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oOo5rcG.gif She only sleeps when it's raining...
An extraordinary late night rainstorm offers a drink to the parched Olympia, California, pulling it from its usual thirst and forcing its residents indoors. But for Seattle native Emma De Angelo, the downpour comforted her like a fireplace, making her feel at home, at long last. Staring out the backseat window of her taxicab, she watches as the downpour creates an oil canvas, the streaks of water running down the glass and warping the multi-colored lights. Still, despite the slight obstruction of view, her bright, innocent eyes can't help but notice the dark handsomeness of who had quickly become a close confidante: Andrew.

Recognizing his struggle to manage to open the front doors of his presumed apartment building, whilst he carries a heavy, large, dampened box, Emma alerts her driver to let her off, dangling paper bills over his shoulder to pay him for his services. Thereafter, she unflinchingly exits into the rain, eager to lend a helping hand, as the forceful water melts the thin fabric of her floral babydoll mini dress onto the ebbs and flows of her fit figure, her long coat having already been drenched prior. Mirroring her, Andrew's clothes served as little more than an extra layer of skin with how his simple white tee became translucent beneath his soaked letterman jacket, exposing a toned physique of his own, to Emma's astonishment. As the water continues to wash the gloss from her lips, she forms a big smile, squinting to forge a shield over her eyes. "Looks like you're gonna need a helping hand there, babe," she giggles, sweeping her dripping hair from off her pink, plump bottom lip where it stuck, then leaning forward to pull the door open. "Here, I got it."  Her breath is short as she tries to prevent herself from drowning beneath the storm, and it continues to dissipate whilst she scours Andrew's body under the new light; from his tight core, back up to his saccharine brown eyes. "Wow. You look... amazing, Andrew. Already all healed up, it looks like. What's new? How have you been?"
MONTY
@Cooksie
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oOo5rcG.gif It's all gonna end and it might as well be my fault...
Though his intended aloof approach had come undone in reaction to the falling rain, he felt the intense emotion slowly singe within his body once again upon locking eyes with Emma. No natural phenomenon, even the one as engulfing as a torrential downpour like this night's,  could compare to the intangible, indescribable sensation that coursed throughout Andrew whenever he and Emma shared close space. Her beauty was breathtaking, paired with a girlish charm that made the dancer an alluring, fascinating acquaintance.

Was acquaintance appropriate? After all, he knew intimacies about her life. Not as many as he'd like to know, of course, but intimacies none the same-- a son of a young age, a burden and a blessing. A troubled heart, unwilling to open to the unworthy: yet, he, somehow, be it luck or be it the circumstances, with which she'd reference upon their reunion, had earned him that passage. Though the night was young and plans were open-ended, Andrew secretly hoped to make more headway into the confusing, enticing maze of Emma de Angelo... and more openly hoped to not continue to get drenched. Reacting in turn to Emma's kind gesture, his signature dimples would peak out beneath the falling rain.

"Thanks, Em. Guess chivalry's not dead after all," he'd snicker, as he moved the box inside the apartment. Standing at the doorway, he'd watch as Emma would enter, eyes locked onto her snug-fit ensemble as she made entrance into his home.  He couldn't stop the instantaneous grin that formed after her compliment met his ears. "Could say the same for you... actually, more than the same... but, thanks. I'm good! Y'know, same 'ol, same 'ol... it'd be nice if I could get some shit done without goin' for a swim in my clothes, but, hey, I'm not complainin'." He'd uncomfortably remove his drenched jacket from his body, revealing his now translucent shirt in the warm lights of his home, as it clung to each ripple of his slender, but toned torso. Hanging the garment in the adjacent closet, he'd reply to Emma. "Gotta say, I'm feelin' much better now that you're here... you make it over here okay?"
MONTY
@Mariah.
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oOo5rcG.gif She only sleeps when it's raining...
"Kinda, sorta," responds Emma in her airy tone as she drags her own soggy jacket off her shoulders and flops it over an isolated wooden chair. "I just got held up once I got home from work, convincing the sitter to stay overnight in case I get stuck in the storm. But I wound up just paying her double since I had a good night at the club. Cash wise, to be specific, hence why I decided to intrude on your guy's night to unwind." Taking hold of the boundless, soft maroon towel Andrew offered her, she runs it against her long ribbons of hair, then creates a shawl over the back of her shoulders to keep her warm, although the company of her opposite managed that task well enough on his own with how he seemed to soothe her in a rare way.

For a moment, the large loft window pulls her attention away from the dripping wet, prime masculine build in her midst, and back to the storm, which she couldn't help but remain enraptured by. The lightning flickers against her shimmering skin and the walls of the space she occupied, but Emma remains tranquil whilst the droplets of water stream down her shape—from the cup of her breasts with its engorged middle, caused by the cold and damp air, then across her taut, trembling torso, and down her silken legs. Agape lips sketch her euphoria, when she'd finally turn back toward Andrew and carries on with her attempt to stroke herself dry, her dress inadvertently coiling up her body with how it firmly molded to her sculpturesque frame, giving peek to the summit of her thighs and her rotund, ample ass as a result.  "Where is Bobby, anyway? I thought he'd already be here, to be honest. You think I scared him away with my little one like I predicted I would, or was it just the thunder?"
MONTY
@Cooksie
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oOo5rcG.gif It's all gonna end and it might as well be my fault...
The innocent question elicited a pang within Andrew's chest. A sting that served as a reminder of the inconvenience of his given pretenses. The perennial accessory to an already increasingly gluttonous love affair developing between Emma and his best friend, Bobby. Their cries out for each other reverberated through him, the de facto messenger, playing telephone to a pair of star-crossed lovers stopped not by age old grudges or affronts to loyalty, but by their own cowardice and insecurities.

It was exhausting, a feeling now present on Andrew's visage, his forehead raising as Emma levied the inquiry. His back was conveniently turned as she did, attempting towel himself dry from exposure to the elements, though to little avail. Clung tight to his tanned, muscular back was the dampened white tee, yet no closer than the proximity Andrew's mind orbited around the thought of having Emma alone without his best friend or her son with them.

"He's just runnin' late," he'd shrug off, a blatant lie. Bobby had long since gone home, conveniently not informed that Emma had been on her way. "He hates the rain. I remember, when I first met him, he was so... anal about not wanting to do anything while it rained. Said it reminded him of... old stuff," he'd say, figuring the depths of Bobby's trauma weren't exactly the most ideal of icebreakers, especially if it was interwoven with non-truth. It didn't play to his advantage, either. Out of sight, out of mind. Keep it that way. Without second guessing, Andrew's strong hands would grip around the soaked fabric, slowly rolling the garment up the ladder of his defined torso, grooved with the structure of his toned abdominals, lightly protruding pectorals and his fair, well-sunned skin. Andrew would ball the t-shirt into his hands, traveling freely about his living room en route to his laundry basket, feeling Emma's gaze follow him as he made obvious his comfortability. "I'm glad you made it here in one piece, though. Feel free to make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A drink? More towels?"
MONTY
@Mariah.
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oOo5rcG.gif She only sleeps when it's raining...
The varnished lids decorating Emma's hypnotic eyes trawl shut momentarily, interrupting amidst the use of her pupils to color between every line which cut into Andrew's flesh and skin. Continuing to survey his figure once his shirt is disposed, she drafts where the trail, down the sturdy v-shape of his pelvis, takes shape between his legs. And—when he turns—contours vertically along the peaks of his back as it falls in, then curves out just beneath the revealed waistband of his boxer briefs. Stamping her front teeth into the inner seam of her bottom lip, the siren labors to withhold the impure thoughts which formed clouds more dense than those which were cast beyond the structure they rested within. Perhaps it were obvious; that she, Emma, was enticed by the novel sights. That if her heart hadn't been taken by the charms of Andrew's comrade, she'd venture to see what else could be unearthed from the dunes which modeled the muscle of her company's exciting physique. But with the reveal that the arrival of her premier interest was nebulous, she gathers she ought to tuck the thought of him away for the time being, in addition to her spontaneous lust for his sidekick. In Andrew, she found a trusted friend; one who could offer her the support she assumes Bobby wasn't ready to give. There was absolutely no reason to muddy those waters. 

"Maybe a just change of clothes, if you have anything?" she coos, her pearl teeth rattling and her voice splintering apart, until it reforms into a long, serene sigh. "I don't wanna sit around and ruin your furniture, plus an exotic dancer with pneumonia doesn't exactly sound like a hot ticket to me. A t-shirt or a sweater will do, please and thanks."
MONTY
@Cooksie
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oOo5rcG.gif It's all gonna end and it might as well be my fault...
Emma's distinct sense of self-awareness in her humor elicited a chuckle from Andrew, who had located the laundry basket and placed his drenched t-shirt within its confines. Their banter came naturally, as the distinctness of their rapport made the ideas that formed within his mind feel that much more justified. There was no legwork to be done. No gates to pass, no internal questioning: an unspoken, unseen but present connection between the two. Andrew's high trust in his own intuition made him confident he was able to distinguish where bonds with female companions fell at platonic; this was not one of those times. The common cynic would attribute it to Emma's inherent coquettish charm, but a wizened intellectual in the domain of courtship like Andrew Avila was positive that he could read between the lines.

"Your wish is my command," he'd slyly reply, casting her a half-smile before disappearing into his room to scour his closet for appropriate materials. Opening the half-ajar door, he'd find a large USC hoodie, settling on it as he set it aside on his bed. Unbuckling the button of his jeans, he'd slide the damp denim off of his toned legs to the ground, before bringing his boxer briefs down in a similar fashion. His bare skin chilled against the adjacent air, his mind racing at the thoughts. Only a closed door and a few feet separated his exposed form from Emma, a fact that was both tantalizing and torturing all the same. For the desire that burned within him felt itself peaking as he considered how she'd look, hair wet in his hoodie. For all the good he'd done for Bobby Carter in their friendship, this had to be the biggest sacrifice he'd made in his friend's favor: knowing all the more that it wouldn't be repaid.

With a sigh, he'd grab a white towel from his cabinet, wrapping it around his taut waist, before exiting his room and returning to his living area to hand Emma his hoodie, his free hand gripping at the bond of his towel.  "One hoodie, as ordered. I'm gonna take a shower, feel free to make yourself at home." 
MONTY
@Mariah.
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oOo5rcG.gif She only sleeps when it's raining...
"Perfect. I'll get comfy," Emma's voice melts into few words, her ability to speak ostensibly dissipating, while her sight roamed through the shallow trenches of Andrew's landscape yet again, aware of what little textile was left to prevent the pair from restraint. But this time, her reconnaissance seemed to alert her suitor, as their travelling eyes manage to meet. "Thanks," she concisely finishes her response, taking hold of the sweatshirt, then allowing him to walk away. She refused to give in... but the prospect was quietly igniting a thrill.

Presuming Andrew had turned away and disappeared, Emma would immediately peel at the tight barrier which scarcely protected the sweet, tender fruit beneath, gravity pulling down on her bust as the saturated fabric is hauled upward, across them, for their release. Jerking the dress from the length of her hair, her wet locks whip around her shoulders and adheres itself to her swollen nipples. She sets free a breeze through her parted lips, to quell her titillation, then runs her frigid fingertips across the front curve of her bosoms to release the strands. The room now falls silent, isolating the sound of Andrew's shower pattering against the ceramic tiles, which merges with the strengthening downpour outdoors. She unfolds the fleecy, warm sweater, and allows for its large size to swallow her thong clad body. But in her instant comfort, the scent of Andrew woven through every thread of the garment rouses her hunger. A distraction was dire. 

"Um, Andrew!" Emma calls to him from the dimly lit living area, gliding across the space to kneel upon the hardwood, before the television set. "Where can I find the TV remote? It's kinda quiet in here!"
MONTY
@Cooksie
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      She slinks to the stage floor and lays on her back, writhing to the rhythm and caressing her flesh erotically, before whipping herself over on her torso. Slowly, she bends into the position of a feline, the small of her back arched inward and her round, tight ass pointed high, as the diaphanous fabric veiling her treasure burrows deep between each satiny cheek. It's then the man returns to stare upon her with a subtly inviting smirk, aligned beneath his look of hypnosis which unites with a gaze of her own. MONTY   @Maxim