I Remember You (An Erotic Romance) - Isis Cole Read Online Free PDF Page B

bare chest was heaving.  She looked at his face, and he was crying too.   
      “I can’t help it,” he said.  “I don’t want you to go.”  
      She took a deep breath.  “I know,” she said.     
      She moved up and pushed her face against his.  Their cheeks touched.  Their tears mingled like rainwater.  She hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back.  They stayed that way for a long time, just pressing together.  For Rachel, sometimes the crying was powerful, her whole body shaking with the force of her sobs.  At other times, the crying was softer, almost subsiding completely.   
      Gradually, as they lay there pressed against each other, she became aware that Michael had an erection.  Their bodies were so tight, the hardened cock was between her legs.  Soon, she was wet, maybe from all the emotion, maybe from just having his dick there.  She reached down with one hand and gently guided it inside her.  It slid in, all the way in, and then they lay still, their bodies perfectly entwined, joined, no space between them.   
      She pressed harder against him.  She felt almost like she wanted to become him, their chests and legs melting until they became one person.  She held the back of his head with her hand.  He was crying again, and the feeling of it was contagious, because she began to cry again, too.  And they began to move against each other, moving their bodies, until they were fucking, crying and fucking.  And their mouths found each other.  They kissed passionately, he inside of her, bodies moving gently, tears streaming down their faces.   
      The doorbell rang, startling Rachel out of her memories.  She glanced out the kitchen window, and there was Michael, standing at the door, with a brown paper bag in his hand.  She went to the door, and opened it.   
      “Hi, Michael.”  
      He was dressed casually, in jeans, a light blue t-shirt, and a leather jacket.  A slogan across the t-shirt read STP: The Racer’s Edge .  They hugged briefly, stiffly, and he handed her the bag.   
      “I brought some wine,” he said.   
      She gestured for him to come in.  He stepped inside, and glanced around.  “Nice place,” he said.  His eyes got caught on the old upright piano in the corner of the living room.  She had grown up with that piano.  It had been in her family for three generations.   
      “Hey!” Michael said.  “You still have that same piano.”  
      Naturally, he went straight to it.  Rachel found that a little frustrating.  They had barely even said hello.  He was like a child with a new toy.  Or in this case, a toy that had been lost, but was found again.  He sat on the cushioned seat and rested his long fingers on the keys.   
      “God, I remember this thing,” he said.  “In your parents’ house.”  
      Rachel stood near him.  She was embarrassed, frankly.  She’d been meaning to have it tuned for years.  “They gave it to me when they downsized to the condo,” she said.  “I wish you wouldn’t play it.  It’s out of tune.”  
      He began to play, something slow, with heavy bass notes on the left, and then high notes coming in on the right a moment later.   
      “It’s a little out,” he said.  “But not too bad.”  
      It was a haunting song, something moody and sad, maybe a song about love and loss.  
      “It’s beautiful,” she said.   
      “Erik Satie,” he said.  “French composer from the 1800s.  Alcoholic.  He died broke and alone.”  
      “It sounds like that,” she said.   
      “I can’t stop listening to him these days,” Michael said.  Abruptly, he stopped playing.  The notes continued to reverberate for a few seconds.  He turned and looked up at her.  “You know,” he said.  “You never should have gone to Paris.”  
      “Oh, Michael.  That was twenty years ago.”  
      He stood and faced her.  “I know.  It’s just that…”  
      Rachel