The Rhythm of Rain
The Rhythm of Rain
C. L. Scholey
Published by Rogue Phoenix Press
Copyright © 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62420-106-6
Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.
Dedication
I would like to thank Angela for her help and Julie for her encouragement.
Prologue
From the recess of the darkness he watched her. Why on earth she had been named Rain he would never know. She was a tempest; she was a flurry; she was poetry in motion, and she meant absolutely everything in the world to him and more.
The storm crashed around them in the midsummer night. Thunder pounded out a staccato rhythm in sync with his drumming heartbeat. Lightning lit up the sky, zipping across the heavens—a force to be reckoned with—and still Rain danced, unfazed. Her clothing was saturated, as was his. Water plastered her white shirt to her chest, molding across the generous swell of Rain's breasts.
It was the same dance Telor had watched since he was a boy of eight and Rain was four. Ever since she and her grandparents had moved to his "nothing ever happens" little hick town eighteen years ago. Their houses were on a lonely dirt road, side by side, and backed onto a sparsely wooded forest near a small creek. They shared a gravel driveway that veered into a Y at the end.
Telor had seen Rain dancing from his window that first night many years ago—as he had tonight. Her movements over the years had matured with experience to create a story only she could tell, but didn't seem to know.
Telor remained frozen, hypnotized by her movements. Rain was a flurry of freestyle and ballet. She twirled, then dropped and crawled across the grass. Her movements were painstakingly slow. She let her head fall forward as though something were trying to defeat her.
Then determinedly, or perhaps defiantly, grass was ripped from the ground in chunks as she pulled her hands from the sodden earth. She rolled, jumped to her feet, and leaped gracefully in a grand jeté into the air over a stump. Her luscious legs stretched to their limits, one before her, one behind. Landing, Rain then spun in place with a
fouette rond de jambe en tournant.
Around and around she went as the raindrops flew from her as fast as they landed. One deliciously slender foot tucked quickly behind the knee, then down, then up. All the while she whirled in place, making him dizzy as he tried to focus on her beautiful face.
Rain slumped to her hands and knees, remaining motionless for brief seconds while Telor caught his breath from the sidelines. She swung her head right then left in quick succession.
Slowly Rain stood; her body arched forward and went rigid as she let her hands slide sensually up her sides. She was on the move again, faster. She twisted and dropped, then up and spinning. Rain laced her fingers through the long strands of the tall willow tree to her right. Farther ahead she pirouetted. Whirling, turning her feet
a batterie
as they beat together in the air to the sound of thunder.
Telor felt his heart pound in his ears with the storm as Rain became one with the ferocity of the elements. Her movements were best described as
a duende
: Rain wasn't one with the dance—she was the dance. One could almost see rhythm flow through her blood with an undenied force. Making him—
making him
believe in an emotion so powerfully gripping, he went with her on her journey into the unknown…even if it caused his demise with his heart in his throat and his pulse pounding.
Then suddenly down Rain dropped once more and lay still, gasping, her hand to her chest. Telor clutched at his own chest, waiting. His breath caught and held.
Oh God
. Rain's rise to her feet was heartbreaking—a broken ballerina. With her legs shaking she fluttered her hands, but it was hopeless. Telor's eyes always went teary at this part. Her legs buckled and down she went. "Death of a dancer" was what Telor called this dramatic end.
Rain curled into a tiny ball, then emerged and drifted to her feet. It was as though her spirit came to life. Her gaze was mournful as she cast a woeful glance on where her body would be. Arms across her breasts, head bowed, she took tiny, flittering steps away from the scene as though unwilling to leave—but she had to. When she moved forward, she outstretched her hand with hesitance, reaching for something, someone.
Telor finally came out of the shadows. Rain's approach was shy, almost fearful. She spun once, twice, until she was within arm's reach. The first time she had danced those many years ago and he had emerged, she had run away from him. But the storms would draw her back, and back he would go to watch—metal to her magnet. Neither could stay away.
Each time as a small untrusting child Rain had raced from him after her dance…until one day she waited. Standing alone and dripping wet, her tiny chest heaving, her disheveled mop of sodden hair had seemed to weep its tears in trails down her front. As a child of ten Telor hadn't been sure what to do and so he had done nothing, leaving them to stand staring at one another in the pouring rain. The years had passed, and soon enough he offered her shelter in his arms until their passion grew and could be denied no longer.
A streak of lightning illuminated Rain's face. Rain's gaze was striking when it settled on him. As always her emotions were an open page, lost and alone, confused. Her long black hair hung straight down her back almost to her waist. When dry it was a riot of raven curls that begged to be fondled and caressed. Caramel skin dripped with moisture as she moved forward. Her dark chocolate gaze devoured him, and he felt as though he were being dragged into her soul. Rain was the most beautiful woman in the world.
When she reached him they lifted their hands and splayed them together. Her breasts rose and fell with exertion. Telor took her into his arms. Forcefully he pushed her back. The willow strands parted, giving them a safe haven. Back she went against the solid bark of the old tree. For a second they gazed at each other. Hers was the look of innocence…until her eyes flickered with want. Telor loved that intense yearning. There was deep passion in all that his Rain did.
Rain was a head shorter than him. He stood six foot three. She was barefoot standing in the long grass. Telor wore no shirt. He too was barefoot. It was as though they were trapped in a spell of a fairy tale. Both knew what was coming next—they would dance a new story of passion. He lowered his head, and they pressed their lips together in a fiery fervor. Rain clasped her arms around his neck and he lifted her off her feet. She was slim, even for a ballet dancer. But what she lacked in stature she made up for tenfold in stamina.
Everything about Rain was all about the dance and synchronized movement. Choreographed wild lovemaking. The idea made him want to smile, but his mouth was deliciously full of her and busy. Their tongues intertwined and caressed. Telor felt her legs clasp around his waist, trapping him. He could feel her heat through his jeans and he hardened painfully against his zipper.
It was dangerous to take her under the tree during a storm; of all people, Telor would know. He had seen his share of accidents. But he couldn't help himself. With a single twist they were on the wet ground and he was on top of her.
The long willows of the tree whipped around them, parting occasionally to give spooky glimpses of what lay beyond and encouraged them to stay within the shelter. The storm wasn't as fierce beneath the many large branches. Telor fumbled with Rain's jeans. They were plastered to her sodden hips. She wriggled under him, yanking at his open belt.
Telor stripped her shirt off. He wasn't certain where it landed when he tossed it, but it dropped with a splat against something. She wore no bra. Rain was calling his name, begging him to fill her, to cover her. Telor felt the coolness of the soggy ground as his knees sank into the grass. The warmth of her belly pressed against his. When he pierced her heat, she arched her back and cried out. She clung to him, her body moving uniquely with the rhythm of Rain.
Velvety soft smoothness encased his long, hard, hot arousal. Her insides gripped and released him with ecstasy as her writhing body danced for him alone. Everywhere, everything was wet and slick. The nipples under Telor's demanding fingers hardened to pebbles. When he suckled a breast into his mouth it was as cool as the night air and slippery from the downpour. She tasted so amazing he couldn't get enough. His breath warmed her while his teeth razed over the bud. Rain gasped and grabbed his hair.
Telor captured her wrists and held them high over her head with one hand. More powerfully he pressed into her. She moved to meet his thrusts eagerly, almost with impatience. He gripped her bottom with his other hand, holding her in place. His fingers sank deeper into her flesh as he pulled her closer and tightened his hold.
A swift gust of wind sent a spatter of wetness across his back making him shiver, and he swore. Telor tossed his head from side to side, ridding it of moisture. The rain dripped down his cheeks to his lips, dribbling into the sides of his mouth while he panted, taunting him while he had his hands full.
"You can't tame the
Rain
," she teased with double innuendo.
"I can try," Telor countered, his words quick, panting gasps. His hips ground against her with brutal thrusts. She groaned then smiled.
"Then try," she whispered. She clasped him tighter with her long slender legs. "Try
harder
."
Chapter One
"You were out in the storm last night, child."
"Yes, I was, Grams," Rain replied to her grandmother.
Rain took a lusty bite from her bagel. She was always starving after she danced. Exhaustion had claimed her the moment she had entered her room the previous night and she had awoken to the sound of her belly grumbling in anger. Her hunger begged to be satisfied. She continued to attack the bagel, stuffing her cheeks until they bulged. Rain couldn't seem to move her teeth fast enough.
"Did you see Telor?"
The question was casually asked but there was a twinkle in Grams' eye. Grams liked Telor—Papa, Rain's grandfather, not so much. He would always grumble, "Why do you gotta be so hung up on some white boy?" Grams would shush him and remind him that in the tiny town they'd moved to there weren't many of African American descent.
"Yes, I saw him," Rain replied after swallowing half of what was in her mouth.
"He walked you home in the storm?"
"Doesn't he always?"
"He's such a good boy, always so responsible," Grams said with a smile.
"Oh, he's good all right," Rain said under her breath. Just thinking about him made her breasts throb, and an ache between her legs started. A quarter of the other half of her bagel disappeared past her lips. She washed it down with a gulp of skim milk.
"When you two gonna get married?" Grams asked frankly. "It's about time I had a new grandbaby to dandle on my knee."
Rain choked then coughed at Grams' bluntness. She could feel the shutter slip over her eyes, masking her emotions. Rain knew she loved Telor. Her heart and mind ached for the long dark hair, the intense brown eyes. Unfortunately Telor was blond with blue eyes. When they made love it was passionate, and Telor tried so hard to be the tiger she needed. There were just certain times a woman needed a man to be dominant and forceful. But Telor saw pain on a daily basis. He was a firefighter in the city an hour from their small town.
Telor was kind and gentle. "Chivalrous" could describe him best. Put Telor in a knight's costume, minus the sword but with a woman's favor, and that would be him in a nutshell. He was the kind of man who gave mouth-to-mouth to a smoke-filled puppy. He rescued kittens from trees. Rain once saw him save an elderly woman's purse from an open storm drain.