If Wishes Were Horses (13 page)

The candlelight  flickered behind her closed  lids, soothing her senses and narrowing her focus to the flesh and heart  beneath  her palm. Her self-consciousness began to  recede as a tranquil stillness settled over the  room. As he predicted, she began to feel  Justin's heart, steadily thumping against her touch, a reciprocal caress. Her fingers moved lightly over his flesh, a tiny movement, as if she were stroking that lifesustaining center. Images drifted through her head. The wild coupling below, the  urgency of his body driving between her spread  thighs, the fire and intensity of his gaze  only a breath from hers. His face bathed  in moonlight from her bay window. His body  wrapped around hers during that terrible, lonely hour of three in the morning.

As she felt her heart beat beneath his palm, she turned away from the demand that  she feel guilt, shame, or doubt. She had never plunged into a relationship so  immediately in all her  life, and yet here she was. She didn't want to run. She wanted to  have more, feel more,  with him, but she needed to slow it down like this, get her feet  back under her. Not to run, but to hold her own with him.

Heat vibrated from him, and it seemed to be settling around her body like a warm  cloak. She was aware of him almost from the  inside, every rise and fall of their breath  bringing her deeper into herself, into him,  as if they were sharing a consciousness.  Despite the very recent coupling, she felt  her breasts and womb stir, seeking a closer joining, as though it was the natural way of  such an awareness, the desire to make a  complete connection and fulfillment.

“You should all be feeling a quiet, strong sensual closeness to your mate now, a  sense that no speaking is necessary.” Justin’s voice was barely  a murmur. “You're relaxed, and yet you're also hyper-aware of one another's bodies, and your attraction to  one another, which includes as well as surpasses the flesh. Your attraction to the soul within, bound to your own.

“The steps we've taken, casting a circle and doing this  breathing exercise, are good ways to start your journey toward lovemaking, but they are also good  ways to reconnect, even if you don't have  time for  lovemaking. Just if you emotionally need to remind yourselves of your connection. It’s  not a bad way to settle down after an  argument.”

He left his hand where it was, but Sarah  watched him study his students as they  pulled their awareness from each other to  focus on what he was saying. A smile  touched his mouth at  their obvious difficulty.  “Sex is fun, sometimes over the top,” he said, “but between lovers, it is always spiritual, a melding with the higher power that  brought you together.  Now, there are some variations on this that you might not want  to do in mixed company.”

He turned his attention back to Sarah. “The  same breathing exercise. Start with the

hands on the heart as we’ve done. But then  do  an equal amount of time with them on  either side of the throat.” He lifted his hands and laid them on either side of Sarah's

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slender neck, his thumbs caressing her jaw.  She wondered if she’d lost her mind when  she raised her chin to give him better access.  His eyes heated, but he kept speaking in the same even tone without moving his touch from her throat.

“Then the breasts. Not to knead or stroke.  Just hold them in your hands. Your wife  can hold you here.” He moved Sarah’s hands so  she curled her fingers over his biceps.  “You can also do this breathing exercise  while holding one another’s genitals. Again,  don’t fondle or try to stimulate. You are simply cupping your  hand over the area,  heightening your awareness of those sexual  centers and the power of touch.” His lips curved. “You’ll find that the  more still you are, the more aroused you will get. If anyone remembers their science, they know that the denser the mass of electrons in a confined  space, the more explosive the reaction will be  when they  finally get out to move freely.”

There was some quiet laughter. Sarah saw  spouses exchanging  intimate touches,  sexual but not inappropriate.  The slide of Mr. Robertson’s  finger along the  hem of his  wife’s robe on her thigh. Dr. Erin playing  with her husband’s chest hair in  the open collar of his shirt, smiling at him. The snowbird couple squeezing hands.

“Now, we move onto the next exercise. You've gotten just a taste of the level of  sensual connection you can achieve. You  won't  be able to feel it fully here tonight  because we are in an instruction mode, and you'll want privacy to do it right, but you're

getting the  idea. Sarah, if you could lie back  on the cushions, I’ll  show you some other  things. Right, there you go, just recline, stretch out your legs.”

He shifted so he sat behind her, with her between him and the rest of the class.  “Rule Two,  which relates back to Rule One.  A woman doesn't turn on and off like a

lamp.”

He lifted Sarah's hand in gentle fingers and lifted it to his  lips, brushing his mouth

over her skin. He turned over her  hand, and did the same to her palm.

Sarah stared at him, afraid to look at the  other couples and let them  see the need in her face that the simple caress evoked.

“You see her response?” He nodded,  squeezing her hand and giving  her a reassuring smile, though Sarah felt far from reassured. “A woman is a fire you build, and the heat, once ignited in this fashion,  can  last  as  long  as  you  both  could  possiblywant. Once  you know this lesson, and know it well, you can keep her emberssmoldering so the tinder strikes up to a blaze, igniting her again and again.”

He looked around at his audience, and his attention stopped briefly on the doctor.  “Most women need a great deal of preparation to  relax fully and get the most out of sex.  Most men as well. Just because a man can get it  up and perform in zero to sixty secondsdoesn’t mean that he derives the maximum pleasure by doing it that way. Sex drugs have very little to do  with physical handicap and everything to  do with artificiallystimulating the body to get you to the starting gate faster, because we perceive we don't have time to ‘get ready’ anymore. We choke our food down, rush sex, pump ourselves up with drugs to stave off everything from  depression to natural anxiety and wonder

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why we're fat, unhappy, not satisfied with the  sex we're getting and fighting all the time  with our spouses.”

At the uncomfortable glances exchanged, he  nodded. “Yes, good sex requires us to  take a hard look at our lives and how we're  living them. That's why you make a sacred

space.

“Now, Sarah is a perfect example.” He motioned to her in her reclining pose. “As a  police officer, Sarah needs even more relaxation time than most women, and most  women need a lot.” Chuckles. “You saw how  she responded to that hand kiss. Most  men will now make a mistake. She's softening.  She's got that fluttery look.” He spread  his hands wide and  bared his teeth. “Time to move in with both hands in  grope position and your tongue out to devour her tonsils.”

Sarah snorted with laughter, surprising herself. Justin paused to let the  amused response of the others  settle down  as well,  then dropped his hands and continued in a more serious tone. “She’ll likely go along,  but she'll be struggling to catch up, because  you've rushed her. All you did with that  hand kiss was touch a match to the wood. You’ve got to take the time to fan the flame,  rather than shoving your skillet onto it and expecting to get something cooking right off.”

He was astounding. As  he continued with  his suggestions, Sarah  listened with half an ear, the other half of her  simply listening to the sound  of his  voice and absorbing all  the nuances of his presence close to her. He had the mesmerizing quality of a priest.  That ability to  soothe  the psyche with the pitch of his voice, and his body language. A low volume sexuality enhanced  the quality,  gave him  the credibility to take  them all along and not worry about how it would look to a cynical outside world.

He turned his gaze back to her and Sarah’s smile died at the potency of that  expression. She was enjoying this. Enjoying being with him. Aching to be with him.

She was in trouble.

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Chapter 9

“I don't get it,” she said. “You could be  a CEO. You could be another Tony Robbins.

Hell, you could be anything. Why run a little shop in the middle of nowhere?”

“You don't think what  we did here tonight made a difference in  their lives? An

important difference?”

She sat cross-legged in her robe, watching him move around the  room to douse  candles and incense. She was more relaxed than she had thought possible, and intensely aware of him. Sarah enjoyed watching the way he moved, using a silver douser to put  out each candle, checking the incense to be sure it had burned out fully. He had loosed his hair after the last person left, so for  the first time she saw how it framed his  handsome face, softening the gauntness, enhancing the curved lips and the dark eyes.  His forearms revealed by the short sleeves of  the black shirt looked strong and pleasing  with their light mat of fine brown hairs. She could never get enough of looking at his  long, capable hands.

Definitely in  trouble.

“So you run this place because you believe  in helping people to connect, and sex is  a great avenue to it.”

“You sound so incredulous.” He turned off the overhead and left three candles lit,  so they were wrapped in exotic sandalwood  scent and candlelight. He came to join her,  dropping to  the cushions and lying on his side, one hand propped under his head as if  he had all  night to spend with her, though  she expected he was as tired as she was.  More, because he wasn’t accustomed to starting his day with corpses. He closed his  hand on  her bare foot, warming her chilled toes with a gentle kneading.

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“Okay,” he  inclined his head, “you’ve got part of it. The other part has even wider  spiritual implications to me. Like what you  saw last night in the forest. Sex done by a  loving couple brings together the energies  of the Lord  and Lady for positive good, whether the couple is cognizant of  the release of that energy or not.”

She pursed her lips, considering. “I guess I can see that.”

He arched a brow. “You don’t seem uncomfortable with alternative faith topics,  despite your Southern Baptist upbringing.”

“Oh.” she gave him a quick grin. “That’s because I’ve got two influences. My  parents were the Southern Baptists. My grandmother was Cherokee, very into the old  ways. I spent my summers with her when I  was growing up. Wicca's not much different  at its core than shamanism.” She looked down  at him, at his hand working on her foot.  She took a deep breath.  “Thank you for tonight.”

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“Which part?” He shot her an innocent  look, and she pushed at his shoulder.

“Creep.” She fanned out her fingers on her knees, over ivory silk. “For inviting me  to this class. My ex, he told me…well, the details don’t matter, but I thought something  was wrong with me. I couldn't heat up fast  enough with him, and I guess I always  thought it  was me. I just wanted you to know that  you’re right, it does  make a  difference. It helps. You helped me tonight.”

Why she was disturbing the garbage at the bottom of her psyche she did not  know. She kept hoping it would decay and fade away  into dust if she just  left the shit alone. But less than thirty-six hours with Justin and she found herself rehashing the times  she had spent with her ex-husband. She remembered  the instances in the latter part of their marriage, when she had felt
 
maybe
 
interested in sex, interested  enough to make it  happen. He would start by massaging her breasts or rubbing her clit, and it made her  feel mildly annoyed and itchy. If she concentrated hard enough she  could get into it and make it happen for both of them, but he had been intuitive enough to know that sex wasn't her favorite thing anymore. Truth be  told, most times she'd gotten more turned  on by the prospect of a hot bath and a book.

This morning she had decided the night with Justin was a fluke, adrenaline and  spontaneity combining. Hell, combusting.  She’d convinced herself the ritual had  somehow done a number on her subconscious. Those few minutes below, before the

class had arrived, had destroyed the theory.

Lord, but he was a beautiful man to watch. His movements were elegant and yet entirely male, the way  he had squatted by her just now, with that slight  adjustment of  his slacks, the drape of his hand over his  knee, the long fingers artlessly drawing the  eye. You could photograph any part of him.

Was it him? How could she be  so unresponsive to her husband and so responsive to  this man who was nearly a stranger?

“You're not what I wanted you to be, Herne.”

“Most women don't know what they want, Sarah.” His lips tugged up in a wry  smile. “Most men, either, but women are far more  complex creatures. The faces of  creation move through you, and they  are equal parts chaos and rhythm.”

“No new age bullshit.”

“It's actually old age bullshit. Lie back on the  cushions.”

His voice was soft, but the sudden intent focus in his eyes shot straight to her loins  and clamored at her to obey  without a second's thought. Her brain wanted to  backhand her wimpy libido, but she settled for lashing out at Herne.