Rain Storms Ch. 04

Eric's body was beautiful. In the years that I had known him, he'd gained a little softness, but the heavy lifting and physical exertion that he employed in his craft kept him strong and muscular. His hands were rough and calloused. His body was marred by small scars from the occasional slip of a tool or the intentional destruction of an entire piece during a fit of frustration. Even the imperfections were perfect. In the same intervening years, my body had filled out with the easy life of wealth and privilege that Eric provided me and had hardened with the frequent trips to the gym. We mutually investigated those differences in each other.

When things got too intense, we'd back off and hold each other while we calmed down, delaying the inevitable as long as possible. Eventually, I could stand it no longer, and he allowed me to mount him. With his hands on my hips, he still controlled the speed and force of our passion, but gave me dominion over the angle and depth. Within moments, I was a blathering, drooling, mess. Only my arms, braced on his raised knees, kept me upright as my body convulsed and tremored through shockwave after shockwave. I had painted our torsos twice while his thick cock, slick with both store bought and naturally produced lubricant, continued to glide in and out me. I was rapidly climbing toward my third such explosion when the steady rhythm of his thrusts began to increase, signaling his own climax.

He lurched up and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back down on top of him. Then he rolled us, trapping my smaller body beneath his. Shifting his stance for balance, his hand slid easily between our bodies, wet with sweat and the proof of my pleasure.

Taking a firm grip on my turgid cock, he murmured in my ear, "That's it, Baby. Come for me. You're so fucking beautiful, Rain. Come for me again."

Because he knew, as he always did, that I was so close. Even though I had already come twice, my orgasm slammed through me with enough force to turn the whole world inside out.

When reality slowly returned to me, one sense at a time, Eric was braced above me on his extended arms. His only movement was the slight bobbing of his lowered head in time to the heaving of his body as he desperately attempted to catch his breath. The result of which was causing his hair to tickle my face. I tried to blow it out of my face but it was too heavy to be moved with the measly amount of air that I was able to command at the moment. He brought his head up a little to look at me which made it worse. Now there was even more of his hair in my face. I tossed my head back and forth to no good effect. If anything, my efforts exacerbated the situation. Now his hair was hanging in my face and stuck to my sweaty skin too. Eric chuckled at my dilemma.

"Use your hands, Baby," he suggested.

"I would if I could move," I sighed.

He laughed and pulled his hair over to one side of his head, rescuing me from further entangling myself. Then he lowered his head and kissed me to distract me from the fact that he was gently slipping his deflating cock out of me. It didn't work. I still groaned into his mouth at the empty feeling of loss. He dropped to my side and manhandled me into the spooning position that he loved so much.

"You made a right mess of us," he teased as the cooling fluids on our bodies became tacky and caused our skin to stick together.

"Your fault," I accused in the same teasing manor.

"My pleasure," he chuckled and kissed the shell of my ear.

We dozed for a little bit, just resting, before he woke me up for round two. I honestly didn't think that I could come again, but I was wrong.

We didn't spend the entire day making love but we did spend a majority of it in bed together. For the most part, we talked. By far, our conversation focused on his art. While he had a difficult time telling me what he was thinking or feeling, he had no issues discussing his work. It was the link to his psyche and I fully intended to use it to our advantage.

To be perfectly honest, he had come a lot further in learning to talk than I had in learning to listen. We still had a long way to go and I knew that there would be bumpy roads ahead of us. But, now that we were both making a concentrated effort, I had every confidence that we would make it work, together.

And when I woke in the morning, with Eric's leg, arm, and half his body pinning me to the bed beneath him, drowning in the oppressive and suffocating heat that he put off, I could only smile. I was home to stay.