cascades of rain and light

Tigriss.

I awoke to the sound of thunder today, and in the moments that followed, I thought of you.

‘If it rains,’ I thought, ‘If the skies open and there is a downpour – I will stay home today and hunt you.’

I want you wet, soaked by the rain.

And I will pin you to the door.

One hand on your wrists, drawing them over your head.

The other brushing wet strands of hair from your neck, touching lightly.

“Here.” I will say.

Your shoulder, shirt drawn aside. “Here.”

The low undercurve of a breast, “And here.”

And then I am kneeling, to draw your shirt up over your hips, breath warm against your skin.

Bared skin is a calling; I continue to name the places I kiss. “Hips,” lips parted, wet and warm. I follow the lines, your pelvic bone, dragging clothing low, followed by the hint of teeth.

Deceptive, how gentle each kiss is, lulling you into a rhythm and pattern of surrender that I learned by listening to your heartbeat.

But the gentleness is a lie, and you know it as my hands expose more. Small kisses turning into small bites, hands that are almost rough as they uncover more skin.

“Thighs,” spoken low enough for you to feel the word, etched against the smooth expanse along your inner thigh. You would think me impatient but for the deliberate cruelty I show in laying each kiss against your rain-slick skin.

Oh, you are too perfect to relinquish.

It would be easier to forget the rain or the wind today than forget how it feels when the heat of your blood rises through your skin.