Chance of Rain by Amber Lin

on my tongue. Did you taste yourself when you kissed me? I love the shape of it, the size—it’s perfect. Almost too big. That’s the perfect size.”
    Ohhh , shit. She had turned the tables on him. She was under him, spread open to him, but he was the one close to begging. His hips moved without his consent, sliding in to the hilt. They set up a rhythm, spurred on by her breathy moans, and he was along for the ride, out of control.
    He sped up, practically drilling her into the bed. She wasn’t teasing him anymore with her hot, dirty words, only gasping on each thrust, her mouth gaped open, her eyes glazed over. It was the sight of her rapture that pushed him over, and he couldn’t hold on, couldn’t wait.
    He grabbed her hips and ground himself into her. It was painful but as necessary as breathing. He had to be inside her, all the way, just there, a little deeper, rocking through his climax. Breathless, he collapsed on top of her, gratified to feel the clenching aftershocks of her own release around his spent dick.
    He wasn’t so much worried about the way his body twitched and shivered after an orgasm of that force and intensity. No, what concerned him was the unfortunate clenching of his heart as he looked at her, flushed and sated in his bed. What really worried him was the desire to see it again and again, every day, until death did them part.
    With limbs made of lead, he forced himself off her. Made himself walk to the bathroom to clean up. Stared at himself in the mirror and thought, What the fuck?
    By the time he came back to the bed, she had wrapped her body around a pillow and gone to sleep. She seemed so sad there, so lonely, but that couldn’t be right. She knew everyone in town, was friends with everyone. He was the outcast, the prodigal son no one wanted back. He curled around her, pulled her close and tumbled into a dreamless sleep.
    * * *
    Natalie woke to the whir and clatter of a car engine. It wasn’t a pretty sound. But then, her old Taurus wasn’t a pretty car.
    Her dress was rumpled and damp in some spots, but she slipped it on anyway and made her way downstairs. Outside, Sawyer had a pieces of wood shoved under the back wheels while he gunned the gas. The wheels spun, buried almost halfway in the mud. The car shuddered and jerked until he released the gas and punched the steering wheel. “Damn!”
    So that answered the question of whether he wanted her to stay. She felt sixteen years old again, rejected again. But he couldn’t walk away from her this time, and it seemed she was stuck too. She looked over to where his tires were half-sunk into the mud. She suspected there was supposed to be gravel here to prevent this kind of thing, but it had all washed away over the years.
    Steeling herself, she said, “Sawyer?”
    He looked up, his eyes darkening with an unnamed emotion.
    She fidgeted. “Guess the car’s not working.”
    Without a word, he flipped off the ignition and got out.
    “I can call someone. Joe Peterson has a tow hitch, so—”
    He crushed her in a hug. Her nose smooshed against the white undershirt he wore, and nothing had ever felt sweeter.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “Just don’t.”
    “I’m not looking at you.” At least her muffled voice obscured the way her voice cracked.
    “And don’t cry.”
    Or maybe it didn’t. But she wasn’t going to cry. She just needed time to process. It wasn’t every day she had sex with the man who had been her first love. In all honesty, she still loved him, in a distant, hypothetical sort of way. She loved him the way she might love a piece of art—she didn’t expect it to love her back. Only last night she had begun to think maybe...but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. They’d had sex. Now it was over.
    “Don’t worry about me.”
    “It wasn’t you I was worried about.”
    Inside the house, she lifted the phone to call Joe. The line was dead.
    “Do you have your cell?” Sawyer said, following