Thunderstorms have been rumbling their way through Michigan over the last week, a sure sign of spring, with all the theatrics of Mother Earth announcing its imminent arrival. Spring couldn't get here soon enough to suit me, but that's another story.
I love a good noisy storm...and I'm not talking about the kind that wreck a heap of devastation in their wake. Just the average garden variety of thunderstorm... electricity in the air, huge booming sounds and bursts of light. Even the small ones seem to be announcing a monumental event. There's a bit of mystery about a storm, too, a prickly feeling that heightens all the senses, and a little (if not a lot) of fear. It's the kind of excitement that stirs passions, and there's nothing quite like making love during a thunderstorm. I recall years ago when Ken and I were young, getting caught at the lake in his grandfather's cabin as a summer storm moved through. There was nothing to do but ride it out...and what better place than atop the cabin's big brass bed...as the sky darkened until it almost seemed like night, and the thunder roared, the lightning split the air and the rain came down in sheets against the windows. It was an afternoon I'll not forget, not without a smile of fond remembrance and a tickle of arousal as memory brings the eroticism back to me.
It's no wonder that thunderstorms often work their way into my fiction. This week, as I was editing my novel Jocelyn & Alexandra for its impending re-release, the very first scene in the book took me back to that afternoon in the cabin. Though the characters and circumstances I wrote about were very different from that day, that particular thunderstorm feeling was the inspiration for that scene.
From Jocelyn & Alexandra
Too humid a night to sleep, Alex climbed out of bed while Will remained sleeping—he could sleep through a hurricane. There must have been a storm about to burst from the heavens the way the wind whipped the hanging plants on the patio. Walking into the midst of that murky darkness, Alex let the brisk gusts of air rip though her long blonde hair, tossing it about her face. Her silk chemise billowed, the breeze lifting it above her thighs. The atmosphere, so prickly from the impending glut of thunder and rain, produced a present rawness between her legs, as if she was on the verge of something, an anxious brew of sexual heat and chaos building rapidly.
Was it just the night, or was it something spookier, like a premonition? Were her stirrings just the foolish meandering of thoughts and pent-up need taking her on the dreaded but familiar paths of sex?
She could think for just a second and see the blinking pink flamingo and the naughty fantasies that drove her to Will and Reggie, and now to what? How easily she created sexual theatrics. As much as her mind and better judgment knew that it was dangerous to be creating anything raunchy now, she was diving deep into all the darkest places where the wild things reigned.
In the distance there was lightning, and the rumbling thunder, and then voices—ones that played in her head, and then another, one reaching into her psyche almost unnoticed until she suddenly sensed another presence on the patio.
“Raise your arms,” it whispered to her.
She complied with her slender arms rising above her head, and either by the wind itself or some unseen hands, the chemise vanished and she presented her naked self to the tempest of a night.
“Your arms behind you,” the voice continued. As she obeyed its command, her hands were clutched by strong masculine ones and bound together with something soft, though softness didn’t alter the fact that she was imprisoned.
The agitation between her thighs changed to warmth, the sensations thus channeled rose up in her, sending lightning strikes into her interior, as sharp and brief and savage as the spears of light that played across the threatening sky. She winced with pain, feeling a sharp sting on her bottom, another and another and then a fierce burn crescendoed. Thrust to the chaise lounge a step away, her shoulders were pressed to the cushioned surface, her ass forced high, her arms still awkwardly useless behind her.
Her attacker had only one desire, access to her ass. Something slick and wet entered her first, before the invading prick filled her full. A wicked oblivious ride commenced even as the storm came closer still, the lightning like some evil master’s charm, the thunder rumbling from hell. Ridden like the devil’s bride into the very blackest place in her soul, Alexandra submitted to the still unseen hands of a masterful servant of her most dreadful desire.
The stinging on her ass continued, the accompaniment to the thrusting force. The burn of it filled her everywhere, adding passion, adding to the tremors that wracked her body. The ruthless taking was not over before she was crying out loudly for some end, though she had no way of knowing if her pleas were intelligible at all. When the raucous wails ceased she was simply crying tears, a heady climax bursting from her as her attacker blessed her with a few delicate strokes to the feminine places where she held her greatest longing.
Pushed down on the lounge when the intruding prick withdrew, she panted noiselessly, a few small whimpers escaping, while the aftereffects of release dwindled away. The storm was almost on her by the nearness of the thunder and the lightning bolts; it was time to escape this place before the rain drenched her.
“Will you sleep now?” the gentle voice asked.
“I hope,” she replied as gently, coming around to her senses again.
“Don’t hope, just let yourself have some peace.” The words were demanding even as they attempted to reassure her.
“I’ll try,” she qualified her answer again, as her hands were freed and the well-known assailant lifted her to her feet.
“I’m glad you woke up,” she told him, looking gratefully into Will’s eyes.
“You thought I was sleeping?” he asked.
“How can I sleep when a storm’s about to strike?” he said.
“Sometimes you do,” she reminded him.
“Not when there’s a storm in you,” he countered. “You’re like trying to sleep with a wildcat.”
She smiled. “I’m just glad you understand what I need.”
He ran his hand through her hair tenderly, and leading her inside, he closed the patio door and went for the thermostat to turn on the air conditioning, closing out the provocative night. “No more storms, I’ll blindfold you if I have to,” he said wearily. “Now get some sleep.”
It was quieter inside even though the traces of rage outside were still getting inside her bones. As blissful as the orgasmic moment was, the annoying aftermath of her midnight madness was the continuing suspicion that something more was swooping down into her life, some unsuspecting happenstance about to blindside her.
Excerpt from Jocelyn & Alexandra
Copyright ©1995 Lizbeth Dusseau