THUNDER AND LIGHTNING
Sommer Marsden

It’s the first flash that wakes me. White-blue light tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. I’m roused before the first rolling boom is heard. It rattles the windows, and I open my eyes.

2:00 a.m. The night is as black as sin until that lightning flares again, reminding me of the sodium-vapor shine of a road flare.

Next to me, Jase snores on.

I climb slowly out of bed, part of me completely paranoid that my movement—my acknowledgment of the storm—will make it fade. That it will flee me and my awareness. It’s silly really, but storms do strange things to me and when they are short or fleeting I’m left disappointed. Often frustrated.

Storms make me feel alive. And wild. They inspire something in me that others find in running or bungee jumping or playing music. My heart beats faster, my awareness expands, my body feels electric as if I’m being juiced by nature herself.

And I get horny.

I stand by the window, one hand planted to the cooling glass. It’s been hot—beyond hot—for weeks now and this is what happens. A cool front forms and slams into the muggy-thick Baltimore night and boom! Literally. The windows rattle once again with a rolling groan of the storm. The lightning forks looking like the spear of some dark god. I press my hand more firmly to the glass square and wait.

My skin tingles, my cunt thumps, my heart ratchets up to flutter and dance. I watch the rain beat the window and the trees. Jase turns in his sleep, snorts once, finds a comfortable spot. And I watch him—his handsome face, prickly with stubble, is painted by the brief and glaring flashes of light.

I drop to my knees and crawl across the carpet, dragging my knees through splashes of light and dark dots painted there by the ambient light from the windows. Every inch closer I get to our bed, the more I want him. The more I want to be with him as the storm rages on. I crawl up over the end of the bed, imagining myself some mythical storm goddess or maybe a panther—something sexy, something fierce. But when I dip my head beneath the blanket and continue my travels, it makes me laugh, this make-believe of mine.

“Whatchadoin?” It all comes out in one word and Jase’s hand finds my head beneath the blanket. Then: “Hey.”

“Hey,” I whisper against his skin. I drag a kiss along the top of his thigh and then over his pubic bone.

“What’s this?” Then he goes still as I drag my teeth lower. His cock has stood up to greet me. He might have a muzzy-headed sleep confusion but his body does not. It’s simply on board no matter what’s causing this interlude.

“Me. Getting off during a storm.”

With that the thunder booms loud enough to make me jump. I feel his large, warm hands steady me by pressing against my shoulders. I take that as a sign to slip the top of his cock into my mouth. To suck. To draw on that sweet, soft place on him that makes me crazy. I drag the satiny flesh along my lower lip and then suck again.

“Are you sure it’s you getting off?”

I’m still under the blanket and he hasn’t drawn it back to look at me, but his hand smoothes along my hair in a comforting motion. I suck him deeper, dragging my lips slowly down the length of his shaft until I feel his cockhead brush the back of my throat. I gag just a little, but I like it. So I do it again.

Jase groans, laughs once as I see the blanket grow lighter with a flash of lightning. He tosses the covers back and eyes me in the gloom. There’s just enough light and my eyes are adjusted just enough that I can see him. Mostly.

“If you keep doing that, Harley, I’m a dead man. I’ll never get to fuck you. You’re sort of—” His words break off when I push myself all the way down, my lips brushing his pubic hair, his cock stuffing my throat.

“Shh, just a bit more,” I plead, gripping him and working my fist up and down his length. His hips arch up to meet me and I suck again, harder this time, hollowing my cheeks with the effort.

“Harl—”

“Shh,” I say again and then I move up over him, walking forward on my knees. He finds the hem of my small sleep shirt and pushes it up. He gets up on his elbows and his mouth dips to kiss my navel, my hip bones. Before I see it coming, he tips me off balance and onto my back. He pins me, kissing me once, licking my lips that have just been on his cock.

“Spread your legs,” he says.

I obey. It doesn’t take much more than simple words from him for me to listen. Outside the thunder rages on, the lightning streaks the sky. His mouth is on me, hot and sweet, in a flat second. The flashes of nature’s rage light the side of his face, accent golden hairs and some silver. Show me the side of his rugged face lit in stark relief. He looks, in that perfect moment, like a hero in a panel of a comic book. All black and white and shades of gray and blue.

His fingers trace the pout of my outer lips, nudge between them, drag relentless and soft over my swollen clit. I clutch at him and he bats my hands away, chuckling. “Stay there, Harley. Stay still.”

His mouth latches on to me and the heat is searing. The feel of his mouth drawing on me causes the thunder to rattle my bones, the lightning to illuminate my soul. I feel magical and with a simple, slow flick of his tongue he gets me off. Fast and hard. I’m that primed.

“Easy date tonight, girl. Is it the late hour or the storm?”

I push him back even as he’s kissing me and have a moment of gratitude that we went to bed with the curtains wide and the blinds up. The storm is a backlight to me straddling him, pushing my wet swollen pussy to his belly and grinding until he grabs my wrists roughly and says, “Enough teasing.”

I laugh and lift up to take him, torturing us both further by running my slippery sex up and back along his shaft with my moving hips. Finally, when my breath is a wild thing lodged in my throat, I push the tip of his cock to my split and ease down. Slowly. Slow enough that I want to scream and one glance at him says Jase’s gritting his teeth in frustration.

He grabs my hips and yanks, plunging me down, filling me up, taking my control and making it his.

There is a silence then. Us and the storm. Everything is still. Everything is in limbo. Then a startling crack splits the silence and we’re moving together. It’s a dance. It’s symbiotic. I try to pin his arms as I lean over to kiss him, grinding my hips as pleasure floods my pelvis. He lets me hold him still long enough to get close, to nearly come for the second time, before he grabs my wrists and reverses the hold. His big arms push my fists down by my undulating hips, holding me there. Keeping me immobile.

I drag my body up and down, up and down, feeling the slip and slide of my clit as I do it. I’m wet, I’m beyond wet actually, like my yard, like my house—I am drenched and Jase notices.

“Super slippery, babe,” he says, finding me with his thumb, even in the murky light. He’s released one of my hands to do it. I steady myself on that trembling arm as he begins short, swift revolutions of his thumb on my clitoris.

“Jas—”

“I know.”

“I’m going to—”

I’m trembling and quaking and as the blue-white electric light of the storm flares, he presses gently and slides his thumb against me once more and I come. Biting my lips, shaking my head, my eyes swimming with tears as I let go for the second time. Taken down and swept under from the pleasure I always get being with him. Sharing with him.

“Shh.” He cups his hand over my mouth, trapping my sounds. He thrusts his hips up good and hard, filling me with wild jabs and every time he does, he hits slick tender places that sing with bliss.

I come again with a cry that is swallowed by a boom of thunder. And it’s only after that third orgasm—“three’s the charm” is what Jase says—that he grabs my hips and holds me steady, thrusting up with a power that makes his belly muscles ripple and his face tense.

When he comes I throw myself forward, kissing him even as he continues to shake. I lick all the good noises of his release off his lips and fall to the side, letting him wrap his arms around me.

“Sorry,” I say, touching the sweat slick on his stomach.

“For what?” We watch the nature-made night-light and the air conditioner cuts on to blow away the heat we’ve just generated.

“For waking you up. You know what they do to me. Thunderboomers.” That’s our name for the storms that shake the windows and “stir up the woman.” Another saying of Jase’s.

“You or the storm would have woken me eventually,” he says, kissing my hand, my hair and then my forehead. “I much prefer it was you.”

I grin in the dark and watch another alien fork of greenish light split the navy-blue sky. The rain is slowing down. It’s getting ready to pass. “God, I love storm season,” I blurt.

“Me too, Harl. Me too.”