Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (25 page)

     
As I exited the
building, I could see the sun setting far off in the distance. It was too bad
it only decided to come out now. Still, it was very nice out so I chose to
walk. Snuggled under my coat, the chill was a comforting welcome. I breathed
in, tasting the water in the air. When it began drizzling after I'd only taken
a few steps outside of the building, I almost believed that it was actually
just waiting for me to come out so it could greet me. Silly, but I held my hand
out anyway and caught the small droplets, closing my hand and feeling the
wetness between my fingers as though it were an old friend.

     
Walking the
streets of Seattle in the rain after the sun had gone was one of my new
favorite things. I enjoyed the way the city lights reflected off the wet
ground, creating ripples of colors for me to walk through. The streets were
full of buzzing shops and restaurants. Usually, I hated most cities. But this place
was okay. I felt safe here, unlike some of the shadier places I had lived in
the past.
That being said, you probably wouldn't find me walking around
after two in the morning waving my wallet in the air.

     
Perhaps there
was some truth to the Seattle Freeze? If so, that might explain why I liked it
here so much. I was an introvert, after all. Politeness was good, but I had no
desire to make any new friends. Coops was another matter, though. He had always
been surrounded by people. It would be a failure on my part to leave before
making sure he got settled with a new group of friends. Then again, how could I
possibly be of any help when all I did was stay indoors?
Hm…What to do?

     
When I walked
into the apartment, I found Dale lounging on the couch, flicking through the
channels.

     
"Hey,
welcome home. Everything go okay?"

     
"Swell and
dandy. Did you eat yet?" I asked as I shrugged off my coat.

     
"Nope, I
was waiting for you. Or are you gonna spend the night with Big?"

     
"…Did you
just really?"

     
"Hey, if
the shoe fits..." He winked at me.

     
Pursing my
lips, I shook my head. Ethan was
not
getting a nickname. "I want
pizza."

     
"Sounds
good. Want me to order?"

     
"Please. I
gotta take a shower."

     
A few hours
later we sat with full stomachs on the couch, watching the Terminator get
lowered into a vat of molten metal.
Wait for it…
When his hand signaled a
thumbs up, I lost it.

     
"I can't
believe you still cry, even now," Dale chuckled.

     
I wiped my
eyes, whining incoherent gurgle noises.

     
As soon as the
credits began rolling, Dale let out a large yawn and stretched both his arms
and legs out. "What time is it?" he asked. "I'm beat."

     
"Didn't
you sleep most the day?"

     
"'Twas but
a nap in the grand scheme of sleep."

     
"It's
barely after nine."

     
"Shit.
Must be food coma."

     
"Go to
bed. I'll clean up," I offered.

     
He stood up,
rubbing an eye with his hand. "Thanks. Sleep tight, Baby." After
mussing up my hair, he headed into his bedroom.

     
"Night," I called after him.

     
I cleared off
the coffee table, throwing the trash away and sticking the leftovers in the
fridge. I didn't feel like going back to the couch, but I wasn't quite ready
for bed just yet. Eventually, I ended up doing the dishes. What little amount
of dishes there were, that is. With nothing left to do out in the living room,
I turned off the lights and headed into my room.

     
I grabbed my
phone, my iPod, and my headphones. Leaving the lights on, I crawled into bed
and listened to some music. It was how I always ended the night, ever since I
was nine years old. I hadn't been lying to Ethan when I told him I was
dependent on music. It had become a vital part of my life. Not only could I not
function throughout the day if I went without it for too long, but I couldn't
even sleep without it - not unless I was literally exhausted. These last few
nights had been an exception, of course.

     
Closing my
eyes, I focused all of my attention on the instruments, the lyrics - if there
were any, and my favorite chord progressions.

     
Two hours
passed, and I still found myself wide awake. It was a little odd considering my
sleeping schedule had changed. I should have been tired, possibly on the verge
of passing out by now. Exhaling loudly, I finally allowed myself to cave. I'd
done my best not to think of him, and I had succeeded, for the most part. But
that didn't prevent my body from yearning for him. All night I'd felt the
absence of his warmth. I missed his touch, his voice, his kiss, his laugh…And
for the very first time in forever, I felt lonely. Lonely to the point where it
actually bothered me.

     
So it was true,
then. I really was ruined. I, who thrived in isolation - who needed my own
private space, was changed.

     
What was he
doing now, right at this very moment? How many times had he thought of me? Had
he even thought of me at all? What did he eat for dinner? How did he spend his
night? What was he feeling right now?

     
I picked up my
phone with a sudden need to contact him. Maybe he would reply, maybe not. I
didn't really care. I just needed to do something, anything at all, so I could
feel some kind of connection to him.

     
I wasn't sure
what to text him. Eventually, I decided I would tell him the truth, even if it
was too gushy:
Trying to imagine being in your arms so I can fall asleep.

     
As soon as I
hit send, I felt relief begin to settle in, followed by just a hint of
nervousness. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes.

     
About two
minutes later, my phone rang. It was him, of course.

     
I pulled my
headphones off and answered quietly. "Hey…"

     
"Happy
with your decision?"

     
The sound of
his voice alone was enough to cause a reaction within my body. I felt so much
calmer, among other things. I knew I should have been worried, but I could only
feel happy that I was now talking to him. "…No. But it was necessary. How
was your evening?"

     
"Productive," he replied after a moment. "I've been
making up for all those days spent lazying about with you. And your evening? Do
anything fun with the roommate?"

     
"Ashamed
to say we took the couch potato route."

   
  
"And now you're having trouble sleeping?"

     
"Pretty
much. Coops crashed a little over two hours ago and it felt weird being out
there alone, so I tried going to bed, too. But I…"
Oh no.
I'm
complaining. I fucking hate complaining. What's wrong with me?
"I
didn't wake you or anything, did I?"

     
"No. I was
trying to get ahead with some work, but you've provided a lovely
distraction."

     
"I see.
Are you going to ask me what I'm wearing?" I joked.

     
"I can
already imagine. But since you brought it up, what
are
you
wearing?"

     
"Same old,
same old."

     
"Is your
door locked?"

     
I looked over
at my door.
Did I lock it when I came in?
"No."

     
"Lock
it," he ordered.

     
"Um…What
f-"

     
"Lock it.
Now." His voice was suddenly hard.

     
"Okay,
okay." I rushed off the bed, my feet fumbling to escape from the tangled
blanket. I didn't want to disobey him when he was using
that
tone.
"Okay, it's locked."

     
"Now get
undressed. Completely."

     
I straightened
my body and froze, unsure of what was happening.
Uh…Are we going to have
phone sex or something?
That kind of thing…I can't do that kind of
thing.
Even so
,
I lifted my gown over my body and pulled down my
panties, quickly stepping out of them before dropping the phone onto the bed so
I could unhook my bra.

     
"Done," I breathed into the phone when I was completely naked.

     
"Good. Now
lay back down and tell me…When was the last time you touched yourself?"

     
Once again, I
froze as embarrassment took hold of my body. "H-How do you know that I do?
What if I don't?"

     
"You said
so the first time I made you come. Did you really forget?"

     
"Oh.
Yeah." Shit, I did forget.
More like I blocked it out of my mind.

     
"I knew,
anyway. Your paintings speak for themselves," he stated simply.

     
"…Is that
the kind of thing you think of when you see my art?"

     
"Answer
the question."

     
"Um, I
don't know. Sometime before we first met." I really did
not
want to
talk about this kind of thing.

     
"But not
since we've met?" he asked curiously.

     
"No."

     
"I
see." He paused. The next word that came out of his mouth was spoken in an
amused tone. "
Dinosaurs
."

     
"Huh?"

     
"I looked
him up. The littlest Sinclair."

     
"Oh."

     
"I have to
admit, I'd be lying if I said I couldn't see a slight resemblance."

     
Distracted, I
laughed and settled down onto the bed. "I pray for your sake that you
are
lying."

     
"Are there
any other nicknames I should know about?"

     
No.
"None
of importance."

     
"Well
then," he continued, "are you comfortable?"

     
"As cozy
as can be. What are we doing?"

     
"
We
are not doing anything.
You
are going to pleasure yourself. And you are
not to hang up until you've made yourself come. Understand?"

     
"…Are you
serious?"

     
"Do I
sound like I'm joking?" he answered in a low, eerily pleasant voice.

     
"But...I
mean…Um…"

     
"See, you
could
be in my bed right now, in my arms, but you instead chose to keep your distance
- all to prove some point to yourself that you don't need me. If your text was
any indication, you aren't doing so well. And now you don't know what to do
with yourself. Lucky for you, I'm willing to help alleviate some of your
boredom."

     
"I
didn't…that is, I don't...I mean-"

     
"Your
hand.
Now
," he ordered forcefully, to which I immediately complied.
I quickly uncrossed my legs and placed my hand over my center folds. As
embarrassed as I was, the hardness of his voice had still made me a little
moist.

     
"Are you
rubbing your clit?"

     
"...Yes."

     
"And how
does it feel?"

     
I bit my lip
and closed my eyes. "…Okay. Not like when you do it, though."

     
"No,"
he agreed. I could practically hear him smiling on the other end.

     
My own hand
didn't seem to be doing the trick, so I imagined it was his touch on me,
instead. It was difficult. His fingers were so much larger. So much stronger,
yet he was still able to use them with such gentle finesse.

     
"Talk to
me. Please," I asked.

     
"What
would you like me to say?"

     
"Anything."

     
"Tell me,
what are you thinking about?"

     
"You," I admitted. "Your hands."