Afterlife (32 page)

moving upward, teasing the rim of

her anus, making her

moan further. He was turning her

over. Before she could

blink or move to dash her tears away,

he had her stretched

out on her back, and he was lying ful

on top of her, his body

insinuated between her legs. His

arms were around her,

pul ing her in to his chest, but the

open vulnerability of it, the

fact she could only curl around him,

her legs and body

spread open to him, kept the tears

coming.

He framed her face then, making her

look at him. “Tel

me one thing about you, Rachel.

Something I don’t know.”

I think you may know everything.

Because I feel like

you’re standing right inside my

soul.
Because she was

trembling, and because he’d laid her

wide open, he’d

made the one thing she could barely

handle thinking about,

let alone saying, come out of her lips.

The thing she hadn’t

been able to bring herself to voice in

his office.

“My son died in Afghanistan. He was

nineteen years old. I

held him when he was born, and a

roadside bomb blew

away those perfect legs and arms,

that beautiful face. He

had my nose and my smile. His

father’s eyes.”

Jon nodded. He stroked away the

tears, traced her lips.

She was going to shatter. “I need to

move. Please.”

“You’l lie like this, spread beneath

me, and trust me to

hold you together.”

But it was too late. That pain had

already shattered her

soul. What was once resilient had

proven itself too fragile,

and there was no putting a porcelain

dol back together

after it had been broken. Though she

was glued together,

there was no hiding the cracks. “I

don’t know what this is for

you, Jon, but I’m not strong enough. I

thought I could do at

least tonight, have this, but I made the

wrong choice.

Seems I’m always making the wrong

choices. I’m too old to

make one that’s this wrong.”

Propping himself on one elbow, he

swept his thumb

along her cheek bone, teasing the

corner of her mouth, wet

with the tears. “Close your eyes.”

When she hesitated, he sharpened his

voice, repeated it,

though there was something in the

tone that made it

reassuring, even with the note of

reproof and command.

She closed her eyes, her throat aching

with those tears.

He held the pause a long moment,

stroking her, letting

her stil , focus on what might be

coming next. Occasional y

a soft noise came from his throat as

she hiccupped on a

sob, but when she had settled down,

he spoke again. “Most

of us, even as we grow up, continue

to look at the world

through the subconscious of the age

we were before we hit

the reality and disappointments that

we discover as adults.

So, when you look at yourself in the

mirror of your mind,

you’re looking through the eyes of a

certain age. How old

are those eyes, Rachel?”

It made her even more

uncomfortable, but as long as he

had her spread-eagled and pinned

like this she couldn’t be

less than honest. “I guess…nineteen

or twenty. Right before

I had Kyle.”

With her eyes stil closed, she leaned

her cheek into the

hand that was sliding down her

cheek, curving around her

chin. Jon’s voice was a rumble in her

anxious mind.

“The therapist I had to see when I

was twelve said that I

had the outlook of a forty-year-old. I

told him I was the

reincarnation of Galileo, or possibly

the ancient bard

Taliesin. Never could decide. Maybe

both. So see, under

either interpretation, I’m far older

than
you
.”

A weak smile tugged at her lips,

despite herself. She

opened her eyes then to see him trace

that smile,

caressing her dimple. His eyes were

ful of so many

mesmerizing things. Compassion,

desire, knowledge. A

complete and utter absorption in her

that unbalanced her

reality, the way she’d always told

herself life had to be. A

lock of his dark hair had fal en over

his brow, and when she

reached up to stroke through it, his

palm fol owed the line of

her upper arm, then came down to

cup her breast, weigh it

thoughtful y.

“You have nice, heavy breasts. You

looked to me like a

woman who’s nursed a child, your

breasts lower than a

woman your age who hasn’t.” Before

that observation could

discomfit her, he bent his head,

licked the nipple with

casual pleasure, spoke against it. “I

can see you nursing

your baby with these beautiful, ripe

breasts, swol en with

milk, your nipples so large. You’d

both be in my lap, and I’d

watch him suck, equal y fascinated

and envious, hoping I

might get a turn soon. Babies are

little tyrants who trump

even a Master’s demands.”

It startled a half-chuckle out of her,

winning an answering

glint from his gaze. Then he sobered.

“Why are there no

pictures of him, Rachel? There are no

photographs in your

home at al . Only paintings, most of

them about tranquility,

serenity.” His glance went to the

picture on the wal , the

governess yearning toward that

clandestine kiss. “Except

for this, a window into your soul.

You’ve made this your

refuge, because every time you go

out, reality is pretty hard

for you, isn’t it?”

“You know, I’m beginning to

understand why dating a

clueless male isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Too late,” he commented. “The

pictures?”

She molded her hand behind his on

her breast, liking the

dusting of hair on the knuckles, the

long, strong fingers. So

different from hers, the times she’d

tried, futilely, to pleasure

herself in this bed, imagining her far-

too-feminine hands as

a man’s. Her throat was clogged with

memories, but she

found the answer for him. “I couldn’t

handle the questions.

The, ‘oh who is this handsome young

man?’”

She looked left, toward the closet. “I

keep the album

tucked in between my sweaters. Most

nights, I look at it

before I go to bed.” She’d done it so

often the slick page

corners were permanently worn from

her fingertips. “I keep

it in there because when people see a

photo album, they

figure it’s okay to look, like it’s

public property. I couldn’t

bear someone visiting, picking it up

on a whim and having

to talk about it, answer questions…”

“You don’t have a lot of those either.

Visitors.” As

relentless as those blue eyes were, it

was the press of his

body on hers, the firmness of his

groin against her pussy,

everything that intimate connection

could mean, that kept al

of her soul spread open to him. She

felt like nothing was

hidden, yet in the dim light of her

bedroom, she was also

warm beneath him. Sheltered. The

things she was in the

privacy of this room, she could be

with him. It was

unsettling. She wasn’t sure she could

deny him anything.

“Everyone likes you, Rachel,” he

continued. “You could

have a great many good friends, but

you don’t. You give the

impression that you lead separate

personal and

professional lives to keep people at a

distance. But the

most I’ve ever heard you mention is

having drinks with the

other PT people. Was that true, or a

deception?”

“No, I do go occasional y. They

drink, act sil y. Talk about

younger men at the club. Like you. I

join in.”

“To blend.” He touched her face as a

new rivulet of tears

started down her cheek. “Oh Rachel.

You’ve isolated

yourself so much.”

“No. It was a choice, Jon.” She

struggled for composure.

“I do better when I don’t get close to

people. Things don’t

spil out that they can’t handle, that

they don’t want to

handle.”

He bent, closed his mouth over those

tears. Her

trembling hands gripped his biceps,

his strength. Then he

lifted his head an inch or two, giving

her a curious look. “Do

you have any childhood scars?”

It took her a moment to orient herself

to the change in

subject. “Um…I fel over a wooden

bench at the ice skating

rink when I was ten and cut my knee

pretty badly. You can

stil see the discoloration there.”

“Left knee,” he said, without glancing

down.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I wondered about that.”

Sliding down her body,

but continuing to stay between her

legs, he settled his hand

on her upper abdomen, fingers spread

out over that wide

point beneath the spread of her ribs.

It was the solar plexus

chakra point. When unbalanced, it

was the one most likely

to project fear, lack of confidence…

the one that would al ow

the intel ect too much sway. She

knew enough about Jon to

know his positioning of that hand was

deliberate, the

soothing stroke of it. Leaning down,

he put his mouth on

that childhood mark on her knee. She

stared at his

silhouette cast from the dim hal way

light and wondered at

him. “Scars anywhere else?” he

asked, his mouth stil on

her.

“I’d love to think of about a hundred

places, if you’re

going to do that…” But her attempt at

humor was swept

away as he made his way up her

thigh, his mouth cruising

past her hip bone, and then pressed

his lips with unerring

instinct somewhere else. Something

trembled low in her

stomach, and those tears threatened

again. “Jon…”

“Stretch mark, right? So very faint…

you have great

muscle tone through here, but you can

stil see the

impression. It must have been a hard

labor.”

He devastated her. But he didn’t

leave it at that. When he

came back up her body, lay back

down upon her, she

swal owed a surprised breath as he

reached between

them, opened his slacks. She caught

her breath in the back

of his throat as he fitted his quite

obviously revitalized cock

into her opening. She trembled again,

harder, inside and

out, hovering on this moment that was

painful and

everything she wanted at once. His

eyes held hers, seeing

al of it. “Mine, Rachel,” he

murmured, those blue eyes

vibrant, fierce, at odds with his

gentle tone of only a second

before.

“Please…” The word whispered out

of her lips. He

shifted, sinking inside her, pushing

through those muscles

that had not had the pleasure of

welcoming a man’s cock

for so long. And never a man who

held her heart and soul

the way this one did.

His progress was slow but

inexorable, seating him deep,

fil ing her. When he was al the way

in, she was overcome,

her arms wrapping around his back.

Holding him tightly,

she pressed her face to his chest as

he cupped the back of

her head with both hands, whispering

to her as she shook,

as she worried that she might break

right then.

He stayed so stil inside of her, letting

her feel that

connection, the lock between their

bodies. It took a long

time for her to pul herself together,

but he waited her out,

waited until she spoke against his

chest, her voice muffled.

“You… You didn’t show me any of

your scars.”

He eased her head back to the

mattress, pressed his

mouth to her jaw, a touch of his

tongue on the carotid pulse.

Propping himself on one elbow

again, he gave her a long

look, then whispered a knuckle over

her cheek, directing

her gaze to a smal mark on his

forearm.

“I got this when I learned how to pop

a wheelie on my

bike. I was so excited I fel off it right

afterward.” Rewarding

her tentative smile, he lifted up,

moving to his knees. As he

did, he held her hips, taking her with

him so they remained

joined as he shifted her ass onto his