He took another drink of his wine, procured more cords, and approached me. Putting one hand on his hip, he surveyed me carefully, not unlike how he’d scrutinized his canvas.
“That’s a very pretty shirt.” I glanced down. It was a black tank top with a chain of red daisies embroidered near the top. “Hmm. Let’s try this.”
He abandoned the pastel-colored ties he held and replaced them with red and black ones. Placing my arms flat against the chair’s arms, he wrapped each of mine down with black first, making X patterns. The style reminded me of the way a ballerina’s slippers laced up. When that was finished, he went back over each arm with red.
“These are more like ribbons than your usual ones,” I observed. “Or maybe sashes. Do you own, like, every possible form of constraint known to man?”
“Nearly,” he said. “All right. Let’s get started. The water’s over there.”
He indicated a table near the window where my old friend the pitcher sat, but I’d already known it was there. Settling as comfortably as I could in the chair, I stared at the pitcher and immediately let my mind reach out to the water. It flared like a beacon to me. Beyond it, I could sense all the other water in the room too. Me and Dorian, the wine, water vapor. I directed my attention to the pitcher’s water.
I can feel you, now come to me.
But, as many practices had already demonstrated, wanting didn’t make things happen. God, that pissed me off. I honestly didn’t know how Dorian could stand waiting around through all of these sessions. It had to be boring as hell. I was bored, and I actually got to do something. Sort of.
No, no. That was a bad attitude. Forget the boredom. Focus on the task at hand.
Hours passed again. If Dorian was still awake-which I doubted-I knew he’d close off the session soon. The knowledge irritated me, but I understood. I was already feeling tired, my eyes bleary. I kept blinking a lot to regain focus and keep them from drying. I think that made me notice what happened next.
“Dorian, look at the pitcher.”
He sat up right away and followed my gaze. A moment later, he walked over and touched the pitcher, brushing his fingers along its side. Water quietly ran down the ceramic surface, pooling on the table’s glass surface. A slow, delighted smile spread over his face.
“You’ve seized it. It’s listening to you. Now make it come farther-all the way out of the jug.”
With tangible progress before me, my excitement grew. I thought hard about what I’d been doing, trying to repeat it. About a minute later, I could see water spilling down the sides of the jug, much faster and in greater amounts. The puddle on the table grew too full, dripping onto the floor.
“I’m ruining your carpet.”
“Never mind the carpet. Bring it farther.” I could hear the anticipation in his voice.
Some logical part of me saw carpet as tough terrain to navigate, and the water’s progress slowed. Soon, I decided, that was only in my head. The carpet had nothing to do with anything. Only my control of the water mattered.
As soon as I made that leap, the water shot over the carpet in a curving rivulet, almost like a snake. It reached my feet, and I could feel it waiting for some further instruction. Only, I didn’t know what to tell it. I simply wanted it to come to me.
I’d barely given form to that thought when the water sprang up before me and hovered in the air. My mouth dropping, I watched it splinter into hundreds of drops. They hung there, suspended like strings of crystal beads. I gaped, fascinated, but had no idea what to do next. My grasp on them slipped away, and the drops disintegrated further into a fine fog. Seconds later, the cloud dispersed altogether, evaporating into the rest of the air. As they faded, so did the tingly, euphoric feeling racing through my blood.
Neither Dorian nor I did anything right away. Then, I started laughing. And I couldn’t stop. It was too wonderful. I wanted to do it again and again but had no more water. The wine would be too messy.
An idea occurred to me. Sensing the moisture in the air, I sent my power out to the air right in front of me. Suddenly, tiny flecks of water condensed on my skin, like I’d been sprayed by a light mist. I laughed again.
Dorian, grinning as broadly as me, walked over and ran his fingers over each of my cheeks. Touching his fingers together, he rubbed the water into his skin, almost as if testing it was real.
“I did it.”
“You did do it.”
His eyes shone with unadulterated pleasure. You might have thought he’d been the one to do this. Funny that he should take such joy in this, I thought, when it was a paltry thing compared to his magic. He untied me and clasped my hands to help me rise.
“I think a celebration is in order.” He poured another glass of wine and handed it over. We clinked our glasses together. “To clever pupils.”
“With good teachers.”
He took a sip. “Hardly. I actually slept most of tonight.”
I laughed as I drank. “Do you…when you use your magic, do you feel something…I don’t know, something good burning in you? Like pleasure or exhilaration…and not just from, like, mental satisfaction either…”
I couldn’t put it into words, but his face told me I didn’t have to. “Yes. I know exactly what you mean. Wonderful, isn’t it?”
I drank more of the wine. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Just wait. You’ve just had a sip of it. Once you come into your full power, you won’t know how you did without.”
I grinned at him. I felt so thoroughly pleased with myself and life, I could hardly stand it. When had I been this happy? Aside from being with Kiyo? And if I had this kind of reaction now, what would happen when I really moved into the big leagues? Dorian spoke of it like an addiction, but it sure sounded like a good one.
Looking up, I saw his eyes all over me. He set his glass down and spoke in a soft voice, almost wonderingly. “You shine…did you know that? Power suits you.”
He made me as happy as everything else in the world just then. Warmth built in my chest and radiated out through the rest of my body. I don’t know how that feeling expressed itself on my face, but it must have conveyed something because he leaned over and kissed me.
I could taste wine in that soft kiss, wine and heat. One of his hands pulled me against him while the other carefully removed my glass. Still pressing us together, he eased me onto the bed. I answered his sweet, taunting kisses with hard, demanding ones. It didn’t take him long to adjust to this shift in style. He rolled me to my back and lay down on top of me, twining one hand in my hair to hold my head in place as an eager need suddenly filled his kisses. He consumed my mouth with them while his other hand slid unabashedly between my thighs, rubbing me through my jeans.
My body arched up against his, and I felt an aching cry rise up in my throat, only to be lost in the pressure of his mouth on mine. I knew then it would finally happen. The dangerous allure of this…the exoticness of sleeping with someone who was still such an unknown quantity…it all enflamed me that much more. We would do this. We would come together, and I would give myself to him.
Give myself to him.
A tightness seized my chest, conflicting sharply with the burning pleasure in the rest of my body. His touch made me crave more, almost made me beg for it, and yet that angry part in the back of my mind was screaming again. It told me if I made this choice, if I deliberately chose to do this with him, then I was giving in to the enemy. I didn’t really know who that enemy was exactly, but it didn’t matter. The instinct pulsed through me, defensive and afraid. It warred against the rest of me, against my body’s needs and even against my own conscious wishes. I knew and liked Dorian. Why couldn’t I overcome that base fear? In some ways, the fear was titillating. I had a feeling if I could just get over that first crest of difficulty, the problems would go away.