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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?"
