyer line; its distance depended entirely on his pleasure and torment.

When she twisted the key of the front gate to her apartment building, and the warm yellow glow spilled through the gaping door, he thought he saw the light at the end.

"Where are you going?" The lilt in her voice tempted, enshrouding him, stilling his movement.

"Back to the office to pick up my car," he said.

"In this rain?"

"I'm already soaked." He shrugged, his wet clothes like his second skin.

Her pretty brow furrowed; A droplet rolled from the end down her cheek and soft jaw. "You should come in and dry your clothes."

He should not.

He should stick to his plan, hand her in to The Order when the time came, The Order would grant him his freedom and he would not care how they wanted to use her. He could save one girl's life or potentially a hundred girls' by turning the one girl in.

"Come on," she said over her shoulder, glistening and beckoning him like a goddess born in the sea.

He chose one over a hundred.

Gabriel huffed half a laugh at how effortlessly she dissolved his control. He followed her upstairs, dripping his way behind her, leaving a trail of dark wet spots on the carpet of the hallway.

"If you could take off your wet clothes and leave them by the entrance, that would be great," she said when she opened the door to her apartment. "And no shoes, please."

"Should I put on a dance for you in the meantime?"

She blinked at him, then the implication dawned.

"The water will stain the floor," she said, blushing like she could not stop conjuring up the image. He did not want her to stop, either.

"Be careful what you wish for," he said. He had already kicked off his shoes. Wet socks were the next to go.

His toes curled against the wooden floor. It felt good for when he felt grounded by the solid floor, he could not be feeling her.

He should dry his clothes and leave. He would.

His hands moved quickly to the hem of his wet t-shirt and started to pry the fabric from his skin when she stopped him. "Wait."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, arms crossed in front of his chest, t-shirt half way up his torso. He traced her gaze to find the soft dark hair at the base of his belly button and the downy trail leading down into the V-shape frame that disappeared into his jeans.

"When you are done, can you bring some towels to me from the bedroom dresser?" she asked, waving her hand in the general direction of the bedroom, and tracked her eyes down his body. "And one to cover yourself."

He nodded and watched Rosaline turn around to face the door.

"What's that for?" he said, amusement and mischief brimming his question. He would not mind her looking at all.

"Privacy," she replied immediately.

In the dimly-lit doorway, she stood with her back to him; her own wet dress clung to her every curve, contouring her slim waist and full hips.

He said with exaggerated understanding, "Of course. We don't want this to turn into some sort of office sexual harassment case, what with my coworker telling me to strip in front of her."

The only indication that she had heard him was a tiny whimper that seemed to have accidentally escaped her.

He willed his swelling cock down, concentrating on the feeling of being dry, working at his belt buckle to remove himself from the soaked jeans and boxers. The metal hit the floor with a soft thud. He then padded his way in the general direction of her bedroom.

Except he went the opposite way and ended up going into her kitchen. Totally by accident. He crossed his heart.

"The other way." Her instruction bounced its way from the entrance.

"Which way?"

"To the left, I mean my right"—she paused to orientate herself—"wait."

In the reflection of the window, she spun around to align herself to where he was facing, only to come into contact with his fully naked backside.

The humidity in the hot evening air evaporated from the sizzling heat that was her gaze. He let the silent excitement fester until his cock inconveniently sprang back to life from the attention.

"You're staring, Rosaline."

"You don't know that." Her reply came immediately.

He rose an eyebrow to the Rosaline in the window, patiently beckoning her, watching her frantically lifting her gaze and casting it everywhere in the room but on his butt, and finally she met his mirrored eyes.

Her blush came like tidal waves that devoured the realization.

"First door on your left. Second drawer," she said.

He snickered, moving one foot behind the heel of the other, ready to turn around to tease her—no, he was following her directions, like a good boy that he was—before she yelped. "Don't!"

He halted, for her sanity and his enjoyment.

"If I was less secure about myself, I'd be hurt by your impassivity," he drawled. "After all, here I am, literally baring myself for your entertainment, and you are acting like you don't like me."

"We are only here together because you blackmailed me into working with you. This does not inspire a whole lot of confidence."

"Says the lady who is secretly enjoying my nudity."

"I'm not secretly enjoying your nudity."

"I apologize. Openly ogling my butt."

She realized her mistake, and cleared her throat. "First door on your left. Second drawer."

"Yes, my Godiva." He grinned, more than satisfied with himself.

"You're the one who's naked right now, and neither of us is on a horse."

He made a dark sinful sound as he savored the image it brought on. "How would you put it," he said, then paused for the dramatic effect.

"My wishful thinking. If only it was the other way around."

"Get the towels, will you?" She practically bit her words out.

In his rumbling laughter, he successfully located the dresser in question.

"Don't snoop." Her voice drifted into the bedroom.

He let himself sink into her space; a few books piled here and there, scattered about in different corners of the room. The comforter was casually tossed on the bed, its corner draping the edge of the bed, resting itself on the floor.

The dresser that he came here for was pushed to the side of the wall, a couple of books strewn about the top. He obediently opened the second drawer to retrieve the towels and quickly wrapped himself with one.

Then on the corner of his eyes, he caught a little triangle of paper sticking out from the stack of books. Not-so-obediently, he pulled on that corner and revealed a one-way plane ticket departing in two days with her name on it.

She was escaping?

*****

Rosaline did the right thing inviting him; or so she kept telling herself. She could not send him back into the merciless rain and let him drive home soaking wet.

But she did not want to ruin the floor and she did not mean to look, she definitely did not mean to stare, or linger her gaze at his well-muscled ass on those mile-long legs, and she solemnly swore that she did not wish for him to turn around so she could see.

This was just one colleague helping another colleague as an act of good will in the face of a rainstorm, and nothing more, even though she did want to see.

The dry towels he handed her saved her from spiraling. He had wrapped himself in one, hiding what she did not wish to see, then he left her alone in the doorway to dry herself and change.

She reappeared in the living room to find him sprawling on her couch, bare-chested, legs stretched to the other seat, heels crossed, reading a collection of 19th century French poems. Although the length of the towel covered most of his thighs, its softness accentuated every angle, every hill and every valley underneath, which, again, she reminded herself she did not wish to see.

Sensing her perusal, he lifted his eyes from the book to look at her. Leaning against the door frame, she had changed into an oversized t-shirt and shorts, damp hair piled high on her head.

He put down the book, his movement pulling her gaze to his well-defined arms, past his broad shoulders, to his firm chest and the chiseled abdomen. Then there was his hair; the thinly layered dark hair on his chest tapered into a single file below his belly button and into the soft towel that covered what she should not wish to see.

Rosaline chewed on her lower lip and cleared her suddenly parched throat. "You spend all your waking hours at the gym?"

"For someone who doesn't like me, you sure do care a lot about what I do when I'm awake." His response came like he had rehearsed that line a million times, but she could not read his expressions. She scowled.

He was back to the poem collection, flipping a page.

"I never said that," she said.

It was precisely because she liked him that trapped herself in where she was now, drying from the rain, him half-naked reading French poems, instead of a fresh start with a new identity, away from The Order, away from the promise that was Gabriel.

"It's never about what you say," he said softly, without lifting his eyes.

She came closer to the couch, perching on the edge of the seat. He watched the soft cushion dip lower from her weight over the edge of his book, his finger curling the corner of the page. He turned the page.

"I never actually said I don't like you," she repeated herself after the friction between his finger and the pages rustled louder than the thunder.

He shook his head, resting the book on his lap, emerging from behind his shield. His gaze traced her face, relentless and unyielding.

"Why do you have a plane ticket leaving in two days?"

OK, maybe she did not like him, after all. "Sightseeing."

He arched an eyebrow.

"When are you coming back?"

"Soon."

"You know lying is bad."

"I'm not lying—"

"That's your tell" he said, pointing to her lips.

"What?"

"Your tell. You purse your lips before you tell a lie."

"Should I be amazed at your detective skills?"

"No need to admire my skills when you simply suck at hiding."

She glared at his unwavering gaze and raised an eyebrow of her own. "I told you not to snoop."

He tightened his jaws and grunted a sound that sat deep in his throat before picking up the book again. He buried himself in the pages, which physically chased away the thunders as the maddening silence returned.

She counted the number of polka dots on her t-shirt while the rustling sound of the page turning filled the air once more.

When she ran out of dots to count, she bit her lower lip and said, "If you must know, I was not planning to return."

"First truth I heard all night."

"That's not true. I also never said I don't like you." The words were out before she could stop them.

He put down that goddamned book to study her. "So you keep saying. What does that mean?"

"It was also true at the restaurant, what I said about your book."

He ignored her. "What did that mean? You never said you don't like me?"

"Just that. I never said—"

"Don't keep repeating yourself."

She cast her eyes about in the room; she needed to reorganize the bookshelf behind him. No, she did not need to because she was leaving this life behind.

Silence fell, and the beeping from the laundry room broke it. She got to her feet. "I'll get your clothes."

He followed her to the laundry room. She opened the dryer door to retrieve the dried clothes and handed them to him.

He took over the pile of his clothes from her, turned around to the door.

"Aren't you going to get—"

"Where is the bathroom?"

She pointed without thinking.

"—dressed?"

Then he stalked in that direction, disappearing into the darkness, a confused Rosaline fast on his heels. He padded the wall down for the light switch, turned on the light, made his way to the sink, dumped all his dried clothes in there, and turned on the faucet.

"What in fresh hell, Gabriel?" She slammed the faucet shut, but it was too late; his clothes were wet again.

"I am not leaving until you tell me the truth," Gabriel said. "Starting with what it meant."

"I just meant—" She stopped.

He inched closer to her until she could feel his heat radiating from his naked skin.

"Go on, you just meant?"

She lifted her head up to look at him, his eyes dark, brow arched, then she looked down at the bathmat. "I like you, I've liked you since we met, and that is making things so difficult."

"We will revisit the difficult part later." Before Rosaline could see his smirk turn into a wide grin, he closed the scant distance between them and kissed her.

His lips were soft on hers, his arms strong, coming around her waist, holding her tightly against his solid chest, separated by the thin layer of Rosaline's t-shirt alone, but one layer too many.

He savored her lips, the pressure tempting and promising, urging until she opened her mouth. His rough tongue stroked the tip of hers, once, twice, but never enough, making her pussy flutter in the most delicious and frustrating way.

Coming to her toes, she raised her arms to wrap them around his neck and pull him close to give herself better access to the source of her pleasure. He caught her whimper and rewarded her by sucking on her lower lip, and she went wild. Splaying her fingers in his hair, she pushed herself into him, his cock nestled long and hard against her belly. He growled his pleasure.

She threw her head back as if to offer him the rest of herself. He took her offering greedily, dropping kisses on the long column of her neck, each one wetter and rougher than the previous, teasing her skin, sending warmth to pool in her core, its twin maneuver tugged at her pussy.

"The feeling is entirely mutual," he said against her collarbone with a smile. She let out another moan, which earned her a lick at the spot, a nip and teeth. When they said he was good with his words, they did not know that his mouth was the real talent.

"Gabriel," she sighed his name, unable to contain her pleasure, spurring him on.

He came up for a teasing kiss, his tongue grazing her bottom lip, warm and wet, pulling away between each stroke. She tried to end this tantalizing torture, darting her tongue out to trace his bottom lip. She barely touched it before he caught her tongue and stroked it with the same infuriating lightness.

Licking and nipping at her lips again, he slid his hands underneath her t-shirt. The skin to skin contact melted her bones and it was his hands that supported her, branding her skin with his marks. She traced her finger along on his forearm, and with a tentative push of her hand, she nudged his hand upwards towards where she wanted him.

For the split second, he seemed to understand, his hands smoothing themselves up her torso, moving with a single purpose. Eyes half-mast, she caught her breath.

Then he stopped just at the underside of her breasts. Her hands fisted his soft dark hair in anticipation of the sensation that never came. He pulled away.

"I will continue."

But he was not moving.

She looked down at his arms that disappeared into her t-shirt. His cock stood proud and hard between them.

Was this man serious?

"On one condition," he said against her lips.

She felt his hands move up, and her breath continued.

"Let me help you," he said against her jaw now. His long fingers stroked lazily the outline of her breasts, and his thumb ventured into the center.

She let out a frustrated moan, and he chuckled against her neck. The warm breath tickled her, sending more shivers down her spine.

"You see, if you had decided to be honest from the beginning, we wouldn't find ourselves in this frustrating situation." His thumb seemed to have gone lost, never finding the straining tips that so desperately needed his touch.

"Gabriel, please." It sounded like begging. When did she learn how to beg?

"Let me help you," he asserted, now looking directly in her eyes. "Whatever you are going through."

"I'm not sure you can."

"Promise me you will let me try," he whispered into her ear before licking her earlobe, making her shiver. Then his thumb grazed the tips of her breasts and she gasped at the sensation as wetness rushed to her core and her pussy tightened. Her legs threatened to give out before he caught her and guided her backwards to lean against the wall.

Making sure she was well supported, he let go of his hands on her torso, which garnered him a frustrated groan. Chuckling, he pulled the hem of her t-shirt upwards. She raised her arms without protest, letting him remove the garment, revealing her beautiful firm breasts.

His eyes went wide and darkened at the sight but he simply smiled at her until she thought she would die from the anticipation.

"Touch me," she said, but it came out more like a whine. She whined.

"Where?" His smirk was infuriating; she widened her eyes at him only to be met with even more glaringly white teeth.

So Rosaline picked up his hand and placed the palm of it on her round breast, her nipple straining hard against his palm. But he did not move.

"Are you happy with yourself?" She would whack that smile off of his face if she was not so turned on right now.

"Almost."

"Almost?" she gasped the word when his hand shifted, creating a sweet friction against the tip of her breast.

"Tell me why you are leaving."

She shook her head, and his hand left her immediately.

"Gabriel!" she protested with desperate eyes, almost stomping her feet. Almost.

"How about asking me a little nicer?"

"More nicely." Her voice came as a whisper.

"You just can't help it, can you?" With a smile, the bastard returned both of his hands on her, finally, cupping her breasts, kneading softly. She arched her back into him on a satisfied sigh. His name hung on her lips like a sacred vow.