scream against the bamboo in my mouth, his holding me not making a difference.
He pets me, strokes me, and speaks softly to me. I can barely hear him over the thunder. “It’s beautiful,”
he says. “Look at the next strike, feel the energy of that strike.”
I look, a jagged streak piercing the black sky. I flinch in his arms and close my eyes against the brilliant flash of light.
“Beautiful,” he says, lowering his face to mine, kissing me above the rope that holds the bamboo in my mouth. “You are beautiful, Sophia, more beautiful than the sky. When I pull the pictures up on the computer, you will see that I do not lie.”
He kisses me again, turning my face to him. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. See me here with you.” I open my eyes for him and he captures my gaze, his look so intense, so passionate, that I can’t look away. I don’t squint my eyes closed on the next strike of lightning, seeing only a flash of brightness across his features. “You are so beautiful. Thank you for trusting me.”
Holding my gaze, he kisses my forehead, my wet nose and in the midst of his kisses, locked in his gaze, I forget the storm, forget my fear.
Rumble.
He begins to untie the rope pattern, releasing first my mouth from the bamboo bondage, replacing the exotic wood with his mouth, kissing me hard, harder, like a man possessed. I kiss him back with equal fervor, enjoying his mouth, his tongue. His hands follow the rope, releasing my legs, my body, my arms.
Free, my arms go around his neck, I want to hug him and kiss him, but he stops me, pulling me into his lap so that my back is against his chest. In silence, he holds me on the rock, rain pouring over us, pointing at each lightning strike, kissing me on the temple, and the silence between us is good. With each strike of lightning, I feel the tightness of his arms holding me. With each strike, I know I am safe with this man.
Chapter 7
“…I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul…all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.”
-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Thomas
She is beautiful when she’s sleeping. During the ten weeks she’s been mine, it seems I spend a lot of time watching her sleep, not because she sleeps excessively, but because I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep—I want to watch over her, memorizing how her eyelashes flutter in dream, how her lips part in sigh. When I stroke her skin, she rolls into me, seeking me, my touch. Even in sleep, I can draw her to me.
The right thing to do would be to go to Garrett now, with the truth, the whole truth. If I only knew what that truth was. I only know that one of us is going to get hurt, him, her, me.
“I love her,” he said, when we met at her house, waiting for her to come home from the hospital. We stood outside the kitchen on the back porch, a warm summer day, the sound of lawn mowers and children playing floating over the back privacy fence with the breeze.
I’d answered nonchalantly, “It’s obvious.”
There was a painful moment of silence while we both stared at the overgrown backyard, grass high, flowerbeds weedy from lack of attention. He broke the silence, admitting, “She’s fascinated by you…and you’re fascinated by her.”
“Yes. There seems to be a chemistry that draws us to each other.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” I’d promised him and it should have been fine. I never expected to fall under her spell. I never expected to feel anything other than what I’ve ever felt, which is as close to feeling nothing as possible and still be considered human, and there are days I am not human.
I shouldn’t have assumed that anything normal could come of my Mastering her; after all, she made Garrett fall in love with her when we had all come to believe that Garrett would never love again. He loves her and she loves
He pets me, strokes me, and speaks softly to me. I can barely hear him over the thunder. “It’s beautiful,”
he says. “Look at the next strike, feel the energy of that strike.”
I look, a jagged streak piercing the black sky. I flinch in his arms and close my eyes against the brilliant flash of light.
“Beautiful,” he says, lowering his face to mine, kissing me above the rope that holds the bamboo in my mouth. “You are beautiful, Sophia, more beautiful than the sky. When I pull the pictures up on the computer, you will see that I do not lie.”
He kisses me again, turning my face to him. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. See me here with you.” I open my eyes for him and he captures my gaze, his look so intense, so passionate, that I can’t look away. I don’t squint my eyes closed on the next strike of lightning, seeing only a flash of brightness across his features. “You are so beautiful. Thank you for trusting me.”
Holding my gaze, he kisses my forehead, my wet nose and in the midst of his kisses, locked in his gaze, I forget the storm, forget my fear.
Rumble.
He begins to untie the rope pattern, releasing first my mouth from the bamboo bondage, replacing the exotic wood with his mouth, kissing me hard, harder, like a man possessed. I kiss him back with equal fervor, enjoying his mouth, his tongue. His hands follow the rope, releasing my legs, my body, my arms.
Free, my arms go around his neck, I want to hug him and kiss him, but he stops me, pulling me into his lap so that my back is against his chest. In silence, he holds me on the rock, rain pouring over us, pointing at each lightning strike, kissing me on the temple, and the silence between us is good. With each strike of lightning, I feel the tightness of his arms holding me. With each strike, I know I am safe with this man.
Chapter 7
“…I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul…all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.”
-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Thomas
She is beautiful when she’s sleeping. During the ten weeks she’s been mine, it seems I spend a lot of time watching her sleep, not because she sleeps excessively, but because I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep—I want to watch over her, memorizing how her eyelashes flutter in dream, how her lips part in sigh. When I stroke her skin, she rolls into me, seeking me, my touch. Even in sleep, I can draw her to me.
The right thing to do would be to go to Garrett now, with the truth, the whole truth. If I only knew what that truth was. I only know that one of us is going to get hurt, him, her, me.
“I love her,” he said, when we met at her house, waiting for her to come home from the hospital. We stood outside the kitchen on the back porch, a warm summer day, the sound of lawn mowers and children playing floating over the back privacy fence with the breeze.
I’d answered nonchalantly, “It’s obvious.”
There was a painful moment of silence while we both stared at the overgrown backyard, grass high, flowerbeds weedy from lack of attention. He broke the silence, admitting, “She’s fascinated by you…and you’re fascinated by her.”
“Yes. There seems to be a chemistry that draws us to each other.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” I’d promised him and it should have been fine. I never expected to fall under her spell. I never expected to feel anything other than what I’ve ever felt, which is as close to feeling nothing as possible and still be considered human, and there are days I am not human.
I shouldn’t have assumed that anything normal could come of my Mastering her; after all, she made Garrett fall in love with her when we had all come to believe that Garrett would never love again. He loves her and she loves
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