Something In The Rain

Want

His words had barely left his mouth when he stepped closer—and then he kissed me.

Hard.

Not careful or slow or tender. This was weeks of silence breaking open at once. His mouth crashed into mine like it had been waiting too long—angry and hungry and desperate—and I matched it with everything I had.

I grabbed two fistfuls of his hoodie, pulling him into me like I needed to feel every inch of him pressed against me. His hands found my waist, sliding up under my shirt without hesitation, fingers grazing bare skin like he needed to claim it.

The edge of the island dug into my lower back, but I didn't care. All I could feel was him—his mouth, his breath, his body. His tongue swept over mine with zero hesitation, like he was tasting everything I didn't say. And god, I wanted more.

My hips arched into him before I even realized I was doing it.

A low groan tore from his throat.

He pulled away just enough to murmur, voice rough and ragged, "Tell me to stop."

"I won't," I whispered. "I'm not going to."

His lips slammed into mine again, and everything inside me cracked wide open.

I needed him. Not like a whim or a passing ache—but like oxygen, like touch was the only way I'd survive this.

I broke the kiss just long enough to say, "Come with me," and tugged him toward the bedroom.

⸻

The door had barely shut behind us before he had me pressed against it, mouth on my neck, hands everywhere—pulling my shirt up and over my head in one fluid motion.

"You don't know what you've done to me," he muttered against my skin. "You fucking disappeared, Soni. And I couldn't get you out of me."

He kissed down my collarbone, dragging his teeth lightly across it, and I gasped, my back arching. My fingers slid under his hoodie, over his warm, taut stomach. He was solid everywhere, all muscle and tension. I pulled the hoodie off him, tossing it to the side, and took a second to drink him in.

He looked like something I'd made up in a dream—eyes dark and heavy, hair wild, chest rising fast. His desire wasn't gentle. It was a storm.

When he picked me up and laid me on the bed, my sweatpants were gone in seconds. His hand was already between my legs, sliding into my panties, two fingers stroking me like he'd thought about doing this a hundred times in his head.

And maybe he had.

I was already soaked. Embarrassingly wet.

He didn't tease. He pushed his fingers inside me in one smooth, slow thrust, and I nearly came right then. My legs jerked around his wrist.

"Fuck, Tae—"

"I missed the way you sound," he murmured, kissing my throat, his fingers still curling inside me. "The way you fall apart."

"I'm not—" I started, but then his thumb circled my clit and the words died. I was already unraveling, already climbing. My hips rolled shamelessly against his hand, chasing it, needing everything.

"You're close," he whispered. "Don't hold it in."

I didn't.

It tore through me in seconds—hot, fast, loud. My orgasm broke out of me like it had been building for weeks. I cried out his name, shaking beneath him, clutching at his arm as the heat flooded every nerve ending I had.

And then he was stripping off the rest of his clothes, his cock heavy and hard, flushed at the tip. My mouth went dry at the sight of him.

He climbed over me, eyes searching mine.

"You sure?" he asked.

I reached between us and wrapped my hand around him, guiding him to me.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He pushed in slowly, the stretch deep and thick and perfect. My breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut as I took him in inch by inch.

"Open your eyes," he whispered.

I did.

And he was staring right at me—like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to see.

We moved together slowly at first—his strokes deep, languid, possessive. Like he wanted to feel every second of being inside me. His hands gripped my hips, pulled me closer with every thrust, and I swore I could feel him everywhere.

My nails raked down his back. He groaned into my neck, his breath uneven.

"Fucking missed this body," he rasped. "Missed you."

Our rhythm picked up, messier now, harder. He drove into me like he couldn't get close enough, like the space between us offended him. My legs locked around his waist, dragging him deeper, and the sound of our bodies meeting—skin to skin, wet and reckless—filled the room like music.

I kissed him again, desperate and open-mouthed, and he swallowed my moan as I came again—this time pulsing around him while he cursed against my lips.

His thrusts grew ragged, faster, his body tightening.

"Fuck, I'm close—Soni—"

"Don't stop," I begged. "Please."

He groaned into my neck and came hard, hips stuttering, his body pressed flush against mine as he spilled inside me, warm and thick and so fucking real.

⸻

We collapsed into the sheets, limbs tangled, breath ragged. My heart was still hammering in my chest.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

His hand stayed on my thigh, fingertips drawing slow circles on my skin like he couldn't bear to stop touching me.

I stared at the ceiling, the room spinning just slightly, and I didn't feel caged. Not right now. Not with him beside me.

For the first time in what felt like forever—I felt free.