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HONORABLE MENTION
Perfect Storm
by Laura Dunne
The wind whipped her long raven hair into her face as she wrestled porch furniture into the house and pulled hurricane shutters into place. She was one of the last to leave the hospital where she worked as a surgical nurse, staying late to assist in the evacuation of patients. Traffic crawled through town with evacuees trying to reach the interstate, so she was late preparing for the storm. She was newly divorced, new to the area, new to the job, and had no intention of leaving. She'd worked too hard for this place, and if the wind and water were going to take it; she would go with it.
The sky was threatening, wind gusting loudly, and
she worried about electric lines snapping around her as she worked, when
her neighbor came into the yard, carrying her trashcans to the garage. His
house next door was on stilts, a snug bachelor haven. He was a published
writer and soccer player who, by his own admission, craved solitude. She
had met him briefly. They worked together silently, battening down anything
that the impending 120-mile-per-hour gusts could move.
"Look, I know this area," he said, pointing to the water level, already rising from the river. "This house probably won't be under water, but mine has stood through a few bad ones. It was designed with hurricanes in mind. Why don't you close up and come with me?"
"Oh, I'll be fine here, thanks," she answered, as a large palm frond broke away and sailed in her direction. He pulled her away just before impact, pulled her to him, looking deep into her azure eyes. She was breathing rapidly, damp from working in the Florida pre-storm heat and pressure, frightened by the missiles flying through the air, and weak at the knees by the intent in his eyes.
His body protected her from the wind as they stood locked in each others' eyes. He held her tightly to him and said, "Please, come with me. Don't stay here by yourself." She felt his strength beneath his soft cotton shirt, and wanted to be held there forever in that wild wind. "Let's go."
The stilt house was, as promised, a safe haven,
and when they reached it he started the shower, led her to the bathroom,
and undressed her, caressing every ounce of her supple female flesh, licking
the salty skin on her neck, down her back, the rise of her perfect ass.
She gasped as his tongue traveled the crack, his broad shoulder pushing
her leg up as his tongue found her center. He kissed and bit down the inside
of both her thighs, leaving stinging circles that drove her wild. When he
finally stood, she wrapped one leg around him. He pulled her up, wrapping
the other around his waist, and maneuvered her onto the bathroom countertop.
Totally open to him, wanting his heat thrust into her, she begged him, "Please,
don't tease me. Don't stop. Please."
Her throat was tight, cheeks crimson, rivulets of sweat ran between her breasts, heaving with her quick, hard breathing. She moaned as he slid one finger into her, feeling her as hot and wet as August. "No!" she said when he took it out, "Yesss, oh, yesss . . . " as he pushed past her swollen lips into a canal as slippery as it was tight. He put his finger into her mouth as he kissed her; she bit down with perfect pearly teeth. They rocked against the counter, coming together, their level-five encounter obliterating and dwarfing the building level-three hurricane.
©2003 Nerve.com
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