Getting Wet - It's Raining Men

“Maybe Bob. He says it sometimes. My mom used to say it a lot before she died.”

Hawkley sat up suddenly and rolled me under him. With an arm across my back and his intense gaze above me, I swam into my orgasm in a haze of desire, contracting and pulsing and pulling him into me.

“Oh God, Hawk, I’m coming,” I said as he bit my lower lip. Then he was thrusting into me, coming undone, groaning my name and filling me up with his hot cum and his abundant and beautiful love.

Epilogue- Five Years Later

Ally

I tried putting on lipstick, but my hand shook from too many espressos and no breakfast yet. I hadn't had time, and I could smell toast burning downstairs and Gloria swearing under her breath. I settled for a tinted chapstick that gave me a flush, pinched my cheeks, flipped my hair upside down, and ran a quick brush through it.

Wren had picked out my dress, and while I thought it was beautiful, it seemed a little formal for a Sunday at home. Hawk had agreed to the photoshoot with Rolling Stone months ago. They wanted to capture the Kestrel and his family at home in their Brooklyn brownstone.

I flew down the stairs when the smoke alarm went off. By the time I made it to the kitchen, Gloria had all the windows open and fanning a newspaper under the fire alarm.

"We got it under control, Ally. Take your time," she said.

"I'm making pancakes. You're favorite!" Wren smiled at me as she leaned her long hair dangerously close to the open flame from which she'd just removed a smoking pan.

"Aww, that's so thoughtful, Wren. Thanks," I told her.

"Give me back my paper!" Bob yelled. He was slumped at the breakfast table eating his oatmeal. He liked to spend all morning there reading The Times with his magnifying glass. Gloria was still fanning the smoke.

"One minute, old man. Calm down," Gloria told him.

"Mama, I ate four pancakes!" Robby said, standing in her chair. The white dress I'd had put on for the shoot was covered in jelly and black smears of charcoal from burnt pancakes. The jelly was in her blonde ponytail and even on her shoes.

"Perfect, honey!" I told her.

"Sit down, Robin. We don't stand in chairs," Gloria told her sweetly.

"Did Hawk get here yet?" I asked Gloria as I poured yet another coffee.

"Still on his run. My phone's tracking him on the counter if you want to look. Just left the park. He should be here in no time."

"Can they park the crew truck out front?" Dave asked, coming in the front door. He was dressed in a silk shirt with a butterfly collar, and the buttons were undone. He had on round-framed wire sunglasses, and he slicked back his hair he was working on growing out. Wren ran to him and kissed him on the nose.

"Dave, did you fill the vending machine for the crew?"

We had a CBD tea vending machine in our foyer. It was free. You just pushed a button, and one clunked on down for anyone to enjoy. They tasted like watered-down grass clippings and gave you absolutely no buzz.

Diana came in the front door wearing a headset. "God, Ally, you look gorgeous. Where's the man of the hour?"

Kestrel was opening the summer stage in Central Park this year.

"He's just finishing his run. He'll be here any second!"

"Sweaty?" she asked me.

"He'll hose off out front for the photos. Pancakes? CBD tea or coffee? I offered.

"Disgusting. God. Coffee. Black. Please. The crew is coming up the walk."

Kestrel ran in, streaming with water from the hose. He was wearing red running shorts and sneakers, nothing else. He was so gorgeous and good, that watching him walk in the house still made me feel weak in the knees.

"Allison, you look stunning!" he said to me. He strode over close and gave me a kiss with enough distance not to drip water all over me. Then he went to the breakfast table and kissed Bob on the head. He grabbed Robin, spun her in the air, and kissed her on the nose before setting her down again.

"Wrenny made me strawberries!" she squealed.

"Wrenny is a great cook! Hawk said, smiling.

"Please," Gloria intoned as she passed the newspaper back to Bob.

"I'm not taking pictures!" he shook a finger in the air at no one in particular.

"You're not taking them, Captain. The crew is photographing you!" Gloria told him.

"Gather in the living room!" Diana shouted after communicating with the set director.

There was fancy lighting, two people holding giant reflectors. I'd never been on the cover of anything.

The art director arranged us all around the room like we were posing for Vanity Fair. Bob on a leather chair in front of the fireplace, Captain's hat on, newspaper unfolded on his lap. Wren on a painter's ladder in her flowing Mumu with Dave at her feet, holding a glass bottle of CBD tea. Hawk and I were off to the left; they had us face one another and touch hands, his on top, mine underneath, our forearms extended. Robby was standing on the coffee table, and the set director had placed a crown of flowers on her head. She was still covered in jelly.