Tempest - Book 1

- 18 -

I watched the ceiling fan spin for 27 minuets. 

The muffled sounds of the city did nothing to help my insomnia, and neither did the occasional clank of a door being slammed shut in the hall. 

I flung the comforter off of my legs, swinging them over the edge of the pillowy mattress. I felt the soft carpeting under my toes and I sat, staring blankly at the ecru wall. 

There was a soft tingle that had been lingering on my lips, and a nervous shake about my fingers. With the flutter of an eyelid, I could see him standing there before me. 

Taste him. 

I drew in a steadying breath and I stood. 

Switching on the bed side lamp, I made my way to the closet, carefully rummaging through my clothes, thinking. 

Well, deliberating. 

I clutched a black lace thong in my hand, along with a grey satin camisole. I placed them over my shoulder, and took to my unopened bag, digging relentlessly. 

Finally I unearthed a pair of cotton shorts, cut high. Taking myself and my clothing into the bath, I ran a brush through my mussed hair, smoothing it like I wish I could smooth my nerve. 

I dampened a soft cloth, gently wiping life back into my somber skin. The clothes felt nice slipping over me, and I pulled at the hem nervously. 

Why did he always make me so fucking unsteady? 

The trickle of the faucet was almost deafening as it ran over my toothbrush, my perfume nauseating as it settled on my warm body. 

My legs were suddenly leaden as I tried to propel myself forward, and I all but drug myself to my door. 

I took a deep breath, and with faith, the door was open and I was standing silently in the carefully lit hall. 

I felt like I was standing on the other side of the earth from his door, not a mere 10 feet. My heart crept into my throat, beating frantic. 

I was psyching myself out for no reason. I should be calm, poised. Gliding across the floor in contention to my fate. 

But I wasn't. In fact, I was falling apart, a mess of jangled nerves and I knew surely that If I were to take a step, I would fall into pieces before I ever reached the door. 

With a valiant push, I strode across the carpet, breath held and I reached out, rapping three times on his door. 

The air hissed from my lungs and I felt dangerously intoxicated by adrenaline. And stupidity. A few moments passed, and I was met with utter silence. 

Maybe he had already slipped into a deep sleep, one that holds you until dawn breaks. Or maybe he wasn't there at all. I considered knocking again, pursuing that golden handle. 

It was foolish. With all the confidence in my bones, I knocked once more, this time knuckles barely connecting against cool metal. 

Again, only silence answered my calls. 

My shoulders sagged, and I felt the last drag of tingle recede from my lips. My body felt hollow, the rapacious fire that had consumed me was no more than a sputtering pile of ashes. 

I bit back tears that threatened my eyes, and I turned away. 

The gently whoosh of the door halted me. 

I looked back, fire engulfing me once more, flames licking deliciously between my thighs. 

He stood there, dark eyes squinted from waining sleep, hair disheveled. His bare chest rose softly with quiet breaths and his tight black briefs clung dangerously over his muscled thighs.