“Come on, sweet. Everyone knows this song.” Rita joins in singing “It’s Raining Men” by The Weather Girls. She’s awful, but she’s so dang cute in her red glasses and her work pants while swinging her arms. Her head gets into it as she repeats the words. Her hair starts flying around her face. Her hips join next, and she’s really moving—hands in the air, double clapping. I wrap an arm around her, thrusting my hips at her, matching the repetition in the song, until Rita stumbles against the couch and takes me with her. We fall to the covered cushions.
My phone drops, and the plastic under the drop cloth crinkles. Rita breaks into laughter, and I join her, taking a second to catch our breaths before Rita checks the window. It’s still raining just as hard as it was before.
Slowly, she clears her throat. “Maybe I should check the basement for water.” She quickly stands, and I follow her retreat.
“Sweet,” I quietly say, stopping her by catching her wrist again. She turns to face me.
“Why do you call me that?” I shrug, not wanting to tell her the real reason. Then a surprise lands on my lips. Her mouth has crashed onto mine. Unprepared for the sudden rush, I remain still like a dufus. My brain is slow to catch up, but my body takes over. My lips respond to hers. The rain is our new soundtrack as we stand in the dark living room and kiss.
And Rita can kiss.
This isn’t like that first attempt I made on her. This is a woman who wants something from me. Slowly, I guide her backward until I have us returning to the couch once more with the crinkling plastic and musty drop cloth underneath us.
“This okay?” I whisper to her lips, lingering against mine. Rita doesn’t answer, just continues to kiss me. What I notice as we lay horizontal is how the kiss slows. It’s still heated, still demanding, but something more is happening here as we settle into the tender nips and soft suction of lips on lips. The kiss stays sweet but never-ending, and as far as I’m concerned, it can rain all night.
10
Rita
I’d blame it on the rain, but I can’t. This was all Jake. Jake washing away my bad mood when I can’t even remember why I was out of sorts. Jake making me dance and not making me feel silly about it. Jake kissing me.
I’m pinned to the inside of the couch, my back along the back while Jake cushions me against his chest. Our mouths move as one, but his hands aren’t roaming, and I want him to roam. I want him to travel the topography of my body, so I have an excuse to explore his.
Slowly, he pulls back, brushing at my hair, curling it around my ear. “You okay?” His voice is quiet. I don’t know why he’s asking, but I appreciate it all the same.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, and it’s even sweeter than checking in with me.
His mouth returns to mine, and finally, his hands move. Sliding down the front of me, he cups the swell of one breast, and I arch into his touch. He’s hesitant at first, like a schoolboy on his first feel. Quickly, the pressure increases. He squeezes. He kneads. He pinches my nipple, sharp and ripe under my bra.
Jake breaks the kiss to glance at his movements. His hand slips back to the center, and he gently tugs my blouse upward. Slipping his callused palm underneath the silky material, he touches my skin. I’m still dressed in my work clothes from the day—a pantsuit minus the jacket and my hiking boots. I should feel clumsy, but the care he’s taking to skate up my belly and cover my breast once more makes me feel sexy. He makes me feel alive.
I reach down and unbutton my own shirt, not wanting him to stop what he’s doing. Once the buttons are free, Jake pushes the material back, exposing me to him.
“Purple again?”
“Again?” I question, wondering when he saw me in a purple bra the first time. He doesn’t answer but removes my shirt completely. His fingertips tease over the swell exposed above the silky fabric. He traces along the lacy edge before dipping his fingers into the cup and pinching my nipple hard. His mouth returns to mine, swallowing my shocked gasp as I arch into him once more.