The Weight of Rain (40 page)

King’s lips are leaving hot paths along my jaw and down my neck that I can’t reciprocate because my mouth is level with his forehead. I’m considering ways to convince him to set me down that won’t require words, when his hands shift, one running a teasing trail up my spine and stopping on the clasp of my bra. His mouth doesn’t leave my skin, licking, sucking, tasting as his fingers deftly release the clasp in a single motion. The magenta fabric slides down my arms, resting in the crook of my elbows. His tongue traces a line to the hollow of my collarbone, sending my heels to dig into his sides and my head to draw back. King’s hand rests on the bare space between my shoulder blades, and as his teeth graze over the tender skin that follows my collarbone. His hand slides down my shoulder, taking the strap of my bra with it so it hangs from just my right wrist, and his palm covers my breast, lifting the weight and compressing as his fingers glide back down to my nipple, and run over the sensitized peak with just enough pressure to make my thighs constrict.

“There you go, baby. That’s my girl.” His words are quiet and throaty, and his lips tickle the bottom of my ear as they’re spoken before he slowly runs his teeth along the same area. His fingers compress more tightly, tugging on the tips of my nipples as his teeth catch the very edge of my skin, creating a sensation I didn’t know my earlobe could produce. My hands run up through his finger-length hair, my nails lightly scratching his scalp, pulling him closer to me. I want King to do that to every inch of me.

His hand returns to my back and his lips to my neck, distracting me from the fact that we’re moving until he’s laying me against a down-feather comforter that sinks under my weight. King slowly stands, pulling my bra completely free and discarding it somewhere in the dark room. I can barely see his silhouette, let alone his expression, as his fingers brush from my shoulders, over my breasts, and along my stomach, to the elastic bands of my sweats and underwear. I can’t recall which pair I wore today, but it doesn’t matter. They, along with my pants, are gone with a second that stretches as King’s hands push them down while his palms glide down the outside of both of my legs, continuing all the way to my toes. His hands create a new path on their way up, gliding over the tops of my legs, over my stomach, and slowly over my chest before coming back down, where his hands trail the insides of my legs. My hips lift inadvertently with his touch. King’s hands stop on the inside of my thighs, his fingers massaging the skin as he hums a quiet approval and drops his head to kiss me. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Every. Inch. Don’t hide from me, Lo.” His fingers slide up, running along the area where I am now in need of his touch. My hips lift again, a quiet gasp breaking through my lips with relief and desire. Too quickly, his hands fall back to my thighs and continue their journey to my ankles, returning along the underside of my legs and clenching both butt cheeks before moving around to my stomach and tracing up along my breasts. This time, he doesn’t continue up to my neck; he kneads both nipples with enough pressure I’m confused if it hurts or feels like nirvana.

My breaths come out shallow and uneven as he applies more pressure, my body writhing under his touch. He stops, and my throat groans with protest.

“King.” I mean for his name to serve as a warning. A threat that he can’t stop at this point because I feel the buildup like a punch to my stomach.

“I remember that sound,” he whispers, his lips sliding along my jaw. “You’re almost there.”

“Then why did you stop—”

King’s mouth moves to the apex of my legs, his tongue meeting the promises he made to my mouth as he massages every nerve ending with his tongue. My hands fist the comforter, my hips lifting off the mattress, pressing against him. His movements are slow, rhythmically moving higher and higher until he’s kissing my stomach.

I hear him pull his nightstand drawer out and wrap my hand around his arm stretched forward. “I’m still on the pill, and I haven’t slept with anyone but you since…”

King’s head drops and his teeth connect with my thigh. “God I’m glad I wrecked you as badly as you did me.” He stands up, spreading my legs, and I stop.

“Do you have a lamp?”

“What?”

“I want to see you. I want to be able to draw this.”

A small stained glass lamp with milky panels and small dragonflies creates a dim light that allows me to see the bright gleam of lust in King’s eyes, and his hair, tousled by my touch.

He watches me for long seconds, and then drops his hands to either side of me and kisses me. His chest is pressed firmly against mine as his lips move with a reverence and need that I reciprocate. King presses one last kiss to my lips and stands up, linking my legs over each of his arms he pulls me to the edge of the bed and slides into me so slowly, I’m lost between frustration and bliss until he pulls out and does it again at a slightly faster pace. He repeats the movement until I make a guttural sound in my throat, and then King takes me to every edge as he burns new memories and fuses previous ones to this night, making every inch of me feel beautiful and sated as only King can.

“I have known you for only a few months, and already it feels like you know me better than anyone.” Using his finger, he slowly traces my cheekbone.

“You should let more people in.”

I look down as his wide fingers press firmly around my hand. I look back to his face, and his eyes are wide with patience. “It’s not that I keep people out. I can tell twenty other people the same stories that I’ve shared with you, and they still wouldn’t understand.” He lifts his free hand and cups the back of his neck, dropping his head. “This sounds so lame.
I
sound so lame. I’m not saying you’re … I don’t know what we are, Lo. All I know is that six months later, you’re in my head more than ever. Hell, that’s saying something because I didn’t even know who you were for the first two, and I would still feel your skin when I was trying to sleep. I was thinking about what makes you laugh when I was supposed to be working. I didn’t even know you. Something about you just buried itself inside of me. Initially, I thought it was because you didn’t know who I was. You treated me like I was just a normal guy. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized it’s not
something
about you, it’s
everything
.”

T
HE NEXT
morning I stand in the kitchen, surveying the coffeepot. I may not know how to cook many things, or use kitchen gadgets with much success, but coffee I can do. I’ve been an addict since I was eight. Apparently I was either meant to be well over six feet, or it truly doesn’t stunt your growth.

I set the machine to brew as I lean against the counter, appreciating the soreness of my muscles. King and I fell into an exhausted state of euphoria last night, and if I hadn’t been so tempted to draw him this morning, I would have woken him up to do it all over again. Instead, I dressed in his borrowed clothes again and grabbed my bag from upstairs, preparing things in case he was a light sleeper before I made my way back down and sat on the edge of the bed so I could still see him while my hands went to work. I worked for over an hour, until my lids felt heavy and my shoulders ached from slouching, making coffee a necessity.

“Hey.” King rests his cheek against mine. I feel his chest slide against my back, memorizing the heat and friction, the width of him against my frame, before his arm wraps securely around my stomach, overwhelming me with sensations.

“Did I wake you?”

He shakes his head slightly. “No, but I was disappointed you were gone.”

“I needed some fuel.”

“I can help with that. Let’s go back—”

“Is Dad home yet?” Mercedes makes her way into the kitchen, her hair in a million directions and her eyes still blinking with sleep.

King sighs, his hips shifting against me slightly before he moves to stand behind the bar.

“Not yet, but it’s still early,” I say. It still looks gray outside, but I checked the news when I first woke up and reports informed me that crews worked late to clean everything up.

“Want some coffee?” I ask, turning to King.

“Please.” He leans forward on the bar. “Are you the kind that drinks their breakfast?” Curiosity pulls his eyebrows up.

“Not always, but it is what makes me approachable.” He laughs as I pull two mugs down and face him. “How do you like it?”

His eyes turn bright, his lips curving into a smile that makes them nearly even.

“Your coffee,” I say, shaking my head.

King’s lips stay pulled into a smile as silent innuendos pass between us. “Two sugars,” he says finally.

I’m distracted by his silent insinuations, picturing images of him from last night that make my movements feel slow as I reach for the coffeepot. The sound of the front door closing has me turning to the foyer where Isabelle’s now calling out a happy greeting. Her eyes land on me and grow wide with calculation before she smiles again and wanders farther into the kitchen, stopping to hug Mercedes.

“Hey, Isabelle,” King greets her. Rounding the bar, he hugs her and then stands behind me, his hand resting gently on my hip. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I nod absently, not certain if I prefer him being around while she’s here or not. He disappears down the stairs as Isabelle takes a seat next to Mercedes at the bar.

“How are you hanging in there, monkey?”

“I’m going to go try calling Dad again.” Mercedes slides from her chair and looks back once before also disappearing.

“Is she okay?” Isabelle’s tone is filled with a sincere concern that makes me feel worse for not liking her.

“Yeah, the storm last night spooked her, but I’m sure as soon as she talks to Kash she’ll be fine.

“It’s so great you’re getting along so well with the family. It surprised me a little to hear about you and King, but I’m happy he’s happy.”

“They’re a great family.” I feel as though I should say something more profound, or something to verify I’m worthy of their time, as pathetic as that seems. “Would you like some coffee?” I lift the coffeepot in question.

“Sure, that would be great.” I pull down another mug and fill it. “Is that for King?” she asks as I pull the sugar bowl forward.

Arching my eyebrows, I nod.

“He likes brown sugar.”

“In his coffee?” I ask.

She nods with a shy smile that ties my stomach in knots. It exposes secrets, truths about their relationship that, as benign as I know they are, still burn.

I want to find out what else she knows, but the front door opens and Kash and Summer make their way in with rushed movements, showing they’re just as anxious to ensure we’re all safe.

While I would prefer to ride the bus home, King insists on driving me. We sit in silence, one of his hands resting on my thigh while the other drums against the steering wheel. He’s relieved and happy, forcing my interaction with Isabelle to the recesses of my mind.

“I
THOUGHT
we talked about this smiling thing. I’ve only seen you down a couple of times: that first time we met, a few times early on when I knew Mercedes was giving you a run for your money, and now.” Robert’s voice is clear as he calls to me from his porch. I left early, before King got home, because I couldn’t face him. Not today.

“The good news is these downs remind you that you’re living. If life doesn’t offer both good and bad, we’ve lost our reason for existence.” His words replay in my head as he makes his way down the cement steps, his smile widening as I take a couple of steps up his narrow driveway.