Angels' Dares (Part 4)

Read Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Overexposure--bright, blinding. He smiles with lightning; his hand flies just as fast.

Reflex—my eyes snap shut. In the instant of my darkness, four fingers inside my right thigh, a thumb above my knee, warmth--shooting warmth--and the first breath of a question. One sound and I know I will not admit light until he is done.

“What…” It is a whisper.
“…Else…” A low rumble.
“…Do I know?” Distant thunder.

I shouldn’t have told him what words breathed in blackness could do to me. And his voice… mingling with the rain… Some people, you tell things, not caring that you’re surrendering keys and incantations, ammunition and amulets. The bright wisely, carefully, shrewdly store each, until they know it’s time; the blinding possess timing so precise, doors acquiesce open the moment those talismans slip into their hands.

I graze my teeth over my lips—bottom over top, top over bottom—slowly, so slowly. A sensation of my own to focus on. Regulate my breathing before I open my eyes. But he knows. His thumb presses into my leg, subtly more than before.

I open my eyes anyway, turn my head. His gaze is steady, relaxed. Practiced. I am not fooled.

“Always more than you let on.”

I possess as many amulets as he; I conjure just as timely. I can know simultaneously the depth of his irises and the location of my own thighs. I draw my legs together, savor the heat of four fingers between them. Relish the barely perceptible raise of his brows, the dilation of pupils lit only by the street lamp stretching heavenward despite the downfall of the rain.

“But...” I continue.
“…You…” I float my hand above his forearm.
“…Always…” Smooth it over the soft cotton of his jacket.
“… Need…” Soaking warmth into my fingers, sliding down.
“…To...” Heated fingertips meet his skin and skid.
“…Hear…” I graze my nails instead.
“…It...” Over the back of his hand. I drag them, dig them.
“…Spoken...” Deeper.

A slow, tight, full squeeze of my thigh.

Again, lightning.
Reflex.
Eyes snap shut.
Darkness.

But no thunder.
No rain.
Silence.

Warmth.
Sunlight on my eyelids.
Open them.

No car.
No street lamp.
No New York City.

Day.

Day illuminating his eyes.

And a swath of summer sky I've seen before.