Afterlife (6 page)

to be alive.

A few more minutes and it would be

over. She’d thank

him for coming, offer the
namaste
,

say she had an

appointment of some vague origin

and make her escape.

She’d go home to her sanctuary and

pul it back together

again.

Then he shifted on his mat. He was

right behind her, his

arm sliding around her waist, his

body curving in behind

hers, that incredibly emotional

spooning position, her

bottom cradled in his lap as he

brought his knees up

behind hers. His chest was against

her shoulder blades, his

breath on the back of her neck. He

was so close to her, he

had to have his other arm crooked

beneath his head.

“What are you doing?” She didn’t pul

away, despite the

alarm her tone revealed. He was firm

in al the right places,

strong and male. Rather than a frontal

attack, a kiss or a

pass she could rebuff, he’d chosen

this, something warmly

intimate. What she’d assumed were

fanciful imaginings

might be frightful truth—that he could

read her needs so

easily it was like breathing.

“What I want. Sssh. Be stil . And I

mean that at al levels.

Stil your mind, Rachel, the same way

you just stil ed your

body, one tense bundle of thoughts at

a time, and give

yourself to me. You don’t need to

think.”

In truth, al she could think about was

that arm around her

waist, his hand against her abdomen,

the fingers spread so

his forefinger rested right below her

breast, his smal est

finger on her lower abdomen, near

the crease of hip and

thigh that made a lap. With her

backside nestled into his

lap, she felt the shape of him, the way

his cock stirred

against her. It made her worry, her

hand closing over his

anxiously.

“Sssh. Obey me, Rachel. We’re

going to lie here. That’s

al I’m going to al ow to happen.”

Not, “I’m not going to ask or demand

anything of you”.

This was al he required and would

permit. It amazed,

aroused and soothed her at once, a

peculiar triad that

made her hand tighten over his further

until he loosened her

grip, reversed it so he had her wrist

manacled, their two

hands tangled beneath her breasts.

Then he touched the

wedding band. When he pinched it

between his thumb and

forefinger, taking hold of it, her hand

curled into a defensive

bal . He stil ed.

“Open your hand, Rachel, and stretch

out your fingers.”

A simple command. No coaxing, no

reasoning. She

closed her eyes. She couldn’t get lost

in this. She couldn’t.

But her fingers were listening,

straightening, no matter the

rapid-fire protestations from her

brain. Whoever said the

body couldn’t function separately

from the mind was ful of

crap.

When he slid the band off, she looked

down at it. A fifty-

dol ar wedding band from a jewelry

store. Cheap, yes, but

she’d stil felt like a liar when she’d

bought it, knowing it

mocked something supposed to be

sacred. It was why

she’d put her own wedding set away

and then ultimately

pawned it, though it had torn

something loose in her soul

when she did it, al that symbolism

now up for sale.

He set the fake ring on its side on the

wood floor in front

of her. With a deft flick, he sent it rol

ing. She watched the

candlelight flash off it as it traveled a

few feet away and

then toppled on its side, rocking back

and forth, devolving

into that tinny vibration as it settled.

“What do you want, Rachel?” His

voice was a breath in

her ear. “Tel me.”

Had he known this was the best time

to ask a person for

a truthful, painful answer? There

were no lies during yoga

nidra
, because there was no room for

artifice. Of course,

what she wanted was a tangled mess.

“I don’t know,” was a

pitiful y inadequate answer, but what

she wanted had been

buried under others’ expectations and

her own

disappointments. Nearly twenty years

of them.

Yet she knew something was stil

buried alive under al

that. There’d been a time when she’d

woken from

nightmares, imagining it screaming

with terror and need,

afraid that it wasn’t being heard or—

even worse—heard

and ignored. But she’d learned her

needs weren’t relevant,

and never had been. There was

nothing so pathetic as a

false sense of importance in the

universe.

Rol ing away from him, she got to her

feet. As she did,

she stepped on the wedding band,

which made a harsh

squeak against the wood floor.

Bending, she picked up the

ring. As her fists clenched, it cut a

circle into her palm. It

was a pose more suited to a self-

defense class than yoga,

but the body adapted to what was

needed, a preservation

instinct.

“I can’t do this, Jon. I appreciate it,

but…” She shook her

head, started over. “I’ve learned not

to want things, at least

not so fiercely. I don’t have that kind

of energy anymore.”

That kind of strength.

Settled wasn’t as horrible as it

sounded. Like sediment

at the bottom of the lake, she could

look up and appreciate

the sparkles of sunlight on the water,

the change in

seasons. The things that flitted by so

fast, so vibrantly,

leaving her behind, she’d accepted.

There was no getting it

al . She’d traded everything for

peace, because her life had

literal y depended on it. She refused

to regret it. Couldn’t

afford to regret it.

He was stil lying on his side, his

head propped on his

hand, and it flustered her, that he

could lay there, looking up

at her, and stil seem so in control.

That steady gaze was

taking in every detail of her flustered

condition, lingering

over her breasts, their rise and fal

betraying the shortness

of her breath. Then he rose, one

graceful flow of motion that

nevertheless had her skittering back

two steps as if he’d

leapt toward her like a wild animal.

He cocked his head.

“Do you want to know what I want?”

She couldn’t answer, but it didn’t

matter. He took silence

as assent.

“I’d like to do that routine we just

did, but I’d like to see

you do it naked. I’d like to see you in

that Sleeping

Thunderbolt pose, make you hold it

while I stroked your

thighs, and let my fingers stray up

your body, from your clit

to the base of your throat. I want to

feel you quiver under my

touch.”

Her mouth opened, soundless. But he

was continuing.

“I’d do that for as long as I liked,

then I’d take you into the

shower. I’d blindfold you, make you

kneel in the corner

where the steam would keep you

warm. I’d enjoy looking at

you while I washed myself. You’d sit

up straight, your hands

clasped at your lower back, your

breasts thrust out for me.

Your knees would be spread, steam

teasing your cunt lips,

making you even wetter. You’d stay

in that position,

knowing nothing was required but to

sit like that while I took

my fil of viewing what was mine.

And it would drive you as

crazy as it would drive me, until I’d

be so hard I’d have to

fuck you against the shower wal .”

As he’d spoken, he’d started moving

toward her. Slow,

deliberate steps, and it wasn’t until

her back hit two wal s

she realized she’d matched his pace,

letting him back her

into a corner. He laid a palm against

one wal , then the

other, so she’d have to duck under

those long arms to get

past him. Nothing was touching her,

but she could feel

every plane and curve of him, wanted

al of it.

When she moistened her lips, she

could tel his eyes

registered not only the motion but the

thoughts behind it. It

wouldn’t surprise her if his mind

could fol ow hers like a

hound tracking a scent, see what she

was imagining in

such detail.

I want to be on my knees in that

shower. If I stayed very

still and on display for him, he

might give me permission

to taste his cock, make him even

harder. And when he

came, I’d take every drop down my

throat. Then he’d lift

me up on the wall and pin me there,

take me hard as he

said, until I screamed out with every

raw, painful need

bottled inside for way too long. I

would die that way, and

that would be okay.

He leaned up close, breath a heated

touch on her face

like the imagined shower steam.

“Your eyes are so hungry,

Rachel. You hear what I want and

you tremble, your skin

flushing and nipples hardening.” His

body was against hers,

a brush of contact against the tight

points, and she bit down

on a moan. “You say you’ve learned

not to want things so

fiercely. Next time I see you, I dare

you to say that to me

again.”

She closed her eyes. His mouth

touched hers, another

featherlight contact. Then coolness

enveloped her, a draft

of air. When she opened her eyes, the

heavy sense of loss

warning her, she was alone. Her

body was doing everything

he’d said it was, but it was her heart

that reacted the most

strongly.

It ached, as if engulfed in an oil fire

that would never stop

burning.

Chapter Three

She did her job on Monday, but it

was like a hive of bees

had been loosed in her head, driving

her to distraction with

their frenetic buzzing. As the day

progressed, they migrated

out through her body, crawling under

her skin until she

wanted to scream and claw the

incessant irritation away.

Sunday night she’d put her hands

between her legs,

rubbing uselessly, nothing there

responding, even though

she was wet just from the memory of

Jon curved behind

her, his cock against her ass. She’d

known this would

happen, hadn’t she? She was back in

that place where her

whole world seemed to be

narrowing, darkening, and it

scared her. She had so many feelings

running through her

she didn’t know whether to eat a

consolation tub of ice

cream or throw up what little she’d

been able to eat.

Al through her morning therapy

sessions, she had a steel

spring in her lower bel y, tight

enough to launch a

cannonbal . By lunch, she couldn’t

handle anymore. She

had to act or she would go insane.

There was a BDSM club in Baton

Rouge. She’d found

out about it a long time ago, when

she’d lurked on D/s

sites. Places where the open chat

rooms felt like virtual

meat markets, and the Doms’ online

personas made her

feel smal and shrinking. She hadn’t

been to such sites in a

very long time, but during her

sleepless Sunday night, she’d

searched on the name of the club

specifical y—Club More,

Baton Rouge. Perversely, she hoped

it had closed down,

putting it beyond the reach of

temptation, but it was stil

there, with a current revision date for

the website. Very little

other information was provided,

except the cover charge,

operation hours and an offer to join

the club mailing list she

declined.

Regardless, the name—
More
—felt

like a sign, an arrow

demanding she go in that direction.

She knew she was

feverish, manic and it was the wrong

thing to do, but no one

would know her, and if it was a

complete disaster, she

could put this to rest once and for al .

Jon cal ed late

afternoon when she was handling

another appointment.

When she saw the message show up

on her cel phone,

she forced herself to hit the delete

button, even as her heart

screamed at her as if betrayed.

She had to get herself back in control