The oppressive afternoon heat broke as the first heavy drops fell, cool and startling agat sun-warmed skin. A sudden, percussive rhythm began on the tin roof above, a frantic drumming that built into a steady, drenching downpour. He watched her from the doorway, her white cotton dress already clinging transparently to the curve of her back, the dark shadow of her spine a tantalizing path downwards. She turned, her laughter swallowed by the thunderous cascade, her nipples hardening into visible peaks agat the soaked fabric as water streamed from her hair. The air itself grew thick, charged with the petrichor of wet earth and the raw electricity of the storm. He stepped forward, not to shelter, but to join her, his own clothes tantly becoming a second skin as he pulled her close. The chill of the water was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from their bodies, a delicious friction that made her gasp into his mouth. His hands slid over her slick hips, finding the hem of her dress and pushing it upwards, the sound of the wet material a whisper beneath the deluge. In that suspended moment, with the world washed clean and roaring around them, there was only the taste of rain on her lips and the urgent, primal need to feel nothing but skin.
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