The Sound of Rain

The tent was too small for the two of us, and we both knew it.

Lena unzipped her sleeping bag and let it fall open. The nylon rustled like a whispered secret. Outside, the rain drummed a steady rhythm against the flysheet, muffling the world.

“You’re staring,” she said, not looking at me.

“You’re hard to miss.”

She’d changed out of her damp hiking gear into nothing but a thin tank top and those tight athletic shorts I remembered from a hundred nights ago. Her hair was still wet from the rain, plastered to her temples. She looked exactly like the girl who’d broken up with me six months ago, only rougher around the edges. More real.

“We should get some sleep,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.

“Is that what you want?”

She finally looked at me. Her eyes were dark in the dim glow of the headlamp hanging from the tent pole. “No.”

I didn’t move. The space between us felt electric, humming with everything we hadn’t said on the trail that day. The way she’d brushed my hand when passing the water bottle. The way I’d watched her stretch at the summit, her back arching, her shorts riding up.

“Then what do you want, Lena?”

She bit her lip. A single drop of water slid down her neck and disappeared into the collar of her tank top. “I want you to fuck me. But I don’t want to make it easy.”

I laughed, low and quiet. “You never did.”

She reached up and pulled the headlamp off the pole. The tent went dark. I heard the zipper of her sleeping bag open wider, the rustle of fabric, her breath catching.

“Come here,” she whispered.

I crawled across the thin foam mat, my knees pressing into the uneven ground. My hand found her thigh, warm and bare. She flinched, but not away — into my touch.

“Careful,” she breathed. “The walls are thin.”

“I know.”

I could hear the rain hammering the tent, the distant rumble of thunder rolling across the valley. But closer, I could hear her. The soft hitch in her throat when my fingers slid up her thigh. The wet sound of her mouth opening as I kissed her.

She tasted like trail mix and rain and the salt of her own skin. I pushed her tank top up, baring her breasts. They were full, her nipples hard and cold against my palm. She gasped when I pinched them.

“God, I missed your hands,” she murmured into my mouth.

“I missed all of you.”

I pulled her shorts down. She lifted her hips to help me, and I felt the heat of her pussy against my fingers. She was already wet, soaking through the thin cotton of her panties.

“You’re dripping,” I said.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She reached down and grabbed my cock through my shorts. I was hard, straining against the fabric. She squeezed, and I groaned, burying my face in her neck.

“Quiet,” she whispered, but she was smiling. I could hear it in her voice.

I pulled her panties to the side and slid two fingers inside her. She was hot and tight, and she bucked against my hand, biting down on my shoulder to stifle a moan.

“Fuck, Lena.”

“Don’t stop.”

I pushed her onto her back, spread her legs wide. The tent floor creaked beneath us. I positioned myself between her thighs, my cock pressing against her entrance.

—Mírame —dije.

She did. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Rain hammered the tent like a thousand tiny drums.

I pushed inside her.

She gasped, her nails digging into my back. I felt every inch of her clenching around me, wet and warm and perfect. I started slow, deep strokes, watching her face twist with pleasure.

“Harder,” she breathed.

I fucked her harder. The tent shook with each thrust. The sound of our bodies slapping together was obscene, swallowed by the storm outside but still too loud, too raw.

“You’re going to make me come,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Then come.”

I reached between us and rubbed her clit with my thumb. She cried out, a strangled sound, her whole body tensing. I felt her orgasm ripple around my cock, and I kept fucking her through it, driving deeper, faster.

“I’m close,” I grunted.

“Dentro de mí. Ni se te ocurra sacarla.”

I came with a shudder, burying my face in her hair, my cum spilling deep inside her. She held me tight, her legs wrapped around my waist, her breath hot against my ear.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the rain and our ragged breathing.

Then she laughed, soft and breathless. “Well. That was loud.”

“The storm covered it.”

“Barely.”

I rolled off her, onto my back. The tent was warm and smelled like sex and wet nylon. She curled against my side, her head on my chest.

“We’re going to have to hike out tomorrow,” she said.

“I know.”

“And we’re going to have to talk.”

“I know.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, “Can we just… stay like this a little longer?”

I pulled the sleeping bag over us both. Outside, the rain kept falling, but inside the tent, we were still. I listened to her breathing slow, felt her heartbeat against my ribs.

“Yeah,” I said. “We can stay.”