A Veil of Glass and Rain (14 page)

answer.

Then a dense silence descends. It blankets

us in a choking embrace. We turn to stare at

the shelf where the television set used to be

situated. Now it's a dusty emptiness.

At length, Clém shakes her head and grabs

the pillow from behind her. Then she begins to

punch it.

“My best friend and my boyfriend. I'm a

frigging cliché,” she grumbles.

“Punishing evil pillows is satisfying, but

saying the f-word is very satisfying,” I offer.

She hits her poor pillow one more time.

“Fuck! I am a cliché and I hate it!” She

declares loudly.

The door bursts open, letting Alessio inside.

He stares at us, shielding his mouth with his

hand; a pose of fake consternation.

“You said
fuck
,” he hisses.

As soon as I step into our small living room, I

know something I will not like is about to

happen. I glance at the closed door of Clém's

bedroom, and I wish I were still there, talking

to her and Alessio.

Eagan and Ivan are sitting cross-legged on

the floor, around our small coffee table. The

crumbs in their plates and the empty bottles

tell me about their full stomachs, while the

lap-tops in front of them are the opening of a

story I don't want to hear.

Eagan smiles, but in his eyes there's a smoky

intensity that makes me tremble. Conversely,

Ivan avoids my gaze.

Then the show begins.

“This friend of mine owns a club. He needs

a band. For tomorrow night,” Eagan says.

“We're a band. And we're available,” Ivan

adds.

“We are? What did Alessio say?” I ask.

“He wants to play. Our songs.”

“This friend of mine doesn't like cover-

bands,” Eagan puts in.

“Too bad, because we are a cover-band,” I

insist.

“Well, Alessio and I are also composers. We

really want to play our songs,” Ivan declares.

“Who's going to sing? Marco is out.” I feel

cornered, for I already know their answer.

“You will sing. You have an amazing voice,

kitty-cat.” Eagan's tone is soothing.

“I don't know the songs,” I retort. But I

recognize that it is a poor excuse.

“Yes, you do. We played them for you. And

you played with us, remember?” Ivan is overly

enthusiastic.

I am defeated.

“Just say yes, Brina.” Eagan concludes the

show.

I nod. I want to punch some innocent

pillows.

While I clean up, Eagan and Ivan focus their

attention on their computers.

“What's the name of the band?” Eagan asks.

“We are Awesome,” Ivan answers.

“Really?”

“Yes. And it's not ironic.”

I am mad.

I hate feeling trapped and pushed, but I

don't want to disappoint Eagan and the twins.

They are aware of it, and they've used that

knowledge against me.

I switch on all the lights in my bedroom,

because I need to disperse all the night

shadows, along with the idea of intimacy.

I grab a quick shower, I don't shave, I don't

wash my hair, I don't prime my body for sex,

for I'm too upset. I yank on dark sweatpants

and a purple tank-top. I don't plan to entice, I

only need to feel comfortable.

When I step in my room, however, I regret

all my hasty decisions. Eagan is sitting on my

bed. He's wearing black sweatpants, and

nothing else. I'm tempted to fall on my knees

in front of him and trace with my fingertips

and tongue the sprinkle of golden hair on his

muscular chest, and then the path of dark-

blond hair on his taut stomach, that vanishes

inside the waistband of his pants.

Just like earlier, his gaze is dusky and

consuming. Even as it roams my body, heat

gathers between my legs.

There's a sharp ache inside me, that craves

relief; Eagan is both the reason and the cure.

“You're mad at me,” he says.

“Yes.”

“You're going to forgive me.”

“I am?”

“Yes. We need each other too much. Come

here.”

His voice is hoarse and it is deeply

connected to the strings of my desire. I can't

fight the pull. I go to him.

He opens his legs and I step between them. I

rest my hands on his broad shoulders, as he

wraps his arms around my waist, tugging my

body toward his.

Our breaths stutter and merge.

“Take the top off,” he rasps out.

My fingers slide reluctantly away from his

warm skin to wrap around the hem of my tank-

top; in one swift movement I peel it off and

drop it to the floor. My long hair falls back

over my shoulders, teasing my sensitive skin.

Eagan nuzzles and licks the soft valley

between my breasts. I whimper and frame his

head in my hands, digging my fingers in his

hair.

“I love your hair. It's like a waterfall of

black ink,” he utters softly.

Then he takes one of my nipples into his

mouth and suckles, hard.

I moan his name and bend my torso to offer

him more of my flesh. Eagan growls his

approval.

His uninjured hand leaves my waist and

slides beneath the waistband of my

sweatpants, and under my panties. While his

mouth nips and torments my stiff nipples, his

fingers graze my slit and then push inside me.

He groans against my skin.

I bury my face in his hair, to muffle my

sounds of pleasure.

The heel of his hand presses against my

clitoris, as his fingers thrust inside me. I grind

into his hand, seeking, panting, then mewling

my release.

Eagan's lips abandon my breast to capture

my mouth and my sobs, while his hand strokes

my back in a soothing motion.

Eventually, he gently breaks the kiss; he

licks and nibbles at my lips, then he smiles.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“About what?” I gasp.

I cry out anew.

We're reclining on my narrow bed. I'm

writhing, bucking, trashing amid the sheets.

Eagan's fingers delve within my intimate

curls to stroke my swollen nub of flesh.

“Let go, again. For me,” he encourages.

My body bows with bliss and surrenders once

more, then it collapses on the mattress,

subdued but sated.

Through teary eyes I watch the shadows and

the streetlights billow and blend on the walls,

while Eagan dusts kisses across my mouth, my

neck, my breasts. He edges alongside me and

his erection jerks against my leg.

“Your nipples are just as I've imagined

them. Deep pink on the milky-white canvas of

your skin,” he utters gently.

Even as the waves of pleasure subside,

Eagan cups my mound in his palm.

“I want to see you,” he asserts, his eyes

gleaming in the semi-darkness.

“You can't,” I breathe.

“Why not?”

“Do you remember when you used to call

me fur-ball?”

He laughs. “Now, I have to see you,” he

says.

“Not tonight. Please,” I tell him hurriedly.

He brushes a tender kiss over my lips, then

he lays his cheek on my breast. His hand

remains possessively pressed against my still-

throbbing sex.

I link my arms around his neck, and I pull

him closer to my chest.

“Eagan? What about you? I mean, you

didn't-”

“Tonight is for you,” he cuts in. “Tomorrow

night in my bed,
our
bed, every inch of me is

yours. To love. To pleasure. And every inch of

you is mine,” he finishes.

The promising thought thaws the ice

underneath my skin, and lulls me to sleep.

Dreams reveal facts about ourselves that we

ignored. Dreams help us see hidden truths.

Dreams, sometimes, are just soothing songs.

I'm eleven and I'm standing close to the

edge of a huge pond. I'm wearing a yellow

sundress. My hair is short.

Eagan is standing on the other side of the

pond. He's wearing black sweatpants and

nothing else. He's holding a purple umbrella,

because it is raining; but I don't feel the

raindrops against my skin and I'm not cold, for

Eagan's presence warm me.

“My parents are leaving. They have an

important job to do. Their photos will change

the world,” I tell him.

“Are you scared?” He asks me.

“Yes. But I must be brave. They can't stay

away from each other. When they're apart,

they're sad.”

“What about you? Are you sad?”

I stare at my reflection in the water. It

dims and fades into the depths of the pond.

Soon after the contours of my image

materialize; but I'm not eleven, I'm twenty.

I'm naked. My long hair is my only shield.

I glance up at Eagan. He's naked as well.

He's not holding the purple umbrella any

longer.

The rain has stopped.

“You're not alone. I'm here. You have me,”

he says.

The pond is now a tiny drop.

I take a step toward Eagan. He cradles me

in his arms.

“I love you, Brina.”

“I love you, Eagan.”

I am safe.

14.

He awakens me with pleasure.

His fingers brush over my stiff nipples, then

he pinches them between thumb and

forefinger. My entire body arches with delight.

My behind pushes back against his erection,

coaxing a deep groan out of him.

While his hands cup my breasts, he nibbles

at the back of my neck, painting goose pimples

all over my skin. I'm his white canvas.

I reach behind me and between our bodies

to palm his shaft.

“Kitty-cat!” He warns.

“It is tomorrow, Eagan. That means you're

mine,” I declare.

His penis jerks against my hand and my

insides clench in response.

I whimper his name, and he moans mine; it

is all the encouragement I need. I stroke him

trough his pants and he thrusts hungrily against

my palm.

I turn my face toward his, then I let my lips

part, so that I can swallow his sounds of bliss.

We share needy kisses until our breathing

becomes normal.

Then I shift and bury my face against his

chest; his heart is still beating wildly.

Eagan's arms clutch me in a fierce embrace.

“I'm going to miss you today,” I whisper.

“I'll miss you too,” he says. “I'm taking a

week off. Can you do the same?” He adds, as

he strokes my rumpled hair.

I think about my two very relaxed bosses

and I grin. “Absolutely.”

“Good.”

His caresses are as sweet as a lullaby, but

there is something else I need to tell him,

before I fall back to sleep.

“The other guys I've slept with could never

make me come,” I blurt out.

He remains silent for a long while. I feel his

muscles tense.

“Eagan?”

He exhales a deep sigh. “A part of me is

very happy to hear that. The other part of me,

though, wants to hunt those kids down and

kick their asses.”

I press a kiss to his heartbeat. “I didn't tell

you this to upset you. I just want you to know

that I belong to you. Completely. Heart and

body.”

I walk through my soon-to-be ex-apartment on

silent feet.

I check on Clém and Alessio; they're still

sleeping, curled up on Clémentine's narrow

bed.

Then, in the small living room, I find Ivan

asleep on the couch. He looks young and

peaceful. I realize that I'm not angry at him

any longer for, thanks to Eagan's loving, the

flames of lust still simmer along my skin. I feel

content.

Besides, for Ivan and Alessio music means

joy, therefore they don't understand why to

me it is not the same.

In their everyday life the twins are reserved

but friendly. When they perform, particularly

their own compositions, they are open to the

world. They trust the audience. I don't.

I've already played their songs, but we were

in a soundproofed room; it was like being

inside a protected cocoon.

Tonight, it will be different. There will be

nothing standing between my soul and the