Gay erotic story
The Rain Maker is now published as a
FREE book from Amber Quill Press!
A man stands alone in a deserted pub courtyard. His boyfriend has left him and his relationship is truly over. But, in the midst of his loneliness, a stranger appears, a stranger who won’t allow himself to be seen, but who has a deep affinity with the rain and who offers irresistible comfort.
Can one night of passion change everything?
Here's an extract for you:
The stranger kept on stroking my backside as the warm rain fell, kissing me gently from time to time, but never once removing his fingers from my skin. Unexpectedly I groaned and leant against the wall for support. His hand and tongue came with me as I offered up my back for his use.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s good. Let me have my way and neither of us will go far wrong. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve seen for a long time, and I couldn’t let the opportunity of enjoying each other’s company vanish. That would be a waste, and in Nature nothing is ever wasted.”
I had no real idea what he meant, but my body vibrated to his touch in a way it hadn’t for a long time.
“Who are you?” I asked him, my voice no more than a groan. “I mean really.”
“Does it matter?” he replied, oh so reasonably. “Your body already knows who I am.”
I thought it did, too, but again I didn’t understand it. Not one iota. I hadn’t seen the man’s face, and I didn’t recognize his voice, or anything else about him. But somehow I knew him; I knew who he was in a way I couldn’t fathom.
Meanwhile, he had reached the top of my jeans in his intent ministrations to my body. I hoped he might slip a finger beneath the cotton and down into the crack of my arse, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to work his way up again, this time taking in my arms and shoulders. Rather than the disappointment I thought I should be feeling, a warm glow began to spread from the depths of my belly upward through my chest and arms, and down into my cock and even my legs.
I swore I felt different. Even the rain was blending with the rising heat coming up from my skin, making the touch of the man’s fingers more heated and more deliberate. I felt washed—maybe even cleansed—rather than soaked through. My damp skin was an invitation for him to track his need across my body and, with it, to echo my own.
Nobody had ever touched me like this before...
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