The city was soaked in a summer rain, the kind that steamed off pavement and turned windows into watercolor paintings. Ava pressed her forehead against the glass wall of the museum’s newest installation: The Rain Room – a darkened space where rain fell in sheets, except wherever a person stood.
She hadn’t expected to be the only one here, nor to find him standing under the soft white lights, the rain parting like a curtain around his silhouette. He turned slowly, as though he’d felt her eyes. His smile was soft, knowing.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I’m not.” She stepped into the room. The rain moved with her, missing her by mere inches. The sound of the rainfall surrounded them in a bubble of sound. Her heels echoed gently on the wet floor. “You’re just early.”
He reached for her hand, fingers brushing hers, testing. She laced their fingers together. His skin was warm. She remembered how it had felt last night – hot, slick, hungry.
As they stepped deeper into the room, their bodies created a dry corridor in the storm. He slid his hand to her waist, pulling her closer. Her lips parted as she breathed in the scent of rain and something uniquely him – leather, cedar, and heat.
“I’ve thought about this all day,” he murmured, his voice low, vibrating against her collarbone.
Ava tilted her head back, giving him access to the curve of her neck. His lips were on her in a heartbeat, soft and slow, then demanding. The hush of water and darkness wrapped around them like a cocoon. Her dress clung to her thighs with every movement, damp air feeding the friction.
His hands roamed – confident, reverent. She tugged his shirt free from his waistband, fingers exploring skin, hard muscle flexing beneath her touch. Their mouths met again – wet, deep, desperate.
“Someone could walk in,” she whispered, breath hitching.
“Let them,” he growled, lifting her onto the edge of a dry platform in the center of the room.
Her legs parted for him without thought, a silent invitation. He pressed against her, hips tight to hers, the barrier of clothes barely muting the heat building between them. The rhythm came naturally, guided by memory and need.
Fingers tangled in hair. Clothes shifted. Breath caught.
Rain poured around them, never touching skin, as if the storm itself respected their fire.
Their bodies moved in sync, a private dance in the open. She bit her lip to muffle the sounds spilling from her. He kissed her harder, swallowing the rest.
As the release came – hot and full and undeniable – they clung to each other, trembling in silence. The storm outside raged, unnoticed.
Minutes later, they stood again, rain still falling just beyond reach. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her face.
“Same time tomorrow?”
She smiled, chest still rising quickly. “Only if it rains.”
