Falling Water - Sex Stories

Falling Water

... look at me." His suit was begrimed from the sidewalk, wrinkled from the rain, sticking to him in places. She laughed, and led the way to the elevator. "I don't normally do this," she said. He looked at her, quizzically. "What, plow men over on the street?" "That too," she laughed, "but I meant invite men I don't know into my apartment." "Jordan," he said, and for a split second she felt a thrill of fear, that he'd somehow learned her name. "Stalker?" flashed through her brain before it realized he was still talking. "Jordan Grey." "OK, that's an interesting coincidence," she said. "That's my last name." She punched the button for her floor, and put out her hand. "Rachel Jordan." They shook hands. Rachel had always hated the limp-fish "handshake" some women give, and had cultivated a firm grip. His hand was likewise firm, but there was no attempt to crush or intimidate (or limp-fish). He simply shook it and then let go. She led the way out of the elevator, and he followed. She wondered if he was surveying her from behind, but he moved up next to her and they walked down the hall to her apartment. She opened the door and led him inside, glad she'd cleaned the evening before. It wasn't "company ready," as her mother would have put it, but it was a damn' sight better than it had been the morning before. She sat him down on one of the stools in the breakfast nook, and retrieved the first-aid kit. Jordan Grey peeled his suit jacket off, and with some difficulty rolled up the ...

... remains of his shirt sleeve. "Wow," said Rachel. "That's worse than it looked outside." "Damn," muttered Jordan. "It certainly is." The skin was split along the length of his forearm, and Rachel wondered if it had, in fact, gone to the bone. Fortunately, she had never been squeamish, and she began to spray the wound with disinfectant. Jordan hissed as the first spray hit the wound, but said nothing after that. There were no visible particles in the scrape, so she bandaged it and gave him a couple of ibuprofen. "Thanks," he said. He stood and reached for his jacket. "Look," she said, "it's still sheeting down out there, and you don't have an umbrella. Just sit there for a couple of minutes while I get into something dry. I'm afraid I don't have any clothes to offer you, but I'll get you a blanket." She brought him a thick fleecy blanket from the hall closet and wrapped it around him. "How about some coffee?" "Oh, please, don't trouble yourself." "No trouble at all," she said. "I use a slow-drip coffeemaker, so I just add the syrup to hot water, and voila! How do you like your coffee?" He smiled. "Moderately strong, but not insanely so. With just a bit of creamer if you have some, sugar if you don't." "I do have some," she said, "but you should try it with just the sugar first. Ever since I got this slow-drip thing, I've been amazed at how good it is straight. No bitterness at all, just a rich coffee flavor." She realized she was starting to blither, to cover up her awkwardness. She ...