Read Online Douse (Book One: At the Edge of a Hurricane) by June Hydra - Free Book Online

of
guy."
                "At least your
honest," he says, winking. "A lot of girls would never admit
that."
                The rise path stops short of a
gravel mound. Yellow bulldozers sit silently atop the mounds. The city's still
building its parks, trying to create green spaces for the inner city choked by
skyscrapers. 
                We double back up the rose
path. Forking left of the path is a cobblestone road which we follow to a
purling fountain. Roses surround the fountain's base, and they sway with the
breeze, wavering collectively as one swatch of red. 
                Bishop and I walk to the
fountain's edge, close enough that you can feel the spray of water against your
cheek. I hold Bishops hands and study him closely. He has stubble growing in,
prodding through his supple skin. His hair grows to the right, kept tightly
coiled with pomade. Fresh, everything smells fresh and new.
                Bishop bends down, then plucks
a rose from the fountain's gardens. He hands me the rose, looking at my eyes
all the while. And as he slides the rose though my hair, a great excitement
fries my brain. I step closer to him. 
                "You look absolutely
beautiful," he says. "Beautiful and witty. Nice."
                "You're too much," I
whisper. "You're too kind to me."
                "And you as well,"
Bishop bushes aside my hair. The heat from his hands makes my skin burn. 
                "I want you," I grab
his shoulders. My lips to his ear and repeat my statement of lust, cuddled
close to his ear. "I want you so badly."
                "You should."
                I put my hands underneath his
chin, pulling at his skin. "So you've got a little bad boy in you?"
                Bishop adjusts the rose. I bite
my lip harder and harder, unable to express my want in words. 
                "We can go to my place,"
he says. "We can do anything together."
     
     
               
The park is a short ride from Bishop's place. He keeps putting his hand on mine
while he drives, and I reciprocate every stroke with a kiss on his cheek. 
               
Neighborhoods zip past in a flurry of boards and windows. Cars accelerate and
decelerate, but I only wish for them to all part, letting us through. I look at
Bishop and guess what he might be without all those clothes keeping us apart.
               
But then.
               
But then, within me, grows a reluctance. Am I reverting to old ways? Relying on
sex to validate my existence as a person? As a spiting tactic against my
parents? 
               
I look at Bishop again. This is our third date. Most people would have sex on
the first or second. Third is the equivalent to ages in today's era. 
               
We slow down on a dead-end. Before, when I came here, it was night. But in the
daylight his house shines. Oak trees flank the sides. Empty garbage cans
rattle. Squirrels dart across the back asphalt, orange bolts of fur chattering
amongst themselves. 
               
Bishop pulls into a red brick driveway. The eaves of his house are crusty and
dry, and the gutters collect mold. But in spite of the mold and crust is a two
story garden home with a projecting sunroom. Sprouting in his lawn, an oak
tree, tall and like a paint brush entrenched in the soil. 
               
We get out of the car and I trail behind him, connected by his strong hand. At
the door, he reverses our positions, letting me in first, making sure my steps
are planted firm and guided. 
               
"You're a gentleman," I say.
               
The rooms are all the same. There's the couch, the kitchen. The fireplace and
mantle with their pictures surrounding them all. There's the enviable rug and
carpet that stretches between rooms, and the marble floor in the bathroom. I
freshen up, taking care to