Page 11 of Romanced By the Rat
“You didn’t check the forecast?” Ramsay barks over the patter of downpour.
“No! You didn’t tell me to,” I yell, clearly not thinking.
“What?” Charlotte asks, her voice straining.
“Shut up, you idiot!” Ramsay shouts in a hushed yell. “Grab her hand and the picnic. Take her under the falls.” What would I do without a rat on my head? Wait for the water to carry us away, my mouth gobbling drops like a bass? Thank God he’s here. I trust this rat with my life at this point. “Come on,” I yell, pulling Charlotte along.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere dry. Hopefully,” I reply, skipping over rocks, being careful that she doesn’t trip as I lead her along.
I don’t know how he could see it from the mesh lining in my hat, but he was right. We make it into a small divot on the other side of the streaming water, covered by rock formations above. The circular space echoes with the sound of the outsiderain, and the crashing water envelops us. I let go of Charlotte, crouching to catch my breath, holding myself up on my bent knees. Charlotte’s laughter permeates through the crashing rain outside our rocky shelter. She twirls at the center of the cave, her wet skirt splashing water around her.
Momentarily, I’m lost in her beauty—amazed she isn’t fuming that she’s soaking wet and still without a bite of food, but then I feel like shit because of course, this is all my fault. “I’m sorry. I should have looked at the forecast before,” I say, setting down the picnic basket on the stone floor.
“Don’t be silly. This is so much more fun.” She wrings out her hair and gazes at me with a giddy smile.
My cheeks burn from my own grin, and although I can’t see Ramsay’s expression, I can’t imagine a universe where someone’s not completely enamored by such a beautiful sight as the one before us. He’s a man after all, just in the body of a rat. There’s no chance he could be immune to her charm.
“Here, I can dry you off a bit.” I hand her the checkered picnic blanket, and I’m thankful I remembered to grab it before we fled for cover. It’s not much drier than either of us, but she accepts my offering as I help wrap it around her shoulders. “Thanks.” She stares up at me, her eyes brown, beautiful saucers.
Electricity zips between us, the small space around us alight with energy. Her breath hitches as we move closer. I must be reading this wrong. I’ve only behaved like an idiot in her presence, with a few sprinkles of genius with the help of Ramsay. There’s no way she could want me even a fraction of the amount that I want her. But her eyes droop and her lips part. The signals are there, and I don’t need a rat’s guidance to read her desire. I lean in on my own accord, but a whisper comes from above. “Kiss her.” The order electrifies my blood even more.
Our lips collide, and the world falls away. It’s slow at first, but then our mouths move around each other, and soft noisesescape her lips. The sounds stiffen my cock to a painful level. I’m momentarily self-conscious of my erection pressed against her wet frame.
Charlotte allows the blanket to fall off her shoulders and presses herself harder against me, her pebbled breasts grazing against my chest. It’s almost too much, the friction just starting, but already there’s a roaring fire in my abdomen.
Her sounds grow louder, our kisses deepen, and our hands roam each other’s backs. It’s just the two of us, floating in an endless abyss of pleasure, until a low rumble brings me back to reality. “Touch her breast,” Ramsay whispers.
I straighten, the order awakens something primal and hidden inside of me, but the rational part of my brain can’t help but wonder if it’s the right thing to do. It’s so forward and not gentlemanly to do on the first date, but she’s practically begging for it, her hands gripping tighter around my neck as she rubs herself against me.
Before I can make my decision, my hand moves on its own accord, dragging up her side so gently it hurts. Ramsay’s taking the lead now, directing me. I lean into it, my body turning light from the absence of the impossible choice.
Charlotte pulls her chest away slightly, allowing access to her full breasts. Her hardened nipples poke through the thin material of her wet tank top. The bottom half of her stays glued to me. My cock throbs, nearly stabbing her.
My hand moves up her side until it reaches the beginning of her mound. She presses into my touch, begging for me to grab her, tease her, please her. Ramsay doesn’t resist, dragging my finger gently over her nipple.
“Oh, God.” She moans. She wants this. It doesn’t matter that we barely know each other. This hushed moment takes us out of our forms, leaving us nothing but two aching souls yearning to fit together.
Ramsay pinches her nipple, and she grinds harder against me. “Jesus Christ,” I murmur against her lips. Something about having my body used like a puppet rewires my brain. I want Ramsay to use me at his will, to pleasure her, and maybe even to please himself, as fucked up as it sounds.
“Yes, don’t stay silent.” His words are tortured as if he feels the same euphoria zipping through my veins. I nearly burst inside my pants.
Ramsay releases my hand, and I take charge, pinching her nipple. Ramsay pulls another strand of hair, bringing up my other hand, grabbing her breast with a kneading motion. We’re both doing this. We’re in this together.
This time her moans aren’t soft, instead echoing off the stone walls around us. A small cry comes from above me, and a warm wetness seeps against my scalp. It takes me out of the moment, just for a second, but Charlotte notices. She pulls back, her breath heavy and her face flushed. “We should stop,” she says with a smile.
I want to get down on my knees, beg her to let me taste between her legs, but I’m not an animal. I gather myself. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I take a step back, even as my cock yells at my brain.
Whether Ramsay agrees or not—and right now, he’s radio silent—Charlotte is right. If I want this to be a long-term thing, we have to get to know each other better. And Charlotte—well, she’s a long-term type of girl, I can already tell.
“How about you come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night?” she asks, completely breaking the tension around us.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” I reply, looking out over the stream through the waterwall to distract from my quaking hands. This is good. Tomorrow is a new chance. “I think it’s stopped raining. Wanna head back to our cars?”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Charlotte replies. I don’t miss the shudder in her voice and the clenching of her fists.
I scoop the basket from the ground, offer my hand, and we walk out interlinked into the damp midday. I focus on my steps, needing to get back to my car so I can drive home as quickly as possible. Not before I ditch the rat in my hat. I’ve got some personal business to attend to, something that shouldn’t be done in the company of others. Well, that’s not true. I’d love to have some guidance—a watchful eye—as I take care of myself, but that would be weird, of course.
