Touch

She wedged her fingers between his just as their feet splashed into the street. Rain pelted down upon them from the dark sky as they scurried, hand in hand, back to the comforts of their home.

Puddle after puddle penetrated through their canvas tennis shoes, dampening their socks. Their coats became saturated and their faces reddened as icy water beat against their flesh. A bone-chilling wind came up from behind, as if to say “hurry home.” They were almost there. One more block, a left turn and up the porch steps: then warmth.

The whole while, they held hands. Occasionally he ran his thumb across her knuckles or she squeezed his fingers as his pace grew too quick for her. They didn't let go. Not even when they reached the front stoop and he had to rummage around in his pockets for his keys. She found them in the front, left breast pocket of his coat. As she slid her hand into the damp pocket, she felt his heartbeat. A solid bass line. Her hand lingered, but only for a moment before she pulled the ice cold key ring from his pocket and opened the door.

They stepped inside, first she, then him. They had finally let go now; they were safe. The warmth of their small home surrounded them as they peeled off their jackets, shoes and socks. She stood upright as she cast aside her old, worn out socks and found herself in a soggy embrace. There it was, again, that steady drumming of his heart inside his chest. The pitter-patter of her own heart joined in as she slid her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself closer to him.

Slowly moving his hands from her waist, he found where her damp cotton t-shirt met her faded Levi’s and pulled it gently over her head. She looked pale and colorless, standing in the foyer, wet and with no shirt on. He stepped back from her and held his hand out for her to take it once more.

He led her down the hallway and into their small bathroom, where he closed the door and turned on the water as hot as it could go. She tugged at his shirt as he turned his attention back to her, and off it came. Then pants were unbuttoned and stripped. He unhooked her bra and slid if off her shoulders. Their underwear fell past shaking knees and hit the ground. Musty clothes gathered in a haphazard pile as steam began to fill the room.

Holding the shower curtain aside for her, he smiled coyly at her and motioned her in.The water scalded her skin, and she let out a little yelp before swiftly turning the knob to a more comfortable setting. Laughing, he stepped in after her and grabbed her in a hug once more. Water poured over them as they stood there, holding each other, skin on skin. He kissed her. She kissed back. Their hands roamed gently over each other’s naked bodies, feeling out every muscle and curve as water trickled down over them.

Grabbing the bar of soap from it’s place on the ledge, he began washing her skin, gently rubbing in circles to create white suds. He cradled her wrist in his hand and began kissing her arm from shoulder to fingertips, following his lips with the soap, as if to wash away any trace of his affection. She tried to stop him and take the soap, but he was insistent; he was going to kiss and clean every inch of her.

Smiling, she closed her eyes and relished this pampering. His hands were callused from a long summer of yard work, but his tender touch made his palms feel like satin as he massaged the soap into her breasts and stomach. Kneeling, he kissed her belly and hip bones, soaping up her long legs. She ran her fingers through his hair, creating swirls in his rich brown locks.

The water of the shower fell over them, much like the downpour they just traipsed through, but this was also very different. Out there in the world, they were rushed, anxious and cold. They had to obey the rules: crosswalks and streetlights. Here, things were different. There was no rush. They had all the time in the world. Their own personal paradise, the second door on the right of the only hallway in their quaint little home.

Engulfed in intimacy, the outside world fades, leaving only them. Lips creating friction. Kisses leaving behind a tingling sensation long after they’ve finished. Fingertips drawing paths from head, to shoulders, to waist and back again. Hands exploring every inch.