Page 97 of One Last Rainy Day
“Yeah, I am,” she whimpers as I flatten my tongue at the divot of her throat before running it to her mouth, thrusting my tongue in for a little preview.
“Dom,” she grits out, body rattling with anticipation, chest heaving, eyes dilated, expression needy.
“Need something?”
She narrows her demanding navy blues. I love it when she gets like this because she’s almost impossible to keep satiated. Gripping her jaw, I take her mouth, tasting myself while walking her back toward the bed. Pushing her back, I tug down her panties and sink to my knees. Spreading her soaked pussy, I stroke it with my fingers leisurely, and she’s so fucking ready after what just went down that she comes. Gazing down at her, I send up a selfish prayer for more rain just before I bow my head and worship.
“One day, I watched the sun setting forty-four times...You know...when one is so terribly sad, one loves sunsets.”
—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Chapter Forty
THE NURSE ROLLSDelphine to my open passenger door before helping me situate her in the seat. She surprises me when she calls after the nurse with a seemingly appreciative goodbye. Scrutinizing her when I’m in my driver’s seat, I notice a difference in her demeanor. “You good? You seem...good.”
She gives me an easy nod as I turn the ignition over, eyes the same rare gray staring back at me. “You seem good, too.”
“A rarity for us,” I jest.
My quip dims some of the light in her eyes before she speaks. “Can we...can we go somewhere?”
Her request has me pausing my hand on the gearshift. “You don’t want to go home?”
“I would like to see a sunset,” she declares, her attention darting out of the windshield and back to me. “Do you know of a place?”
“We live in a mountain town. There are plenty of places to choose from.” I glance at my dash clock and see we have two hours at most before sundown.
“Take me to one,” she orders, clicking her belt and settling in.
“You don’t feel sick?” I ask, pulling out of the circular drive.
“I have cancer and poison pumping through me to chase it,” she expels a breath, “I always feel sick.”
An ill feeling runs through me as I question her motive. “Planning on dying today?”
“Non, why?” She reads my expression. “I’m just trying to make good use of the time I have.”
I mull that over. “Did the doctor tell you something?”
“Non.”
“I can call the oncologist, Delphine,” I remind her.
“Non,” she sighs. “I only had my treatment.”
If I hadn’t caught her wiping a tear away, I would never believe it was there. The only tears I’ve ever seen the woman shed were when I was still of single-digit age, and those were for my parents and her ex-husband.
“You can take me home if you want to, I just wanted to spend some time with you. Is that such a crime?”
“Considering you never have, it’s surprising.”
“We are...friends now, are we not?” she asks.
“If you say so,” I jest.
“Fine, take me home.”
“I’ve got a place to take you if you tell me why you’re leaking,” I prompt, spotting another fast tear trailing down her cheek. The sight of it jogs the memory of Cecelia that day she came to me. Her eyes were pouring, just as emotional, because something significant had happened, and it appears to be the case for my aunt.
