The Barn

[RainingHeat]

Hand, His hand, slipping beneath, the graze of his thumb over a tender, sensitive nipple. She shuddered, breaking from the passionate, urgent kiss to cry out, unable to hold it in, the need to release it too great. The peak warmed, sending tingling thruout her chest, radiating to every nerve ending. And... she wanted more, as her fingers, nails gripped his shoulders, she nearly pulling herself up that tree trunk to cling to him, her body and his, where did one end and the other begin? Soon, very soon, it would be hard to tell that small point.

The tearing sound seemed so far away to her. She felt it, rather than consciously heard it. The soft cotton ripping away. His hands now having full advantage of her torso, skin, breasts, nipples. Her own fingers found his buttons. She would not rip, she hadn't the strength at the moment, all her strength was tied up in keeping her on her feet, against that tree. Deftly, urgent, needing, she peeled each one away, to expose his own skin, chest, even nipples. Fingertips touching, exploring, even as his palms claimed her breasts, the bra a mere hindrance.

Those same fingers, nails, raked his chest when his hand nearly ripped into and slipped beneath her jeans. Again the kiss broke, allowing her to lay her head back to that tree and cry out, eyes rolling back. He would find that she was wet, soaking, aroused, and hot, so very hot. Lips pinkened, clit pulsing in her desire. The slickness coating his fingers, palm easily, quickly, her body already moving to ride his hand as she braced her own on his shoulders once again, grasping.

She met his gaze, as she wantonly begged with her body, satin flesh caressing his hand, wanting more, inside, filled, need. She was moaning low, breathing deep, there were no need for words. Even when the stallion mounted the mare, close by, the sound of that mating filling the air, mingling with her own mewlings, her own purrings. Each motion of her body, every undulation, the shake of her now bared breasts, the glistening of her dampened skin, enticing him to take her. Her jeans sliding down over smooth hips, descending down supple thighs, each rolling letting them fall further out of the way. Splaying her fingers now upon his chest, a gasp taken and she lowers her hands, finding his belt, loosening.. to free up what lay beneath..

Licking her lips, the pink of her tongue glancing over each teir, she finally speaks. Again, the same word. A word that represents firey passion, unquenchable thirst, craving hunger... "please" ...

 

[Light Ice]

The water was a soft sound lost in the moment where her slender fingers finally turned the button of his denim loose and set his length free. It came heavily from the confines of cotton, falling through the slit in the front, proud against her little palm and more than filling it. She'd have room if both hands had held him, fingers kept from reaching 'round his great girth. Heavy. The flesh hot, searing, pulsing with the hot rush of want and already freeing heavy beads of precum to form themselves along the slit in the wide, plump crown.

A girl deserved seduction. Romance. The trembling plea on her lips deserved a sweeter torment then the one he'd prepared for. His thoughts drifted to the trapdoor, locked, in his apartment. Visions of her. Darkness. Games.

He could have kissed her tirelessly. Breathlessly. The sweetness of her mouth and the gorgeous vision of her face so close to his own could have broken any man to it. Instead, though, they were parted. His strong hands turned her, took hold of her hips and twisted her sharply, until her little form was facing the great oak they'd been sheltered beneath. The tree's bark was a great umbar, hardened by time and nature. It had seen storms the likes of which people often missed.

There was no tenderness now. His restraint gone. The parts of him that could have been charming evaporated beneath the heady weight of desire. He tugged sharply at her, pulled her little feet back amidst the grass and leaf litter until her tiny hands were forced to fling forward and plant upon the tree for purchase. Were she to look back at him she'd see him braced behind her, feet spread for strength and his rugged body a rippling masculine wall of flesh and muscle.

Strong hands lifted her ass up towards him, forced her back to arch in a sharp bow that pushed her cheeks into his strong fingers and her shoulders down. The fabric of her panties pushed down by powerful thumbs and left to cling beneath the perfect shape of her backside against coltish thighs.

He was so very large. She was so incredibly small. The soft, glistening pink of her slit inviting even as he urged his hips to roll steadily forward. There could be no way they'd come together. His wide crown butted against the cusp of her sex and spread her open around it, spread her lips to glide wetly around thick and throbbing cockflesh. But he could not sink inward, could not claim, because the tightness of her sheath forbade it.

The denial was intolerable. Frustrating and sweet for its frustration. He breathed a ragged growl behind her, low and threatening.

And then, in one savage thrust forward, claimed all that her little self would deny him. The surge of his prick plowing powerfully past the soaked petals of her sex and stretching the velvet walls of her kitten to the breaking point as inch after inch stroked to fill her. Buried deep, her little ass crushed to his smooth hips and his balls rooted firmly against her, the vice-like grip of his hands were partially softened when one strayed up her sleek spine to find the ebon tail of her hair.

He wound it in his fist and arched her further with a shameless, dominative pull. She, delicate and small, now impaled along thick inches of his prick and at the mercy of his primal strength.

It was perfect.

He began to fuck her slowly. Strongly. Each thrust lifting her onto her little toes. The rhythm of his breathing ragged and bestial. The scent of them, hot and feral, sweet in the air as her little pussy struggled to take his prick's entire length with each long, slow, powerful stroke.

 

[RainingHeat]

Breathless, Gasping, Moaning. The kiss broken once again, she felt all these things, and so much more. Her grip finding him, fingers encircling as he comes free of the jeans that held him tight. Turgid, thick, alive, she thought she could feel it pulsing, the drops of precum were the exhale of it's breath.

Her own breath hissing in.

Grasped, twisted, turned to face the tree. Did she protest, no, she did not. She would not. She was too caught up in all that was happening, the sensations that tore thru every inch of her body. Hands bracing, back arching, hips pulled back, positioning. She gripped the tree, tensed. She knew what was coming.. she just did not know the force that would be behind what was about to happen.

He lifted her ass to him, she arching into position, a groan escaping parted lips as she rested her head for a moment to the tree. She ached to feel him inside her, longed to feel her body shudder from his thrusts, hungered to be filled, completely, over and over again.

A glide of the smooth head, she letting her eyes close as the velvet softness of her lips slipped over that smooth surface, her wetness coating, slick, dripping, yet he did not enter, the opening beckoning with the roll of hips. Her mouth opening to allow another low moan to escape, as again he slid along the lips, vulva, pushing across her clit. Rain bit her lower lip, pushing back against him, inviting, begging.

The sudden thrust forward, and his length penetrated, her scream of lust pushed forth as he pushed within. She went taut, as the scream faded into series of moans, pleasure and pain filled, as the sheath of her sex struggled to take all of him within. The muscled walls wrapping tightly around the invading cock, a pulsing, heated, glove of satin that guided him ever deeper into the hold of her body. The entangling of his fingers into her long pony tail, she gasps as she is arched back even further, the reaction tensing her body, and the vice like grasp of her sex upon him, muscles spasming, tightening as her body does, rippling over the surface of his member as it pushed even deeper into that searing hot depth.

As he began a slow, powerful rhythm, she matched it with her own moments, undulating back to him, hips rocking as much as her body would allow. He easily controlled the pace, she merely followed his lead, her nails tearing into the tree as she gained stability, she riding back on his thick shaft, the wetness of her coating him, slick droplets flowing down to coat his balls as well, strays finding a path down her thighs, as well as his. Each pass into her was just the tiniest bit easier, but never was it nothing less than grasping, milking, tensing, and when the cockhead struck the very entrance to her womb, she cried out yet again, not that she had been silent, just the opposite. Every move brought forth her moans, whimpers, cries, her body against the tree, wet sounds of skin on skin, of balls meeting the flesh of her backside, of thick cockskin claiming satin pussy...

 

[Light Ice]

There, far from the house that had long been his abode, he found what he'd been seeking. For all the comforts of the Manse and the small niche he had found there it'd never been his. It'd been hers. He'd no place in such opulence. His was a harder road. For it all, coiled in the shadow of her splender, he'd turned into some ghostly haunt to which all that was dark within him became some great and exaggerated reality.

It was not her fault.

There was simply no space for him there. It'd always be a sanctuary. It'd always be a safe place. For him, confined within the restriction of those walls, lay a warmer embrace of friendship above all things. It had given him the inspiration for this place. His place. A stretch of range and wood to which the more primitive inclinations that dwelled within him could find a healthier release.

Rain, bent beneath his hands, seemed to all at once forge the threads of desire both primal and beyond into one sudden, powerful thread. There was a current between them that he did not ignore. He did not struggle against it. For the vice grip of his hands upon her hips, thumbs sliding down over flawless skin across the swell of her rounded ass cheeks, he bowed forward with absolute tenderness.

And placed a kiss, soft and light, on the tender valley between her lean shoulders.

Pleasure, though, was a powerful and freeing thing. It knit into a spiraling ball of sensation amidst the darker elements and lit him up from within. He was a furnace. Waves of heat, masculine and sharp, rolled off him as that kiss turned and he dragged his thin lips and wolfish, stubbled features across her skin. The blade of her shoulder rose subtly beneath his mouth and he found it, yielding now, sinking his teeth in sharply enough to leave the start of a bruise. A mark.

The next stroke of his hips drove her roughly forward again, and then once more. Faster now. Rising, finding the up-slope of a crescendo as the sound of his hips pounding her grew darker and more salacious amidst the softer tremble of water moving slowly downstream. She was his, in this instant, and his greed conspired as the massive length of his prick sawed relentlessly into the desperate grasp of her waiting kitten. Wet, spilling from her around the seal of her slick petals wrought tight against his invading length, frothed as it joined with the ample precum leaking from the plump crown of his cock and its slit.

His restraint was slipping, they were racing now to a peak. The vision of her bent under his hands a promise of other things.

A flash of his bed. Floor. Desk.

A trapdoor.

Promise.

 

[RainingHeat]

A kiss...

This one soft, feathery light, gliding along the damp skin between her shoulder blades. An unexpected feeling amidst the heated desire, the lust filled passion, and the hard, deep, hammering thrusts of his cock into the sheath of her sex. When the kiss came, he pushed in so hard, she felt the entrance to her womb spasm, the head of him pressing, seeking to push inside, her body managing to accept this length that lay buried deeper than perhaps it should go. Rain caught her breath, as his lips, breath, touched, caressed, tantalized, teased.

The bite surprised her as much as the kiss did. She could not halt the yelp that came from her lips, a decidedly different sound than her cries of pleasure a moment before. Hissing in her breath, she started to ask "what did you....." but her mind answered for her, as she felt the rough caress of his unshaven chin, moments before and after the sharp nip of this teeth. He was marking her. In his own way.

Her body shuddered then with the next thrust of his hips, he increasing the rhythm now, still keeping her arched back. Letting her eyes close once more, she lost herself in the sensations of his cock impaling her, of her body riding his. When he increased speed, she did to, she still rocking back to his every motion. Slick and soaking, she was no less tight, gripping, massaging, her entire body now glistened with heat, droplets as salty as her slippery juices were sweet. She shook, trembled upon him, he using his strength now to keep her balanced on her feet, to keep her fully impaled upon his shaft. She could only cry out now, letting him use her, as she fast approached her orgasm.

She could feel it building, rolling within her, each pass, each assault of his cock, seeming to embed itself deeper and deeper inside her, soaking, drenching, tightening, driving her closer and closer to crashing over that precipice, and cumming. It built, higher and higher as he pumps into her, her breath panting, her body shaking, every nerve ending was screaming out now, and she knew, Rain knew that she was about to be flooded... knew that her orgasm was about to explode.

"Ohhhh Godd.... OHHHH GODDDD... AHHHHHHHH MMmmmmmmmm"

And explode it did. It gripped her and shook her, crashing thru her with waves of pure, primal, carnal pleasure. So intense, that deep inside, it actually hurt. But she didn't care about that, all she cared about was the searing hot flashes of heat, pleasure, lust, desire, pure rapture that raced over her, thru her, exploding out of every nerve ending. Her sex tightened like a vice, walls spasm, a flood of her own heated cum spilling out, coating him, boiling hot, as she surges, shudders, trembles in his arms, upon his cock. She could not catch her breath, and her screams of passion turned into deep gutteral moans of the purest desire.

 

[Light Ice]

Restraint had no place here. They descended together on the hot spiral to completion. All around them the world shifted and darkened in his eyes until it was a blur of shadowed images and earthy colors. For all his strength, the great and wolfish power within him, there was nothing that could have stopped the pleasure arcing so sharply through him from taking hold. It was a power primordial. It sent bolts leaping from synapse to synapse and rippling across his skin's surface like electricity. They shared it. They were united by the most erotic of conduits.

She came and he fucked her hard through it. Relentless, unyielding, even as the pleasure wrecked havoc on him in one sudden and intense moment. The feel of her pussy rippling along the length of his cock shattered any control that lingered within him. It threw him headlong over the edge into waves of sensation that had been building since they'd started. But, before it overwhelmed him, he had precious seconds to savor the feel of her gushing along his shaft and trembling under his powerful hands.

Orgasm, for a man, was a release of potent and primal force.

It began in his belly, low, where rippled abdomen pounded ridged muscle into soft, yielding ass cheeks. The heat of it spread through him and caught fire, turned heady, and shook him until his entire host of senses was focused on the gorgeous girl beneath him. From the very start he'd kept his hips going. Now, though, he was forced to sink deep and succumb. A trembling bolt rippled through his spine and sent shivers savage through him. She came. And he was cumming with her. It was as though every little shake from her climax carried over to push his own into sharper, more astounding grounds.

For seconds that seemed to stretch his cock flexed within the chaotic grasp of her cumming pussy. It surged and swelled inside her, filling her entire, until finally pure heat travelled up from his taut balls. She'd feel it roll through him and build at the plump crown.

And then, with a powerful convulsion of his prick (as though the entire and massive length of it was some hot, slick muscle) he filled her with the first gush of his molten seed.

Hot, powerful. The first painted the bottom of her sex and was so incredible he literally felt her fill up. A mix of their cum, hot and mostly thick from the great volume of his first jet, flooded her body and surrounded him inside her. There was no room. And, immediately after the first, came another. The hard flex of his prick announced it followed by the tremendous force of its eruption once more. This time, totally full, she could not accomodate. The next jet forced a hot, creamy froth from her pussy and around the tremendous thickness of his length. It was forced out, unable to find any space, and soaked them both as it dripped between them.

A hand steadied himself by bracing on her lean and naked shoulder, pinning her there under him as his hips rolled back and he loosed a breathy rumble of pleasure.

One shot. Another. Another.

He came hard and with force, each time. The ropes of cum arched across the distance between them and hung briefly in the air before painting thick, pearly lines from the puffy petals of her sex all the way to her lean shoulder. It stood upon the olive of her skin. It marked her as his, if only for this moment, in a way that stood contrast to the bruise he had given her. Another hard jet, though not as hard as the others, painted the little star of her asshole and flooded the erotic crease where her rounded cheeks met. Another painted one cheek entire. The next, and last, caught the bottom of the other and dripped mostly upon her upper thigh.

He did not hear the water or the sound of Rusher crossing the stream lazily alone. Grace, standing where she had more or less, was oblivious to them.

He heard only her breathing over his own.

 

[RainingHeat]

She felt it, deep inside the depths of her, within the tightened grasp of her body, she felt it. The shudder, the ripple, with him it was as if the serpent that was even now tasting of her, had come alive, slithering, flexing, pulsing, throbbing, and indeed it was, the sensItive nerves seemingly tuned to just this. It was a fire hose, ready to jet inside her, and when it released, she felt the surging flow, gushing from the length of him, to paint, glaze, ultimately soak the inside of her, spreading over the still spasming walls of her sex, mingling with her own juices.

She gasped with every shot of his seed, every convulsion of his cock, as he had taken her thru her own climax, which was still, even now, working thru her, she rode him thru his, the minute motion of hips, the grasping of sheathe, the undulation of muscle, to coax another, and yet another, thick stream of his cum, his searing hot seed from his balls, so much filling her, flooding her, that she felt it spilling, rivulets heated, gliding down her smooth thighs.

Her head was down now, as she panted, still crying out with every spasm, every ripple of his cock, and still she rode him thru it, until he finally pulled back. Rain felt his hand lain to her shoulder, it felt comforting, steadying, perhaps for both of them. Her sheathe did not want to release him, even as he pulled back, the wet soaking of their mingled pleasure following to spill out, she visibly quivering when he came free of her.

Yet she continued to feel him shoot, climax, until he had scented her body with his sex, until her skin wore his mark, his seed, his cum, the white fluid warm, thick, dripping, drenching, tender flesh, of shoulder, back, ass cheek, pussy lips.

Rain could stay standing no longer. Her own orgasm having only just released it's hold on her, she slowly sank down to knees, then hands and knees, panting, exhausted, dark hair flowing forward to form a ebon veil. Never had she been fucked like that, never. Her pussy was still clenching, still seeking to feel him inside her, even now. Skin flush with heat, passion, exertion, pinkened, reddened, damp, slippery, now even more so where he had spread his seed upon it.

"God.. LI... I have never... " she looked up at him, finally gaining back her breathing, it slowing some "had an orgasm that all consuming before. Never been.. taken like that before. "

As her strength returned, she slowly began the ascent to her feet, crawling up his body, her warm breath trailing along skin, shins, knees, the inside of a thigh, over his spent cock, along his flat, muscled stomach, across his strong chest, coming to rest just beneath his adams apple, her body resting to his, still damp, the heat still evident.

"I.... want ... more.... "

She heard the splash of the stallion cooling in the stream, but she did not look away, her deep green eyes fixed on his.

"please"

 

[Light Ice]

================================================

The day had slipped from record and joined thousands before it. In his life, relatively short as it had been, he'd found pleasure in the way each stretched on with its joys and its sorrows. He embraced them all for the little things that made them special and lived life with appreciation for the great kaleidoscope of experiences that were so uniquely of the human condition. Rain, sleek and beautiful, had left a definitive stamp upon this one.

Night, however, was his time. The stalls had been mucked and the animals tended. Horses, beyond the mechanical aspect of their care, required love. Affection. They required patience and understanding and companionship. They did not do well alone. It broke them of their spirit and while an animal needed to be made to obey, to listen, its spirit was what made it special and that thing that made them so sentient was to be protected and nurtured.

They devoured his time and he did nothing but adore them for it. Unlike people and all their perpetual bullshit, the animals understood they were animals. They behaved true to how they felt.

He planned to add many more. The pastures, fenced in, extended acres for a reason. There were shelters to be built, lined with fresh hay, and finally the animals themselves to be brought in. Herds, unbroken horses, would be given their own land to roam and given chance to breed and live under his hand. The very best could be picked over for riding animals. Most, however, would simply have sanctuary.

There would be hands he'd have to hire on. It'd take time.

He'd lifted before coming in. The apartment, for its spartan luxury, afforded him a view of the property and he was close enough to the barn that if the animals needed he'd be there in an instant. Rusher, the big Tennessee Walker that was his equestrian doppleganger, had tolerated him more in the last twenty-four hours than he had in the year past.

Agatha spun restlessly at the foot of his bed in her own, dug briefly at the blanket tucked tightly into its pad, before flopping down with her big pretty eyes quickly squinting and slipping closed. The pup, not two yet, was his girl. He bent to briskly scruff behind her ears before heading towards the massive bed stretched along the wall. Resting a hand on one of the towering mahogany posts, he lingered.

And then he submitted and undressed for bed.

 

[RainingHeat]

It had been a day... and a ride... that she had not expected.. and that she had enjoyed more than any other in such a long time.

Grace would carry her again, she hoped. Rusher, she hoped would accompany, along with his... Rider.

As night fell, Rain found herself at the Mansion, enjoying the company of one who she could so easily talk to. The day's events tho, would remain private, between her and the Keeper of the Barn, LI. Altho she was sure Cait could see the flush that still colored her cheeks.

The Lady gracious enough to offer a room, Rain found herself alone. It was ok. She didn't mind being alone. She was quite independent, being alone was part of that fact. As she stood at the window, gazing over the lands, the Barn, hearing the horses nicker as they too bedded down for the night, she hoped it would not be the last time she is within the presence of LI. Even if to just enjoy the horses, that would be fine with her. Horses were a love of hers, after all....

 

[DarkWarrioress]

This was his place. She felt.... awkward... being here. The barn itself, not so much. She walked between the stalls, stopping to pet noses and speak softly. Her foot steps took her to the foot of the twisting stairs and with one foot on a step, she looked up, staring, then continued up until she was at the closed door. It was there she left the small basket.

It wasn't for him. It was for Agatha. A basket with several colored tennis balls, a couple of squeaky toys that most dogs go crazy over when they're squeezed and a thickly braided, knotted cloth chew rope. She was careful to pick pet safe things so there was no chance of a squeaker being popped loose and choked on. Dogs were like children. They deserved the same care and thought.

 

[Light Ice]

The day had been hot and hard and good.

He'd ridden in with the new herd of animals on Rusher all day. The early morning had been spent finding the best horses and cutting them out from the group. It'd been the kind of work that wore a man and his horse out and Rusher, for all his strength, was placid with weariness by the day's end. All in all, out of the hundred and fifty or so count they'd brought in to the main pasture, he'd managed to make five proper-sized herds and give them their own grass. One was cut for breeding. He'd hand-picked the horses after riding with and through them all morning.

It was his grandfather he felt when cutting out the breeding stock. The old man had an eye for horse that was something of a legend where they were from. He'd grown up under his own father who was a cavalry man. His father, before that, worked breaking horses for the English. It was something of a tradition for the men in his family, Irish-born all, to break their backs training and caring for animals they couldn't afford. This little slice of land felt more theirs than his sometimes. Five generations worth of progress rolled up into one little stake he'd claimed for himself; rightfully or not.

He felt, rather than remembered, everything his grandfather had ever told him about horses. In their movements he saw signs of strength and signs of weakness. There were warnings in the way a horse chewed grass or how wild his eyes went when he was frightened. In some there was a spark and in others there wasn't. It'd taken him the better part of the morning but by the end he'd picked out his animals. Two big studs, powerful and bold, and a dozen or so gillies for their respective harems. Everything had a natural order to it. He stacked the deck the best he could but in the end he would let nature play her hand as she saw fit.

The rest were cut for other purposes. Some were cut for working stock, though there was no need for it, he did it the same. Riding horses were cut out, too. He'd get to training them the saddle by morning. The hands would arrive early but they'd spend their first working day tending fences and mucking stalls. Horse training was a delicate art. There were a million hard ways to break a horse to saddle and only one good way. A trainer was supposed to make the animal take to things easy-like. It took time and patience and a certain kind of feel for things. He'd not trust his first break to amateurs.

Hell, he might not trust the hands with any break at all.

As far as a cutting horse went, Rusher had been all he'd wanted and more. The big stud had gotten low and found a natural way to carve them out. In the end, between he and the painted beast beneath him, there'd come to some kind of understanding. It still got chilly enough between them when the moment was right but when it came to work they functioned on the same circuit.

Everything just clicked.

Now, as he looked out across the dark and saw the big shadowy shapes of Tennessee Walking Horses milling about in herds, he allowed himself to enjoy it all. His Wranglers were thick with dust and the flannel Ralph Lauren shirt he wore, tucked in as ever, was thick in it too. Agatha lounged sleepily at his side, pressed into him. The little black dog and her short curly fur was like a furnace, radiating heat, comparable to the fire that warmed the under sole of his boots.

He didn't smoke and for once he didn't feel like enjoying the night with a drink. He simply soaked it up. The fur beneath his fingers ran soft beneath and crusted on top. She'd need the hose in the morning. Little dog, or not, all thirty pounds of her was meant for this place. A good dog could calm a horse or drive it wild. She'd the right of it in both ways. She was plum tuckered out.

So was he.

 

[RainingHeat]

It was an absolutely beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining, low in the sky, but there were just enough puffy clouds to afford some shade here and there, so one would not get... burned. Not that she burned easily. Nope. After a childhood near the beach, she tanned quite nicely thank you very much.

This particular beautiful afternoon found her back at the Barn. Tho this time, she was outside, at one of the corrals. Grace, her ride from the other day, came galloping over, nosing her hand for a treat. And Rain, just happened to have one. Today, it was carrots, cut down to easily edible sizes. She could not help the laugh that sprang forth as the mare's so very soft lips tickled her palm as she munched happily on the sweet orange chunks.

"okay sweetness, leave some for the boys" she giggled, as she turned to the adjoining field, Rusher standing tall and proud out in the grass. God, he was such a spectacular animal.

Rain was not even sure if the Stallion would approach her. He belonged to Ice after all. But she thought, she may as well give it a shot, and she let loose a whistle that would rival the loudest heard. The Stallion turned, but did not budge. Yep, much to stubborn to simply trot over to a call such as hers. That was ok tho. Treats would be left. For the proud Stallion, several large chunks of carrot and half an apple. Just for him. Rain hoped that perhaps some day, he would come over to her, learn to trust her alittle.

More treats of carrots and an apple here and there were offered to Cait's magnificent Black, as well as the other horses that happen to be in residence. They were all such beautiful and/or handsome, proud, reserved, powerful animals. And Rain could not help but associating those words and thoughts with the barn's caretaker, LI... Ice. She found herself blushing at the memory of their ... ride. A pleasant memory... very pleasant...

But, that was then.. this... was now...

Grace, was still at the fence, so with a smile, Rain offered her the other half of the apple. And yet another pat on the nose.

Maybe she would go for a ride. But she wasn't dressed for it this day. A glide of her hand against her long black gypsy skirt, brushing off the bit of dust, a red tank top accenting the dark of the skirt... At least she had worn her boots. She had a feeling she may have ended up here, even if riding was not in the cards. She loved the horses...

Oh yes, and Agatha too, who even now, came bounding around the corner of the barn and full speed to Rain. For a minute she thought the overly exuberant dog was going to barrel right into her, and knock her over. But Agatha came to a skidding halt, right before her, tail wagging wildly, ball in her mouth.

"Oh I see.. want to play do you?" scritching behind her ears, she takes the drool covered ball in hand. "Eww.. Agatha.. really" she joked before she threw the ball hard, into the grass, the dog tearing off after it.

Yes, it was a perfect, quiet afternoon, the sun just beginning it's descent into the western sky.

 

[Light Ice]

This life wasn't what he'd first envisioned for himself. Back then, back when it'd started, he'd been a boy from the city and it'd been a dream of sharp suits and corporate meetings. His role models had been the men and women cutting down the street with mobile phones and things to move. If there was ever a curse and a blessing both on his life it'd been his competitiveness and its couple with his unshakable austerity. He'd been a grim and severe child. The world had looked more to him like a race you'd to win. It'd been a vision that had stuck and driven him until he'd run into life for what it was almost ten years ago.

Even then, face to face with the reality of the world, his dreams hadn't evaporated entirely. A man, even at twenty, still carries with him the boy he was at twelve. The driving force that had moved him forward carried with it a subtle shift in direction. Wealth for wealth's sake appealed to him in a thinner means. It became about wealth for the sake of life and had never turned back.

He'd rode hard in the morning and through the afternoon. The shirt he'd worn was thick with dust and so were the jeans that clung to him. Denim, worn thin with use, would have to be chucked soon in favor for something new. He went through even the best too quickly out here. A consequence, really, of the life.

Balling up the shirt in his hands after peeling it over his head, he watched her with Agatha. The little black dog didn't tire quickly of games of any sort. She was, at not even 18 months old, a ball of curly black energy. He kept her hair short in a puppy cut, one length all over, and the result was a Labradoodle that looked more like a curly-haired Lab than any poodle. She'd a big, deep chest and strong hindquarters. Her long legs ended in large feet she'd just grown into.

And she was damned fast.

He let the pair have a couple tosses before whistling. The short, sharp sound broke across the prairie and just like that, mid pursuit, Agatha wheeled around and bounded after him. She didn't stop as she neared, coiling up mid-stride, and leaping the moment his palms struck his chest in subtle gesture.

He caught her.

She buried her head in his neck, tail wagging. A baby all at once.

The evening was going to be cool and clear. Beautiful. From the doors of the barn he stood, Agatha in his arms, and looked out across to the gorgeous, svelte figure by the fence. Grace was hers now. He saw it clear as day.

"You should ride her more." He said to the woman who, for only a day, had been his.

The want came on sudden as the thought ran through his mind. Denim suddenly tight, confining around the length of him as it hardened. He let Agatha go. She didn't stray far. But his eyes, for now, were glued to the way her skirt rippled against the wind and drew his eyes to the long legs he'd never had a chance to feel under his rough fingers.

 

[RainingHeat]

It reminded her of her own childhood, throwing the ball for her beloved Midnight. God, how she missed that dog. He had been her best friend in the whole world as she grew up, from the age of 2 to the age of 17. Effectively, her whole life. Agatha reminded her of those fun times, and the love of that special pet.

She loved watching her, running full speed into the grass and popping up with the ball in her mouth, dashing back to her feet, tail wagging. Rain threw it again, and Agatha went rocketing, that is until the whistle cut thru the evening air. Rain turned to that whistle just as the dog, mid stride, twisted, without missing a step, and went careening across the yard toward him.

And she could not help but smile, and smile big as the dog launched herself right into his arms. If she had a camera with her, it would have been a perfect picture, with the barn, the light from the setting sun, he, shirtless, in dust covered jeans, holding the dog against his chest, she licking, tail wagging. Truely a great picture. One that Rain committed to memory.

Grace, huffed, snorted and leaned her head over Rain's shoulder as she stood there, tendrils of her long dark mane whisping around her head from the animal's breath. She wanted more attention, that was for sure. Rain began a slow stroking of fingertips along the long nose of the horse, leaning her own cheek against Grace's cheek. "I know.. you want to be in his arms too, don't you" she quietly whispered to the mare. "me too sweetling, me too" ...

"You should ride her more."

Rain's eyes lit up at that. She would love to ride the mare regularly, but the horse did not belong to her. The mare was his.

"I would love that Ice, thank you"

She could not take her eyes off him, shirtless, his jeans clinging perfectly to his powerful frame. It only took a moment for the memory of what he felt like inside her to come crashing back into her mind, and that, made her cheeks blush a pretty dusky pink.

Rain gave the mare a loving, light kiss, before she stepped away and approached him.

"If you have not had dinner yet, perhaps Cait would not mind if I used the grill and made us both a little something, that is, if you are hungry." She knew she was, but she wasn't quite sure if it were food, or him, or both perhaps that she was hungry for. As Rain came up next to him, she felt the cool nose nudge of the dog at his side, and let her hand trail along her head, daring to look away from him and down to the dog's so very intelligent eyes while giving her another loving pat.

"She sure loves and trusts you. I love seeing you with your animals Ice, the horses, the dog" ...

 

[Light Ice]

He let one girl down and took up the other. She, slender and soft, was naught to curl in his arms. The lissome little slip of her waist tucked easily against him and all at once that slight and seductive weight spread itself across his chest and inundated him with the millions of little sensations that were definitively her. The day rolled on and Agatha rolled with it. Clouds, wispy and thin, slipped effortlessly across a canvas of blue and sought out further points on the globe beyond their comprehension.

Rain. He felt her spine beneath his fingers. The stretch of his big hand covered the entire small of her back and allowed the rough digits to slip up beneath the hem of her shirt and glide their way across bare skin he'd spent too little time appreciating.

"I suppose it's a better vision than stall mucking presents." The quip was dry but well-intentioned.

Words didn't do much for him, though. The language of choice for a man so abrasive and difficult always came down to action. Braced in his arms, held against the rugged contours of his frame, she'd find herself trapped for the moment where there was no easy escape. Their first time had been in the wilds. With the horses. He'd their needs to tend upon the return and its distraction had pulled him away.

Now, by lurking close, she'd put herself within the very heart of his new home. The men whose hired hands helped him maintain the steadily growing ranch were now well on their way home. The dust from their pickup trucks had settled hours ago. There wasn't another soul around.

So he kissed her. Hard. Didn't wait for invitation or protest. He gathered her soft cheek in the cup of his large hand and tilted her face until his mouth could make the claim. It was a rough, deepening pressure. Unyielding. Without relent. It spoke of who he was and what he could be. It spoke of what he wasn't.

And the hardness crushed against her belly and trapped in denim spoke of what he wanted.

 

[RainingHeat]

The dog was free'd... but she... she was captured.

Rain, the softness of her form, supple, sleek, drawn to his, hardened, powerful. She remembered the feel of him, touching her, kissing her, inside of her, and it was that memory that trembled to the surface as his hands, calloused, some may say rough, but with her, were gentle as fingers explored beneath the touch of cotton, and found bared, warm, svelte, pliable skin. Her long dark hair spilling down to almost tickle where he caressed, veiling the plane of her back in ebon.

The kiss, was almost unexpected. Almost. She had turned to look up at him, only to feel his large hand, again rough feeling, yet so gentle touching, beneath her chin, along the curve of her throat, to come to rest upon her blushing cheek, and their lips met. Rain moaned low into the hard, insistent kiss, her hands gliding up his chest, over broad, strong shoulders, fingers entwining at the back of his neck, drawing her even closer against him. She opened to him, tongue seeking his, dipping within his mouth, and suckling his within her own, playing, slithering, curling around, under, warm, sweet, moist, inviting, wanting... hungering...

She rocked just slightly, hips rolling to his, meeting, a leg lifted to wrap about his hip, allowing her to press closer. Was she the aggressor or was he? Her skirt fell aside, the gentle material falling away to reveal the supple flesh of a creamy thigh, muscular, wanting to tighten perhaps around him as both had held onto and tightened around the mare when she rode her.

Could he feel the soft quiver of her body? Taste the lust, the want, in her kiss? Could he sense the softness of her heart, the independence of her soul? Could he feel her heat, building? All these things he brought out in her, just being around him. Whether it was talking, riding, or even fucking, it was he she wanted to do all these things with.

She could feel his arousal, it was more than evident. Her own, searing, wetness, was becoming just as evident.

 

[Light Ice]

He parted from her with an uneasy tremor. The distance stretched shallow but felt further, greater, as though every fraction of an inch was that much too far. In that moment his hand lingered and found her own. It was small, so small, but he held it. The slender stretch of her fingers was captured entirely in the greater stretch of his own. Forgotten, Agatha romped in the yard. He paid one last glance to his girl before turning to lead Raid in through the barn. The narrow stair waited. His apartment, above, and beyond.

"You're beautiful tonight." He said.

The compliment delivered even as he walked from her. It was a simple, obvious statement. He felt as though the assertion was one that'd no real need to be made. It was like the barn that stood around them or the animals moving lazily within their stalls. He was eager to get past this point where he'd no comfort in their conversation. The substance of his thoughts relied too heavily on the functional conduit of his action.

He needed a drink before they fell together. Time, really, spent enjoying the intoxicating proximity of her company. In their first moment it'd been a rush that had swept them. Drew them up. A coil of nature unloaded itself until they were gathered in a sudden, certain fate. Now, though, was their time to take the reigns. Or his, rather. She'd learn that with time. He was a bit pretentious for a scoundrel.

 

[Light Ice]

A typed page balled up on the floor, forgotten, besides the waste basket at his desk.

How I come to live in Montana is a bit of a story. Ain't a pretty one, neither. There ain't much pretty about life anyhow so I don't know what would make much of a pretty story. I do know that what's beautiful in the world is fragile and precious and fleeting like the snow when it falls first right early in the morning. I reckon that's my favorite thing in the whole wide world. Sarah says its like the good Lord has given us a reminder that we all have it in us to find a clean slate every now and again. I don't blame her for fancying the thought. She's always been the kind of woman that can see the good in just about anything.

I can't presume to know what the good Lord means when he does anything in this world. Hell, I spend most my time trying to decide whether or not he's up and left it. All I know is that there's a whole bunch of evil in me and that mama saw it right from the get go. Son, she'd say, but do you have the devil in you and how. She ain't mean to say that I was full of mischief like most boys are. I wasn't. Point of fact, I reckon anyone would be hard pressed to say I was much trouble when I was young. I was always quiet. Damned quiet. It ain't that I was some great thinker, neither. School never did interest me much.

I just didn't have much to say.

But mama was always good at feeling out people. She saw in me a hole the size of the great state of Texas and knew I'd never get around to filling it. I think it broke her heart but she never let me see that it did. She just wrapped me up in hugs like a mama should and tell me that I was a good boy even when she didn't really think that I was. That's something in a mother that I could never rightly understand. How can someone who knows your heart better than you do lie to themselves about it so well?

Ain't nobody going to read this that is going to understand what it is to have evil in them. It's not something that you can explain. The Good Book don't do much of a judge, neither, so I reckon nobody else could. It says first that we're all created in God's image. Then it says that sin was born from temptation. I ain't ever think much of that until I was grown. I'd look out across the plain and pet the horse as it shifted beneath me and think to myself that it was funny we was even tempted at all. It made me wonder if God himself was tempted to do evil from time to time. Made me wonder if there really was an evil then if God could do it. It's a sad thought to think that all the evil in this world isn't evil at all but just how we were made.

I used to think what kind of evil God would do. The Old Testament has all kinds of awful things in it. God himself does most of it. Hell, he drowned the whole world just because he was cross with us. That don't make much sense at all. It's like with the right justification anything can be made Godly. The entire thing has always turned around in my head, churning like a wagon wheel on a bumpy road, and ain't ever come to enlightenment of any kind.

Not much a point in finding justifications for some of the evil I done. When you're so full of it as I am then you'd just be wasting all your time up. I doubt I could much afford concentrating on tying my shoes if I tried. I'd be too busy thinking up reasons why all my awful wasn't awful at all.

I've killed a few men. Weren't personal most the time. Most of them had it coming but some didn't. I shot a man in Arizona while he played cards because he spent time with a woman that I liked. It ain't a good reason to kill a man and I felt terrible for it. Still do. There are nights I dream of it like I am there all over again. He's laughing and playing some seven card one moment and the next I've gone and shot him in the back of the head with my revolver. He's slumped forward all funny with both elbows rigid on the table. Might look like he is praying if it weren't for his hair smoking up like it was.

Evil or not, it ain't easy to kill a man let alone one that ain't done nothing.

You ain't likely to want to hear about my thoughts on life or myself. That much I know. The story you're like to read is mine and I wanted you to know that. I'm letting a friend of Sarah's do all the writing because I was never the best with my letters. I ain't the worst. Know that. This story is mine, though, and you'll be reading her words.

The thing about an early morning snow is that it don't last long. A few minutes of it is all I've ever seen at once. The wind, an old mule deer, or something comes along in the end and wipes it out. It churns up the flawless harmony of nature and keeps it special by keeping it brief. I swear; there are moments i look out on that snow and still feel the hope that I'll be better one day.

Mostly, though, I just try and soak it up before it's gone. You ain't ever gonna know when the Good Lord is gonna come down and help you find your way to the gates.

 

[RainingHeat]

She allowed herself a quivering, deep breath as the kiss parted, lips separating, fleeting, she not wanting it to end. As the distance grew between them, really a mere hair's breath, but she felt it was much further, her fingers loosed, and the soft palms of her hands glide over his strong shoulders and away, yet one hand is captured, within his. Palm to palm, small within larger.

"You're beautiful tonight."

The words warmed her. She had been called such before. But his words rang with a genuine feeling. Not the shallow that often came from men seeking only one thing. That was not him, those words belonged to him and he shared them with her. It was not meant to garner sex from her, it was not meant to seek favor from her. It was, his words to her, a feeling, a gift, one she accepted, with the most gentle and genuine of smiles, the blush coloring her cheeks, but moreso, the gleam in her eyes that betrayed how those words made her feel. Truely beautiful.

"I... could say the same of you " Was that a strange thing to say to a man? Not in this case. She spoke of his soul, of the light in his eyes, of his love for Agatha and Rusher and all the other animals that called that Barn home.

Rain followed him as he guided her within. Past the stalls, all meticulously clean, the bales of hay, even some discarded small white flowers, seeming imperfect in some way. This place truely was as beautiful to her as the soul of the man who designed and built it.
And she was more than happy that he would allow her within, on his terms always, of course.

The stairs beckoned, narrow, leading upwards. Rain did not know where this would end this night. Would it end in his bed? Perhaps. Would it end with just a drink, conversation? Again perhaps. Either, to be honest, was ok with her. She wanted to know more of the man who called himself Ice. She would not pepper Cait with questions. She would let him divulge what he desired to her, himself, in his own time, just as she, perhaps, would divulge more of herself. Not that her life was all that interesting. She got the feeling that his, was much more so.

Her own consisted of living in the East, for a good portion of her life. A Father who did not care. A mother who struggled to raise her. She the only child. She learned then that being alone was not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. Better to be alone than to be with the wrong person for the wrong reasons. How has she ended up here? A friend of Cait, occupying a room at her Mansion. Just circumstances. The need to get away, to find a bit of adventure perhaps, to spark her endless imagination. And it was here that she found it.

And even more so, with him.

 

[Light Ice]

He made her lead upon the stair and did not conceal the reason. The subtle sway of her hips, rounded cheeks shaped by her stride, was an appeal that he was too earthy to deny himself. There were a million small pleasures to be found around a beautiful woman. Her shape, her movement, was a fluid contrast to the purposeful length of his own. It worked as a foil. A reminder. It grounded him with base wants and baser desires he was not built to deny himself.

For now, just now, he managed. Each stride lead them upward. The iron hand-rail passed beneath his rough hand. It seemed to chase her own. Each time she put it down to gather a stride his was nearly ontop of it. A game. Tension, expressed between them in the form of slim distance, mounted with each second and multiplied the pressure as it came. He felt the need to reach for her now.

She'd find him less a mystery than she might hope. He was not so complicated a man. The elements of his life were filed and compartmentalized in a particular way. They were assigned values and principles, rules. He followed them. The structure was inherent to who he was and what he was and removed nearly all the mystique that people here had seen fit to assign to him.

In the mornings he lifted and in the evenings he ran. Work, and his animals, dominated everything between. There was very little space for more and he'd constructed his life to intentionally be so. Women, for as much as he loved and appreciated them, came with complications he was ill-equipped to handle. The women he had made happiest in his life had come with expirations. It'd been an accepted arrangement.

He'd filled a role.

There had been more ambiguity in this regard. For the better part of the last few years, really, things had been different.

But he hadn't changed.

He wasn't sure he was able.

They reached the landing at the stair's crest and he leaned into her. All at once, erasing thoughts, the feel of her against his chest ripped through him and shot starbursts of sensation arcing through his body. She was so terribly small against him. He'd never been a bulky man. The strength in his body came on a rangy platform. The power composed of lean muscle stacked atop lean muscle until he'd a corded, sinuously strong measure. Just over six feet, but blessed with broad shoulders, he'd a way of looking bigger than he was. His dad's genetics. His grandfather's, more so. The latter had been a strikingly handsome man by all accounts.

He was less so.

It didn't matter.

What mattered is that she indulged in the feel of him, seemed as drawn as he was to the way they wound together. The length of his prick surged, heavy and hard, as her rounded backside found his crotch. It took everything not to roll his hips forward. Everything, absolutely everything, to reach around her and push open the door.

Within, beyond a quaint mud-room, was a spartan living area to the right and a kitchen to the left. His was a life so frequently built in efficiency. The cleanliness, however, was not there. It looked as though a terrible storm had raged through the entirety of the place. Laundry, clean, strewn in all directions. Magazines, printed papers, seemed wind-swept throughout the apartment. The kitchen was unscathed save an empty six pack upon the counter and a lonely, unrinsed tumbler beside the sink.

There was no apology made. He wasn't sorry. Things, for whatever reason, had taken a harder turn in his life and he'd his own ways of negotiating them. For all his simplicities there was a part of him that lived creative. It, a monster, fed on moments when life's glass window was open and the entirety of experience was upon him. He poured these things out to words and read voraciously. He worked perilously hard. The result was a mess. It suited him.

It most likely would not suit anyone else.

 

[RainingHeat]

She slowly made her way up the stairs, one step at a time, her hips swaying, the skirt playing along her backside, against the supple, smooth skin of her thighs. She certainly could feel his gaze upon her, it was heated, intense, a serpent almost that wanted to perhaps possess her, and in the least, pleasure himself with her. The offering of the apple, from the serpent to Eve, the offer of unimaginable pleasure, leaving her breathless, panting, begging for more. Had Eve begged? Perhaps she had. Would she? Perhaps she would? Would the apple of pleasure be offered?

Upon the crest, they paused and he leaned into her. With a soft sigh, she let her slender frame come to rest back against his. She loved the feel of his strength, the muscles of his chest, his torso, not bulky, not overdone, she felt an understated power, of a man that had control of his body, a restrained feral cat perhaps, or wolf, a hunter, a predator, lean, strong, in command. She herself, lithe, sleek, she was not weak, not in strength, not of mind. Her intelligence shone in her eyes, her beauty... perhaps in her voice, the touch of her hand, the long mane of dark nearly ebon hair that spilled down her back. Her mother had been stunning, many had said. She had certainly inherited some of that stunning quality.

The curve of her backside, so easily felt beneath the softness, the flimsy, the whisp of a black skirt that she was wearing, glide seductively against the arousal she felt in him. The cotton clad cheeks, silken soft even beneath the black, rolling ever so slightly. Had she done that on purpose? Or had it been near instinct, evidenced by her gentle hissing in of her breath. She could feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his core, so close to her own.

When he reached around her, she let the softest of moans escape her lips. Him being so close, it was not something she could control.

The door opened and they stepped in.

Rain had to smile. The apartment was, well, it felt so very him. She could see his influence everywhere, just as she had in the Barn below. Did she know him that well, not yet, but the apartment was just an extension of the design below. And she knew he had meticulously designed that Barn... as well as here.

The clutter, papers, the clean clothes, it bothered her not that it was strewn everywhere. The apartment dripped in comfort, in the fact that it was lived in, and that the person who lived there was a man that was perhaps comfortable with himself? Perhaps a man who at least knew who he was and pulled no punches on how he treated others. Truth, both in action and words, she had learned that during the wild horse back ride they had taken. She has no reason to think otherwise now, in seeing his place. It was just another little crack of a window she could maybe peer in to learn more about him, to foster a friendship.

The apartment suited him, almost perfectly. At least that was what she thought.

What she especially liked was the windows, set to allow the sun, or star.. light in.

But it was not the rooms, or the lived in mess, or the windows that showcased the light that interested Rain. It was him.

She turned, to look up at him as the door closed behind. "So quiet, so private" she softly said as she stepped closer, letting the svelte curves of her body brush tantalizingly against his, she lifting her head, moist pink lips so close to his as she spoke, her breath warm, tickling, "I love that you can hear the horses downstairs, Rusher, Grace...." Rain let her eyes close as she kissed him then, her touch so delicate, yet with an underlying heat that he so easily awakened in her.

 

[Light Ice]

He'd patience now. Barely. It came and went. There'd be moments when she'd find the demand in his hands unrelenting. Unyielding. Affording, even when it was necessary, no excuse. But now, just now, she'd find his lips soft and light and comfortably settled against her own in a kiss that played with a sweetness so often unbecoming of him. He was, if anything, aware of her. The hardness she inspired now was a torrid and turgid thing against his thigh. It moved, and flex, and lived on its own and for her. Straining, haplessly, against the fabric that bound it as though it'd leap to her. Enough that if her lips, so perfect against his, were to try and capture him they'd strain against the girth and her little fingers could grasp him with plenty of space between.

Heavy a burden as it was, he moved as though it were naught. Departing her, not to rebuff but to invite, he moved further into the dwelling that'd become as much a home as anything could be.

There wasn't really a place he could call home. Nothing ever felt right. His was a roaming and restless way that was more oft scamp and scoundrel. She was so slight and so small in the faint and dying light of the sunset that he was half-surprised a stiff breeze wouldn't send her tumbling through the room. He could imagine her as a girl, young, when she'd be like a filly with long legs and arms and awkward juvenile angles. Cute, intent, and then suddenly the years would lay on and she'd grow and those angles would find curves layered over them and lean muscle and silk skin and the lissome shape of sexuality that she possessed now would be free the uncertainty of those formative years.

She was beautiful.

And he felt her.

Even as he rounded past into the kitchen and a half-wall lay between them he felt her. It was in every stride and step and every movement through the hap-hazardly arranged confines of his living space. He lived like a rogue, with drinks everywhere and class nowhere. It was the mad, cluttered but homey ruin of a writer and a scamp. If a lion had lived here it'd much likely looked the same.

There were two glasses. They were clean. He poured her a much smaller helping of the gin he gave himself and half-slid the glass across the table towards the end nearest her. Then, shamelessly taking her in with his eyes once more, he began to depart further into the place that was his. Lights, recessed and sharp, were left off. His T-shirt she'd find left in the hall if she followed. And if she was fast enough she'd watch him peel it from the rugged stretch of his broad back and drop it where it lay.

The bedroom lay beyond.

 

[RainingHeat]

It was strange, but she liked that the kiss was soft, gentle, a brush of lips to on another. There was a gentle side to the gruff man who worked the stables, who rode hard, perhaps played even harder. She Rain got the feeling she had just seen a glimpse of that gentle side.

She followed him deeper into his lair, one may call it. Rain liked the open layout, liked the strewn of clothing, the papers scattered. It looked lived in. Comfortable. That was how she felt, when around him. Comfortable. She had felt that the first time they met, down in the stables, just before that wild ride. A wild ride in more ways than one. But then again, it never would have gotten as far as it had with him, that day, if she had not felt comfortable with him.

She was gazing out the large windows to the stars that were just beginning to dot the evening sky, when the sound of glass whooshing across the wooden surface of the table caught her attention. She was quick, the glass coming to rest in her small hand. She nodded her thanks, taking a sip. Gin. She was not a connoisseur of gin. Her preferred drink was whiskey, Jack to be exact. But this tasted just delicious...another sip taken as she turned her eyes to him once more. She had felt his gaze, it was serpentine, caressing, seductive.

He was again moving, she following. He was a man of few words, and Rain was ok with that. It was one of the reasons she felt so comfortable around him.

Her own eyes widened and glittered as the tee shirt he had been wearing was slickly peeled from his form, a smooth motion, over his head and lightly dropped to rest at the entrance to the bedroom. Rain followed, stepping within. The glass set down, a flash of red as her tank top glides upwards, her own motion was more supple this his had been, sleek, as the tank is slipped free and joins the white of his tee upon the floor. This particular day, there had been no need of a bra, so she stood as bared to the waist as he was. His powerful chest bared, the curve of her breasts, tipped with dark nipples, reacting to the new kiss of air that now ran across then, bared.

She smiled as she watched his eyes roam over her, liking the feel of his gaze, almost as much as she liked the feel of his hands. Slowly, Rain approached him, her hips swaying gently beneath the black skirt that danced, fluttered every so subtly along sleek thighs, over the curve of her smooth backside. The dark tendrils of her long mane playfully fall forward, to curl over the swell of breasts, tickle over those peaked nipples...

 

[Light Ice]

The quiet had swallowed them when they'd come through the door. Dim light, filtering through windows, turned hazy and weak against the hardwood. Slivers of it reached and ran across her soft belly and the youthful, full curve of her breasts. He looked on as he always had. Unashamed. The nature of his appreciation born entirely masculine and sharpened with the easy beauty before him. It was effortless. The sway of dark hair across bared shoulders. The girlish taper of her little legs as they stretched out beneath the gauzy folds of her skirt. He reached and she was there. The glide of her skin under his fingers drawing his chin to dip so his eyes could roam intently over her. The call of her eyes forcing his own to lift and find her smoky gaze in the hazy light.

It didn't occur to him to kiss her. Those moments pulled strings his body didn't ignore. Instead, nature beckoned him to drag rough fingers across the sides of her little ribcage. She was a terribly dainty thing in comparison. The contrast was bold and certain. They'd not the time or the means to explore how they'd fit together. She'd not be leaving him tonight. She'd sleep against him beneath jersey sheets and they'd find the way their bodies locked together. Even now, as his thumbs hooked the band of her skirt, he imagined those rounded hips locked against him and the gorgeous stretch of her legs coiled with his own.

Secret, softer thoughts that didn't have a revealing glint in the hazel of his eyes. Instead, as the black fabric passed the flair of her hipline and began to plummet into a pile at her little feet, desire raged there with growing intensity. It reeled up in him, tearing at his restraint, harbored only in the most base of means with pure and unrelenting will. He was oft like this with her. Barely contained. Dangerous.

His hands ran over her with deft purpose. One, gliding up her belly, found her breast in his palm and weighed it. The coarse pad of his thumb gliding over a peaked nipple, teasing dark and tightened flesh, until it pebbled and she shivered gently against his hands. Sensation was an unforgiving thing. Their breathing changed together. His own turned ragged and he bowed, great and strong, to lay his forehead against her own and look at the curve of her lips while his other hand sought the tops of her thighs.

There was no rush now. It'd come later sure as the moon and the dark and the stars. For now there was only the feel of her skin giving way to a tiny, flimsy elastic band at the arch of her hip. Dark, soft fabric below that spilled warmth from the sex beneath it. His fingers plunged and stroked with a feather's caress across her panties, feeling the dampening petals of her sex through slowly soaking material. The promise of honeyed girl cum dripping out to meet each touch that glided over her. Pressure, mostly light pressure, strumming upwards to the crest where her little clit hid within its hood. Blind, or not, his fingers new where to find it. To glide circles across it. Denying, really, the grind or push that would bring her more than a whisper of pleasure.

Here was the man teasing. Exploring.

And only the kiss that followed spoke of claiming.

For now.

 

[RainingHeat]

He reached and she was there.

Stepping within his touch. Of his hands, fingers. Of his eyes, the gaze heated, warm against her skin. She watched him, as he drank her in, her eyes never leaving his, following as he moved over every curve, slide along soft flesh, paused at a heated peak, as if learning her, the trails, the roads, the pathways to her, a map that he forged perhaps in his head, in his mind, with is eyes, with his fingertips. When his eyes found hers, she delved within. Her own gleaming, dusky with her want, her need, the arousal that showed deep within her mind, not just her body.

Arousal was so much more potent, powerful, when it was one's mind that fueled it, as hers did now. Everything about him warmed her. Everything about him excited her. Everything about him comforted her. Everything about him aroused her. From his quiet ways, to his rough fingers, to his chiseled chest, lean hips, powerful legs, strong hands, possessive grip. His eyes, his crooked smile that she had caught a glimpse of when he called Agatha and caught her mid jump.

Her own silken soft fingertips found his bare skin, bare chest, trailing lightly downwards, feeling the strength, the skin, the heart that beat beneath. She felt his hands, at the band of her skirt, felt the flutter, over the curve of hip and ass, to softly sift downwards, a silken black softness that now rested at her feet. She was quite the site, bared save for her black panties, and leather boots. During it all, eyes remained locked, as if entwined within a passionate embrace.

A glide of hand, touching flesh, caressing skin, cupping, the curve of a weighted breast. Her hiss of breath actually closing her eyes for a moment, breaking that intimate contact, only to flutter open again to the touch of forehead to forehead, a closer contact for their gaze.. Peaked nipple responding, both do in reality, warming, swelling, aroused.

The wetness found, by fingers of his other hand. A soft shudder, her breath and his, together, even as she allows a low moan to pass her quivering lips. A reaction, a slight roll of hips to those fingers, to that caress, moist cotton wetting those lengths, along his palm. He played her, like a fine instrument, all the while holding her steady with nothing more this his eyes...

and his kiss, lips needing to meet, hungered, urgent. Tongues entwining, seeking to delve, learn, the depths of the other one's mouth. Yet he still held her steady, eyes... lips... steady....

Steady... except for her hands, which even now, had found his taut belly, silken fingertips lowering.. jeans button opened, the delicate sound of a zipper. The jeans were not removed, she would not break contact with his gaze to think of pushing them down. One small hand slips within, his hardness apparent, alive, pulsing. She presses her palm against him, feeling the length, the thickness.

The kiss parting, a breathy whisper... eyes still locked in his.

"I want to taste you... please..."