Page 99 of Raven

I pace around the room, waiting for them, the shadows dancing on the walls with the flicker of the candlelight, when a knock comes on the door.

“Maddy! It’s us!” Little shouts outside against the roaring rain.

I can’t hide a smile when I open the door, training my eyes to look lower to where my little guy’s face is. He’s wearing a blue rain poncho, his grin bigger than life despite the fact that the wind almost rips the poncho off him.

I let him in and lift my eyes to meet Raven’s. I can’t discern his expression, except that his eyes burn right into my heart, making it pound. “Come in,” I say.

He knows this is the first night we will co-exist in a room all night probably without a single touch. Yet, his gaze burns me harder than ever, like this is the most important night yet. The candlelight and the colors of the stained glass on the wall decor reflect in his huskie-like eyes, turning them a shade of emerald. Crazy. He is crazy mesmerizing.

Little drops his poncho and runs straight for the couch while Raven hangs his on the coat rack, does the same to Little’s, then studies the place with a frown.

“Did your generator not kick in?” he asks, ruffling his damp hair that looks even sexier when messy from the rain.

Though most of the bigger and luxury villas have generators, I don’t have one. If it were just me and Raven, I would say my semi-dark bungalow is romantic, though there’s nothing romantic about what we do together.

“I don’t have one,” I say.

I never told anyone, but I used to love storms on the Eastside. A bunch of us would gather in one cabin, and we would sit through the night and wipe the water from the leaking ceilings and drink and play music and talk in the darkness lit up only by flashlights and tell stories. I would listen to the crashing waves outside, the howling winds, the rain slashing against the windows, and I’d imagine that we were alone in the entire world. Somehow, as messed up as it sounds, that fantasy was comforting because I knew no one would be looking for me.

Raven throws a glance at my potted plants and flowers stacked on the floor in the corner. I put a lot of work into them. They are my babies, and I didn’t want to leave them to the storm. When you don’t have anything, you get attached to the smallest things.

“Trying to save those?” he asks.

“Yeah. They were a lot of work. They are rare. I had to order them from the mainland.”

“Next time just ask. I can get you a garden.” He is boasting, and that’s unusual.

“Uh-huh,” I murmur. “If I asked for a flower for every time we’ve been together, I would’ve had a garden already.”

We are still standing close to the door. My hands are in my back pockets. His are on his hips. When our eyes meet, the comment burns the air between us.

“You guys hungry?” I ask, keeping his stare.

“Snacks!” Little shouts. “Can we watch a movie on your iPad? Until the juice runs out?”

Raven blinks and smiles. He smiles. A big, wide smile. And even in the dimness of the room, it makes his face suddenly charming, something I never thought of Raven before. It’s a spontaneous smile. It’s a smile to Little’s loud comments. Raven’s unguarded smile renders his face in the most beautiful way, and I stare in awe.

His smile falls as he notices the way I look at him. “What?”

They say every rose has a thorn. But Raven is a thorn bush, prickly and dangerous. Except I just saw a bloom. His smile is like a rare flower, and my heart blooms in turn.

“Huh.” I stand, mesmerized, smiling back at him. “Snacks then,” I murmur.

Raven starts smiling again, not understanding, probably thinking about something completely different while I let myself admire the man who for the first time let out a genuine grin. There’s a haunting beauty in a smile that breaks out of years of pain and hurt. It’s like his face changed completely, and I can’t look away.

“You all right?” he asks.

I nod, starting to move toward the kitchen. “I’m great.”

His smile morphs into a little smirk as I pass him. “You okay with me here all night?”

Here it goes again. He always seems to think his presence is a curse.

For a second, his eyes flick to my bare legs, and here they come again, the images of us slowly spinning in my head like a carousel. The way he undresses me from the waist down and opens my legs, then works on me as I am sprawled on the bed, drowning in one orgasm after another. Or the way he takes me afterward while I am so worked up that everything he does to me is extra-sensitive, making me drown in gasps. The way he pauses inside me, studies my face, slowly rolling his hips now and then as if trying to read my expression while inside me. Every little push of his hips resonates in a wicked glint in his eyes. Every deep roll of his hips makes my lips part in a tiny moan, and he does it repeatedly, like some sort of sex researcher. His whisper in my ear, “Tsk, tsk, Maddy, Maddy. So impatient.” And then he kisses every inch of my face. Everything but my lips. He knows he can’t and he intentionally gets dangerously close to see if I cave in.

I don’t.

I want him to ask for it.

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