Authors: Joey W. Hill
and you’re not giving it
to yourself, because no mother who
loses a child thinks she
ever deserves happiness again.”
She shook her head, more
vehemently. “There’s a
rhythm, a natural energy that moves
through us, a natural
order, and you see it around us al the
time. I feel it when I
do a particularly good yoga session.
But it doesn’t mean
we’re special or unique in the
universe, magnified under
some cosmic being’s glass. It just
means that life goes on,
and you can make the most or the
least of it. Your choice.
There isn’t a grand scheme. What you
get is what you get.”
“But you haven’t chosen.” His voice
was soft, but
relentless. “You can’t not choose,
Rachel.”
“I’m afraid of any more choices.”
Her voice cracked. “I’ve
made al the wrong ones. I have to just
stay…on the same
track, you know?”
“Remember that day I had you close
your eyes and tel
me the age you always feel, no matter
what you see in the
mirror?” At the reluctant lift of her
shoulder, he took a step
into the room. “Close your eyes now.
And when you do, I
want you to imagine the type of
woman you think would suit
me best. Who do you see, Rachel?”
She couldn’t resist the edge of
command in his tender
voice and he knew it. Just as he knew
when she closed her
eyes, she couldn’t see him with
anyone but her. She could
tel herself that merely meant her mind
was being a wil ful
child, refusing to let go of the candy
the adult part of her
knew wasn’t good for it. But if she
tried to see him with
someone else, like one of those girls
at the coffee shop, it
wasn’t only anger and jealousy that
made it hard to
envision. It
felt
wrong.
When she opened her eyes, he was
taking a seat that
mirrored her lotus position, sliding
up so that his knees
touched hers. Laying his hands there,
palms up in invitation,
he met her gaze, that powerful
connection she couldn’t
deny. “Close the circle, Rachel. Let
the energy flow
between us. You know as wel as I
do, when we meditate,
things become clearer. Let’s go to
that place together and
see what we find.”
“I don’t think I can. My mind is too
scattered.”
“Let’s try. Let me help.”
She gave a bitter half-chuckle.
“You’re the reason it’s like
that. You’re so persistent, and
eventual y you’l win, but it
won’t work, Jon. I’l make you
miserable, and I won’t be able
to bear seeing it happen. Why don’t
you understand that?
Let me live my life like this, with
yoga and physical therapy,
and don’t make me take things to
places I can’t control.”
“Lay your palms in mine, Rachel.”
She complied with a sigh, because in
al truth, she
couldn’t keep herself from touching
him. He shifted one of
his hands so her palm was the one
facing up, his pressed
down on it, the opposite of the other
side, so they had
balance in the closed circle. The heat
of his flesh sent a
ripple through her nerve endings, a
jolt to her system as if
she was an appliance that had been
plugged in, brought to
life. Fear constricted in her chest. He
had so much power
over her.
“Control is the whole point, Rachel.”
His eyes locked on
her face, holding her stil . “As I told
you in the beginning, you
need a Master who won’t
let
you take
control. I’m him. And
you can keep fighting it, but I won’t
give up. When I put that
col ar on you the other night, you
knew you were mine. It
was why you tried so hard to tear it
off. Because Cole
made you feel like an utter failure,
and you thought you
didn’t deserve what I was offering.
Like a lot of other things,
that ends now as wel .”
The steel took over now. “I’l never
al ow you to think that
about yourself. When you grieve for
your son, I’l give you
my arms, my comfort, and I’l grieve
with you, because he’s
a part of your soul, a large part of
who you are. But he’s in a
place where he can understand now,
where his father’s
disappointment and anger can’t
poison him. He knows, as I
do, how much you love him. And
how hard you tried to love
his father. And because he knows,
and loves you, he
doesn’t want you in that grave with
him.”
Their palms lay flat together, not
gripping, yet stil
connected. Her gaze rested in the
light clasp of his, her
heart ful of both uncertainty and
longing, the way he so
often made her feel. “It’s in yoga you
found your peace,” he
said in a low voice, his thumb
making a gentle pass over
her palm. “A way to accept the good
and the bad, to have it
make more sense. And as much as I
enjoyed the club,
this
is where you need to accept me as
your Master, in that
delicate balance between the
tragedies of the past and the
possibility of your future. Breathe
with me, Rachel. Just
breathe with me, and let’s see what
happens.”
He closed his eyes then, drawing that
first deep breath,
his hands loosening further so that
their palms had room for
some heat between them, that energy
transfer. She
watched him breathe, watched his
chest expand, the lift and
fal of his shoulders, the pulse at his
throat.
His lips curved. “Close your eyes,
girl, and breathe with
me.”
She shut her eyes and began the
pranayama
. As the
silence settled over them, their
breathing started to align,
and she was sure their heartbeats
would as wel .
They stayed that way for some time.
Though attuned to
Jon’s stimulating presence, her body
integrated it, made it
part of the calm center the breathing
was expanding inside
of her. Some of the sick fear and
throbbing want started to
ease, to slip away. As much as she
wanted to deny it, she
knew his presence was responsible.
He helped bring her
balance.
His hands left her palms, graceful y
turned and curled
around her wrists, a loose circle that
slid back along her
forearms, then forward once more as
she kept her hands
outstretched, both palms facing
downward now, so when he
came back he met them again, making
them vibrate with
the strip of heated space between
them. Her wrists were
tingling from his caress. Three more
breath cycles, then he
did it again. After nine repetitions, he
spoke. “Keep your
eyes closed.”
Using the pressure of his hands, he
guided her to her
feet with him. He faced her away
from him, his touch fal ing
to her waist. “Lift your hands above
you, bending back
toward me, arms overhead.”
She did, feeling the stretch in her
spine, his shoulder
beneath her head as she went into the
second step of the
sun salutation cycle. He slid up her
rib cage, palms molding
her there, holding her. “Tree pose.”
Sole of her foot pressed against the
opposite thigh, knee
bent, her hands adjusting to a pointed
fold above her head.
He took down her hair, combing it
out with his fingers, and
she held her balance with effort.
“You are so beautiful,” he
said, his voice a sensual rumble in
the quiet room. “Al
mine.”
She trembled, but he steadied her,
holding her in the
pose. “Next phase. Forward fold,
then to Down Dog.” When
she folded forward, he was stil
holding her hips, fingers in
the bend between hip and thigh, his
body against hers. She
let out a tiny sound as he pressed his
groin against her
through the narrow space between
her legs. His cock was
hard enough to make her mouth
water, but he sounded
entirely calm, placid as a lake.
“Keep your mind in a meditative
state. Let the arousal
take you where you need to go. Just
let it happen, Rachel.”
He shifted so she could stretch her
legs back into
chaturanga
, Plank, then she lifted her hips to lean back into
Down Dog, taking the stretch to her
shoulders, the back of
her legs. He ran his hands along her
buttocks now, down
over the long muscles in her thighs.
“One day, I’l make you hold this pose
while I slide inside,
let you feel how my cock buries into
the very heart of you.”
His fingers trailed over her
dampening crotch panel and her
arms quivered harder. But now he
bent over her, his arm
around her waist, steadying her as he
dropped a kiss on
the bump of her spine in the center of
her back. “Have you
ever done the
camatkarasana
,
Rachel? The Wild Thing
pose?”
She shook her head. She’d seen it of
course, but maybe
because of what it symbolized, a
celebration of personal
power and freedom, she’d avoided it.
“Wel , we’re going to do it now.”
It was a very advanced position.
From Down Dog, it took
a lithe lift of hips, swinging one leg
over so she’d go to a
backbend
asana
, where her right leg
would be straight out
to the floor, foot rol ed on its edge,
while her left leg stayed
bent, foot flat on the mat. One arm
reaching up and out, off
the mat, the other braced, then she’d
arch her back farther
to complete the pose.
He backed off then, but stayed close
enough to spot her.
“You can do it, Rachel. I want to see
you do it. Do it for me.
And for yourself. Deep breaths, feel
what it means. Prepare
yourself for it. Embrace it. When
you’re ready, go.”
She breathed, closed her eyes, felt
the thrum in her
muscles, the energy flow through her.
She’d found peace in
yoga, balance, but she hadn’t become
whole, because
she’d hidden there, instead of treating
it as a sacred
sanctuary. Hiding meant that a person
stayed out of sight of
the good as wel as the bad. A
sanctuary had windows to
see the world, a door to invite it in,
because there was
nothing to fear there.
She lifted her hips, giving herself the
momentum she
needed to do a slow turnover. Then
she was there, him over
her. He didn’t touch her, but his
energy was close, ready if
she slipped. Letting her make the
step, but providing her
the courage to give al of herself to it.
That focus and
attention of his was there, radiating
on her even as he
straightened, moved back, and let her
finish it under his
satisfied expression. She could see
herself in the mirror,
and it was an extremely sensual and
feminine pose, the
body reaching out as if it was flying
backward through the
clouds. The short name was apt, but
she was also aware of
another translation for
camatkarasana.
The ecstatic unfolding of the
enraptured heart.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” His
fervency was impossible to
deny, as was the passion that was
starting to swel in her
body in this thrown-open wide pose,
al under the heat of
his gaze. Her hair brushed her
fingertips. He bent then, and
she drew in another breath, feeling
that energy surge
through her as he pressed his mouth
to her arched throat,
his hand passing over the curve of
her breast, her
distended rib cage and stretched
abdomen, coming to rest
over her mound, and lower, cupping
her pussy and
pressing on her there.
“Hold the pose, sweet girl. Just hold
it. Feel what this
does to the energy.”
It spiked it like a rubber bal through
her body, but there
was a contained focus to it that let
her hold the position, the
energy so dense she was helpless and
yet exuberant in its
grasp. He was taking her to that place
she kept denying
existed, that she refused to accept for
herself. And she
knew he was right. Her acceptance
was irrelevant. She