Rain in the Deep Blue Sea
by Frank Lee
As she gripped the iron rail, Rain gazed into the distance and sighed. There was no other color in all of nature exactly like the turquoise sea lapping the salt white sand below. There was no other color like satin bronze skin or long, raven hair glinting bluish in the tropical sun. In only the bottom half of a strikingly scant, red string bikini, she felt svelte and powerful.
"Today belongs to me," she whispered. "Every luxurious second will be mine. I know. I feel it."
Warm light and a gentle breeze caressed her hardening nipples. She reached up to cup the soft swells of her naked breasts, firmly kneading the tender mounds. She didn't care about the occasional beachcomber looking up to see her. Her mind was spinning with thoughts of Cole, knowing he was just above, watching her from the rooftop terrace.
She felt the searching touch of his eyes as strongly as the gentle lick of tropical breeze and sun across her skin. Every nerve and pore felt so alive. She could almost feel every strand of the silken cascade of hair flowing to the low curve of her graceful spine. Every time his eyes lit on her, it felt like the cells in her flesh were dancing.
I know you're watching, she told him in the cool silence of her mind. Her nipples began to ache under the groping clutch of her own hands. She pinched them hard – and then a little harder – as if the pressure of her fingers sent the sensation emanating through her lithe body.
Did you know I could see you last night? Standing almost where you are right now? And that the moon was full and lighting up your naked body like the living sculpture of a man in lust?"
Did you know I could see the way your hand was moving along your big, hard cock? It looked so long and thick and ripe. I know it was made for me. Or maybe I was made for it. For you. And did you know I couldn't help moving my tongue over my lips to imagine the hot taste of your flesh? Did you know it made my pampered pussy ache until my clit was swollen and swimming in a river of my body's own honey?
Only my head and shoulders were above the opening to the roof terrace as I stood on the spiral stair. You could have turned and seen me, but you wouldn't have seen my hand sliding inside my panties to feel my slit. You would've seen me suck my fingers, but would you ever guess the sweetness I was tasting?
I could hear you growl my name as I watched your body tense and your cock erupt in hot, wet spasms of pleasure.
Did you know that, my love?
She'd barely been able to sleep after watching him cum. She'd spent half the night twisting under light sheets. Her hands never seemed to let up in their clawing search to stroke away the hunger that simmered inside her. She rubbed and stroked and probed her flowing pussy until her fingers and thighs were smeared. Somewhere in the middle of it all, she reached for the hard plastic toy in the nightstand drawer by her bed.
But nothing had helped, and Rain knew there was only one true answer to the question her body was asking.
Her right hand slowly slipped downward, gently touching the edge of the scant bikini. The barest suggestion of a touch was enough to send ripples of desire through her pouting mound. Such a simple gesture it would be to slip her fingers under the fabric and grind them against the smooth flesh begging to be touched. And then to simply turn and face him. To let him watch her as she'd watched him.
When she finally took a deep breath and turned, putting her thoughts into action, he was already gone.
He was wandering down the beach, just at the lip where the sand was wet. He was halfway to hell with an image of heaven in mind. The way she looked by the rail on the balcony below as he watched from the edge of the roof terrace put the strain of familiar music in his mind. Her limbs were supple and lithe as saplings bowing to the weight of their own fruit. She was like a single, fluid braid of flesh and sinew.
The beach was modestly populated. Luscious, sun drenched bodies lay nearly in his path every few yards, but nothing could tear the vision of Rain from his mind. She'd walked in and sat down in that empty space inside him the moment she arrived.
He'd barely remembered she even existed until a few weeks before when she'd called. He'd thought it was a senseless prank at first, but there was no one he could think of who would bother playing that kind of trick on him. And then, there was that tone in her voice. Even hearing her voice out of the blue for the first time, there was a weight behind her words he trusted.
It had seemed a dozen lifetimes ago when he knew her mother. They'd been friends. Even now, Cole was in conflict over his feelings for Sahn. They'd spent nearly every day together of the three years he'd lived in her city.
He'd never felt as close to any woman, and yet they'd never so much as kissed. It hadn't been for not wanting to, but Sahn was a whore and Cole had sworn to himself he would never have her as a client. As for Sahn, she kept her own distance, ironically, because she never believed Cole had the ability to be faithful.
The day he left her country behind, he saw her from the taxi. She was standing on the street in front of the parlor where she worked, waiting for potential clients to walk by. Cole knew she'd spotted him in the back of the tuk tuk, but looked away, pretending she hadn't. He remembered looking down at his feet and staring to cry.
Rain had asked for nothing but to meet him. Her mother had died several months before. She'd always told Rain if anything drastic ever happened she should contact Cole. He'd been surprised by that, although his surprise had given way to a dull, pervasive grief.
The moment Rain rolled her suitcase through the arrival terminal doors three weeks ago it felt like his molecules had been suddenly rearranged. And now it seemed there was nothing he could do to get them back where they belonged.
When he spotted her in front of the terminal, it never occurred to him she was the young woman he'd spoken to on the phone. She struck him for every other reason in the book, in that rare, memorable way a woman can cross the path of a man who's paying attention. Then she walked up to him with a smile.
"You must be Cole," she'd said, recognizing the red shirt he said he'd wear. She'd cocked her head and smiled, looking up and studying his face like she was seeing something more than was there.
The woman he'd seen before she uttered those words refused to leave his cells in peace. He'd smiled back, and felt the gathering push and pull between logic and desire. She stood before him for the first time, part stranger, part temptress, part mystery.
He did something he'd never done to anyone he'd only just met and touched her face. It bore prominent strains of her mother's Asian features along with a mixture of the rest of the world. His thumb lightly brushed the edge of her supple mouth, and a shared understanding settled in the space between them.
She'd come across a hundred-something time zones to the one place she had always belonged. Even before moving into his house, she was moving into the regions of his brain that send electricity and blood to the body.
"Let's go home," was all he could think of to say.
Maybe his sanity was dissipating. Then again, maybe it wasn't crazy to notice how she could make simple movements around the house seem like she was dancing with the cosmos.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
So now he was stuck with this music in his head serenading the images splashed across the walls of his mind. He looked down at his feet pocking the sand, but he saw her standing at the rail cupping her naked breasts in her hands. He looked at the horizon, but saw her walk into the kitchen in a pair of cheap, street market panties.
He could hear her laugh like falling jewels when she caught him looking at her the way a man looks at a necessary woman.
He passed a couple who were arguing about something and wanted to rush up to them and scold them for missing the point. He could hear himself telling them the sweetest thing you could ever do was breathe this air that was too warm and too humid and that they were lying in front of a warm sea that would wash away the poison.
But when he heard the saccharine foolishness of his own thoughts he laughed out loud and started dancing to the music of Rain walking through his mind. He half danced half walked his way further down. The few people who bothered noticing him either smiled or looked at him like he'd gone insane.
"Somewhere in the middle of all that is the truth of what she has made me," he told himself.
Then he stopped, finding himself at the far end of the long beach where, far from the center of the village, the usually sparse scattering of sunbathers often chose to lie naked. It's where he normally went to lie in the sun until Rain had arrived. He sat down where the water barely lapped his feet, slowly burying them a little deeper in the sand with the sweep of each lazy wave.
He looked at his sandy, wet feet and thought of the night before, when he'd been sitting in a chair near the balcony doors. She'd walked in carrying a basin of warm water. In it were a wash cloth and a plastic bottle of scented oil, but what he noticed first were the quiver of her naked breasts and soft flexing of her thighs as she approached in nothing but a black thong that barely contained the swelling pout of her pussy.
Without speaking, she'd knelt in front of his chair and started washing his feet. He started to protest, but she hushed him. He started to tell her she lived in a different world now and was servant to no man, but she hushed him even more sharply. He started to remind her her mothe...