Afterlife (16 page)

night, her head arching

back even farther over the side of the

mattress, al the

blood rushing to her head and her

sex, leaving everything in

between twitching and seizing.

Now the lava did flow, delicious

heat pouring through her.

It spil ed onto his fingers like the

gush of a man’s come, she

felt it. So thick and primal, her legs

jerking, heels beating

against the mattress. She whipped her

head back and

forth, lashing herself with her hair,

such that some of it

caught in her mouth and she bit down

on it. She was

gorgeous, wanton, a sex Goddess

incarnate, no thought but

the pleasure she could give her

Master as the climax rol ed

her over and over in the midst of a

dark universe. A

universe ful of nothing but sensual

cries and sweaty, slick

flesh sliding against his hold, the one

fixed point in that

wildly spinning firmament.

It went on and on, until she was at

last merely floating and

twitching, making soft, wondering

cries, a lone dove in a

black-as-night galaxy. She might have

passed out from the

dizziness. If decades had passed

when she surfaced from

that mind-blowing experience, she

wouldn’t be the least bit

surprised. For one thing, she didn’t

have the energy for

surprise, for anything but raw

emotion.

At length, she came back to him,

brought out of the fog

when he released the gag. Even with

her blindfold stil on,

she felt embarrassed at the saliva col

ected around her

mouth. But he replaced that self-

conscious moment with a

paralyzing aftershock of pleasure as

he kissed her, licking

it away from her lips with his clever

tongue. She moaned

against him, every nerve so sensitive

under his contact.

One by one, he released her bonds,

stroking the pulse

points in her wrists, the arch of her

feet and then at last he

gathered her in his arms, his lap. His

erection was

enormous, pressing against her ass,

but he seemed in no

hurry about that. Instead, he slid the

blindfold away, tilting

her face up to him.

It was like looking into the sun after

being locked in

solitary for years. She couldn’t do it,

was far too vulnerable,

but he gave her no choice, holding

her chin and throat,

reminding her of a Master’s binding,

that steel col ar he’d

described so vividly. However, in

this moment, she only

wanted the col ar of his hand, that

promise of pleasure he

could deliver through the touch of his

fingers.

His blue gaze was fil ed with

pleasure and lust, but she

noticed the way he examined her face

and body, his touch

soothing the strap marks along her

cheeks. His attention

was so obviously on her breath and

mobility, she realized

he was making sure she didn’t

require any physical

aftercare. It made unvoiced sobs ache

in her chest. They

were too painful and unwieldy, so

they’d have to stay there.

She’d remain stil now—stil and limp

in his arms, wanting it

al to stay like this forever.

* * * * *

He wouldn’t permit her to do

anything for him. “Not this

time,” he said in that sexy voice that

brooked no argument

from her. Not that she real y had the

strength. After such an

earth-shattering discovery, that she

was in fact more than

capable of a climax that could launch

her higher and further

than she’d thought it possible for any

woman to go, she was

a boneless creature. No energy to

rise off the bed or do

anything other than lie quiet amid the

glorious wreckage of

her bed as he went back into the

bathroom.

When he came back, she blinked. He

was dressed

again. Shirt tucked into belted slacks,

socks and shoes

back in place, though he hung his

jacket on a chair, draping

his tie over it. A mix of emotions

went through her, but the

uneasy portion of them died back

some as he slid a hip on

the bed. Arranging the pil ows behind

himself, he gathered

her in, sliding her naked body over

his thighs so she was

sprawled between them, her upper

body resting on his

chest. She burrowed her fingers into

the cloth, her nostrils

taking in that dry-cleaned scent, his

aftershave.

“I want…” When she closed her

eyes, he stroked the

tousled hair away from her cheek and

jaw, giving the

strands a tug as he did.

“What do you want?”

“Please…would you open the shirt?”

He flicked open the buttons with easy

dexterity, then lifted

her off him enough to pul the cloth out

of the belt, open it

ful y. She melted back against the

curves and planes of

him. His solid pectoral under her

cheek, his ridged

abdomen under the smal , stroking

circles of her fingers.

His cock was a hard presence against

her stomach.

“Are you sure I can’t…” She cleared

her throat, her voice

abraded from the unfamiliar act of

screaming out her

pleasure against the broad head of

that phal ic gag. “I can

tel you need something.”

“You’l take care of that another time.

Right now, you’l lie

here and let me hold you. That’s what

I want. The shirt’s the

only thing you get for now. No more

talking until I give you

permission. Just lie here.”

How was it he could sound so in

control, so calm, and yet

he wasn’t the least detached? She

could feel his passion,

and not only through his cock. It was

a wondrous discovery,

realizing she was intuitively

recognizing a Master’s point of

view. Her surrender had been what

he’d sought from her,

and obtaining it had given him

something as pleasurable

as what he’d given her. She wasn’t

imagining it. The energy

coursing through him was a relentless

current of desire,

pul ing at her loose and not-quite-

exhausted body. It held a

delicious threat, to sweep her away

at a future time of his

choosing.

So she obeyed, lying stil upon him,

wil ing to tread in that

current. For so long, she’d been

denied the precious gift of

a man’s desire for her. Sensing it,

knowing it was real and

true, she savored it, the pleasure of

his heart beating, a little

fast, under her cheek. Her eyes

resting on the proof of his

arousal, thick and tempting under the

hold of his slacks.

The way his fingers stroked her, not a

light, absent touch,

but with some pressure behind his

fingertips, fol owing the

contours of her jaw, her throat, the

line of her shoulder,

tangling in her hair, making it clear

that he wanted more

from her body, from her.

This was actual y perfect, this eye of

the storm, feeling al

that passion and pleasure circling

around her, but letting

her just…be. She was included, in

the center of it, and yet

didn’t need to do anything but be

quietly amazed at how

she’d fared in the thick of it,

overcome by what he’d done to

her.

She wanted to ask him how he’d

known what she hadn’t,

what had eluded her, but she

couldn’t. Not now. She sank

into the silence. His silence, a

silence that stil ed mind,

body and soul. Though his hands

moved over her, keeping

her quivering, that stil ness was in

him as wel . It held her to

him as much as a dozen commands

would do.

Throughout the past few years,

there’d always been so

much going on in her head, a

cacophony capable of driving

her mad. A constant litany of

expectations, failures,

deprecations,

wishes…

Together

they

became

desperation and desolation. Perhaps

because she was

casting her own life’s reflection on

the world, so much of

what she saw, heard and experienced

seemed pointless,

vapid…hopeless. Both the physical

and mental forms of

yoga had been a saving grace,

because in the peace of

exertion, the stil ness of meditation,

the focus on breathing,

she’d been able to leave it behind for

short periods, hide

from it.

This wasn’t hiding from it. Jon’s

tranquility had a power to

it, a strength that could transform the

world around her. For

the first time in a long time, she

looked at her surroundings

and saw what had once made them

appealing to her. There

was a whimsical stone cat, carved in

a lotus position, sitting

beside her bed. She’d found it at a

consignment shop and

placed it on the secondhand night

table she’d repainted in

lavender and stressed with silver

gray paint.

On the wal , caddy corner to her bed,

was a Victorian

print. It showed a young governess

escorting a child in a

park. The governess was looking

wistful y over her

shoulder, for she’d discovered a

couple having a tryst in the

shadows of the wood. The man was

stealing a kiss from his

lover. Al of them wore such beautiful

clothes, a beautiful

picture, but Rachel had connected to

the underlying

message. A yearning need for love

and desire beneath

societal constraints.

As Jon had recognized, her

bedspread was one of the

famous Monet flower scenes, al those

soothing melded

pinks, greens and lavenders. Jon had

said her arousal

would dampen and deepen those

colors, and she saw that

wet patch now, the lighter pink turned

dark.
The way your

cunt looks now.
She shivered,

remembering those words,

thinking of the singular intensity of

Jon’s expression as he’d

gazed between her legs.

When Cole had left her, it had been a

slow process, but

everything of that life had gradual y

been replaced by her

choices in this apartment. She’d

surrounded herself with

wonder, passion and beauty, but her

pleasure in it had

been a fleeting thing, overwhelmed

by her daily loneliness.

One afternoon in this man’s arms, and

she was re-

experiencing the stirring delight

she’d felt when she’d found

these things, brought them home,

made them articulations

of herself. It was terrifying. But as

long as she was lying

inside his silence, not her own, it

was al right. She was

safe.

While she expected nothing more

than this moment, she

again wished it could go on forever.

But only a child

believed something like that could

real y happen. Listening

to his heartbeat, she closed her eyes

and gave herself to

sleep.

In some sad way, she hoped he’d be

gone when she

woke, for when that silence broke, so

too would this spel .

She’d prefer to be alone to figure out

how to reassemble

the pieces again. To figure out where

exactly inside her

empty heart to put this once-in-a-

lifetime treasured

memory.

Chapter Six

He
was
gone when she woke, but

he’d left an indelible,

unsettling imprint at every level of

her existence. The first

she noticed was on her body.

Between yoga and the

requirements of being a good

physical therapist, she kept

herself very limber and flexible, but

al the stretching in the

world could not prevent the delicious

soreness, the result of

the prolonged isometric rigor of a

universe-altering climax.

If he’d plunged inside of her,

wrapping her legs around his

hips, she would have used those

inner thigh muscles in

ways she hadn’t in far too long,

strained to the limit as he

pressed them back with his thrusting,

again and again.

She could smel the pungent scent of

her climax. Putting

her hand down there, she found

herself stil sticky. Touching

herself reminded her of his touch, his

much larger fingers

inside her, the way he’d cupped her

breasts in those

masculine palms.

There was another scent. It was from

his shirt, the one