Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Ever and Ever

OK, I think I've got it. The next paragraph after last Tuesdays introduction. 
......

He’d been fiddling around with stuff at the edges of the room for nearly half an hour, coming back every five minutes to stick the cold metal under her neckline. He hadn’t undressed her, walking in determinedly, and locking the door behind him. She’d begun to be able to hear as soon as he stepped into the room the day before.

Or long enough ago to know he'd given several tours, talking animatedly to what seemed like a room full of people about her history and her life About finding her in a basement in London after the bombings of World War II. About the efforts to revive her, the efforts to identify her, and eventual decision to include her in the museum to have her near the closest thing to experts on magic this world still had. If there was no one left who could create magic, at least there were still those who studied it. Those who might be able to help if she ever woke.

He stood close as he talked and there was a certain fondness in his voice, but he’d moved through the sex act as if he’d been forced; only doing those things absolutely necessary for coitus to occur.

Now, if she interpreted the sounds correctly, he was banging his head on the table.

Thud, thud, thud.

She was wiggling her toes.

Her tongue moved inside her mouth and she thought her cheeks might have stretched in what she hoped might resemble a smile.

He hadn’t noticed.

Oh, if only she could sneak up behind him, cover his eyes, and tell him, “Guess who!”

Or maybe roll to her side and use a sexy breathy voice to tell him he’d been great -- or one of those congratulatory things men loved to hear afterward.

He hadn’t been, of course, but it had worked. He’d been right. Her toes wiggled. That alone was enough to make it the best sex she’d ever had. That was enough to make her want to flip him over and do it right. As soon as she had control of herself.

Then her fingers jumped, driving her arm over the edge of her platform and into one of those boxes they usually kept attached to her.

It fell.

Loudly.

And he was back, lifting her arm back onto the platform, leaning over her. One hand cupped her cheek. The other was lower, on her pulse-point again.

“Are you there? You’re there, aren’t you?” His voice, barely more than a whisper, held a hint of desperation.

That was when her eyes finally opened. Light, after all this time, seared her retinas, but she couldn’t close them again.

She had to see.

The room came into focus. White above her, brightness in stripes along the ceiling. A face hovered over her and she blinked to see what he looked like. To see who had saved her. Thick lashes ringed blue eyes. Stubble covered his chin. Thin, and wearing a shapeless white coat, he wasn’t a typical prince. He was still the most beautiful thing she’d seen in a thousand years.

“You’re awake.” His voice was breathy and overwhelmed.

Her smile was reflexive, which was good because she still struggled to control everything else. She was pretty sure she’d smiled.

His hands left her face and went to his own, pressing flat, side by side. They steepled and his fingers spread to smear across his eyes and down to his mouth. He held that position, eyes closed, then lifted his hands to hide his face again.

Rain watched, turning her neck slightly and running her tongue over the roof of her mouth. She appreciated the slight tickle her tongue made and the textured feel of the roof of her mouth. It would be nice to reassure her prince, to thank him, but her hands jerked when she tried to move her fingers.

She couldn’t trust her own body.

Her arm jumped, slamming a wrist into his hip.

His eyes flew wide and he jumped away from her, guilt searing his features. She jerked again and he rushed back to her side, shame fading into worry. Completely uncontrollable, her body twitched and convulsed, twisting nearly into a pretzel. The pain was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

A scream ripped from her throat and he was back, wrapping his arms around her to keep her from flying off the table when her back arched. She screamed again as fire shot through her veins. He was holding her when the door burst open. He must have unlocked it again, after, while he waited for her to wake up.

“What the hell is….”

The yelling faded as the room went dark.

4 comments:

  1. Yeah, I don't feel like he's a rapist if she doesn't.

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  2. Thanks. I'm glad it seems to be working so far.

    And I think it helps that he does feel like a rapist -- and it horrifies him.

    The rest should fall into semi-typical romance territory, her learning the new world, them learning each other, eventually falling in love, and even more eventually, admitting it. But this part had to work out reasonably for the rest to work at all.

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  3. Wow, this is awesome. I may not be a writer, but as a reader, I know what I like. I really like this so far. I think it's good that the guy is horrified about what he did, even though the girl doesn't seem to be bothered by it. The way you wrote the background and introduced both characters makes it seem much more romantic and about love and not a S&M scene.

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  4. Thank you. I completely intend to keep going on this one once I get this short out of my head and onto paper. I've been working on it three days and the ending is staying just out of reach.

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