Tempest - Book 1

- 28 -

The house vibrated with an unknown energy. The sunlight seemed to reach farther, the daft quietness not as overbearing now. 

His hand pressed gently into my back, guiding me though the twisted mazed of hallways. He had bypassed my room, and I looked back over my shoulder in longing. It was everything I wanted and more to slip beneath the innocent sheets my bed. 

I could see the slyness on his lips from the corner of my eye, his fingers gingerly curling into my shirt. 

We stopped before his door, his hand coming around the knob. 

"I hope you won't mind." 

He offered my that grin again before swinging the door open before me. 

A quiet breath hitched in my throat. My duvet was draped over his own, that mall of a wardrobe neatly folded with my clothes. 

"I-" 

He pulled me into the room, sweeping me into the soft light of the afternoon sun. 

"This time apart has made me realize Yelena. I just simply can't stand another night without you here...with me." 

He sat on the edge of the bed, expectantly prodding me with that intrusive gaze of his. I sat beside him, taking in the scenes of my space immeshed in his. My heart palpitated with a slur of emotion. My dependence swooned at the remark; chest fluttering at the romantic notion of sharing a bed with him. Invading his space, our space. 

And then my independence reeled; vying at the gross overstep of my personal air. I bit back a scoff. As if he had even an iota of boundaries. 

I slumped back against the pillows, a gentle aroma occluding me. It pricked my nose, my head softly tilting to inspect. I knew this, it was familiar. It began to stir a memory, one that stretched its wings tenderly. 

"My perfume." 

I whispered, running my fingers through the careful folds of the sheets. He stood, coming to the other side of the bed. He carefully sank onto his knees, coming over me. 

"I love it." 

He mumbled, his hand reaching out to trace the line of my neck. 

"I apologize for misplacing it, I just couldn't help myself." 

I pressed back, away from him. His fingers left a tingle against my skin. 

"You know, while you were away. I would use it to calm myself. If I closed my eyes I could almost convince myself that you were standing before me. Until I reached for you." 

His hand fell away, and suddenly I was perplexed by what his eyes read. For the first time, a genuine sincerity placated him. I felt something uncoil within me, whether it be the hatred, or the resistance. It felt like it was sloughing away from me, unwrapping myself before him. 

I reached up, caressing his face. 

"I'm here now." 

I breathed. I pulled him closer to me, eyes fluttering closed with the gentle brush of his lips on mine. His hand encompassed my waist, pulling my body tight against his. 

He wasn't in a rush to kiss me, but instead the slow movement of his lips suggested that he was savoring the way I tasted. 

If I was being truthful with myself, I knew that I felt shaken. We were plotting a course with a blank map, spinning rudderless. His behavior was uncanny, so subdued and doting. 

"I want to prove to you that I am good." 

He whispered against my lips, his fingers softly grating through my hair. I nodded, my arms pulling around his neck. 

I wanted to hear his words, but now. All I wanted was him.