Page 37 of There Are No Saints

Why did she keep those piercings? Does she like them? Is she afraid to take them out?

I hear the soft rumble of thunder.

A few scattered raindrops hit the black paper covering the library window.

Mara stirs, feeling the rain on her skin.

I expect her to rise, to pull her mattress back inside.

But Mara seems determined to surprise me at every turn.

She sits up. Lifts her palm. Feels the rain pattering down.

Then she pulls her dress over her head and tosses it aside.

She lays down on the mattress once more, fully nude.

I let out a soft sigh, my eye pressed against the telescope.

Thunder rolls and the rain falls harder. It shatters all across her naked skin: on her thighs, her stomach, her bare breasts, her upturned palms, her closed eyelids. It falls in her partly opened mouth.

She’s soaking it in. Feeling the delicious coolness and the tiny impact of each droplet breaking on her skin.

Her expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure. Fully relaxed for the first time since I’ve been watching her.

Again I feel that strange, squirming feeling in my guts.

Jealousy.

The rain falls harder, soaking her hair, drenching the mattress, chilling her skin.

She doesn’t give a fuck.

Mara reaches between her thighs. She begins to stroke her fingers back and forth across her pussy lips. Touching herself lightly, delicately.

Her lips part wider, allowing more rain into her mouth.

The rain beats against the side of the house. A bolt of lightning sizzles across the sky, illuminating Mara’s shining body like a camera flash. Every detail stands out in sharp relief: the long column of her throat, the divot of her collarbone, the points of her nipples, the long, flat expanse of her abdomen, the delicate bones of her hands, the slender fingers slipping inside of her.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

She’s bronze as a statue in the purplish light. If I could sculpt her exactly like this, it would be my greatest work.

I want to pour molten metal over her, freezing her in time forever.

I put my own hand down the front of my pants, feeling the thick rod of my cock, painfully hard.

My skin feels feverish.

I want to be out where she is, drenched in rain, touching that cold flesh . . .

I pump my cock in time with the motion of her hand.

Her pace quickens, back arching, head thrown back.

I fuck my hand harder and harder, imagining I’m about to explode over her body, hot cum raining down on her harder than the storm.

Her eyes squeeze tightly shut, her cries drowned out by the rain. Her thighs clamp around her hand, body shaking.

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