“That touch of aftershave, the way you’re reacting to how I’m kissing you now… You already understand the way of it. Most people focus on cunt, cock, the same singular way they focus on the sex itself. The goal isn’t physical, though that’s a pleasurable side effect. Divine intimacy is the true ecstasy. A divine intimacy with each other and the energy that brings us together.”
Sliding his hands into her hair then, he let it spill over his hands. She’d caught on now and remained utterly motionless, her eyes closed, her expression concentrated on every contact point he was giving her. “You know all that though. You know that I could press a chain of those same kisses around your wrists and ankles, and you would consider yourself as restrained as if I used steel. If we’re at a restaurant, and I slide your blouse off your shoulder and make you leave it that way so I can toy with your bra strap, I’m exercising my right as your Master. That’s a caress you feel in your soul. Your orgasm comes all the way from there, if I’m doing it right.”
“You did it perfectly right last night.” Her voice thick, she lifted her lashes to gaze into his face. “Jon. I want to touch you. I want to give you that experience as well.”
“You have. You do. And you will again. Practice with me here first.” He stroked his knuckles along her cheek. “Do some sun salutation cycles with me. And then I want you to practice a Tantric position of my choice.”
A tentative sparkle passed through her beautiful gray-green irises. “But remember my flexibility is impaired this morning. Your fault.”
“I accept the blame. Now and in the immediate future.” Giving her a wicked smile, he lifted his arms, planting his feet once again.
He saw her gaze travel over the stretch of his body, linger on every part. True to their discussion, though she noted his cock, firm and prominent under the boxers, her attention was a covetous slide of sensation along his arms, his throat, down over his abdomen, the angle of muscles at his waist, his thighs, all the way down to his feet. Standing with only a foot between them, the energy between them was heavy, languorous, as if they were rays of the sun that had simply spilled on this porch, ready to twine together as common elements. He wanted her badly, but the wanting was a pleasure of its own, one to prolong.
Raising her arms, she took a matching position. Shoulder to shoulder, they folded forward together, moved into the Down Dog asana, to Plank, to Alligator, then Cobra, then Swan, back up into the starting position, palms folded together overhead. Some gurus practiced the sequence or one like it hundreds of times a day, but after about twenty sets, she was perspiring, and her body was quivering, which was what he wanted.
“Last rep.”
She nodded, eyes closed, deep in that zone. As they came back up, his arm brushed hers as they did the Swan movement. Sliding his arm under hers, he clasped her forearm to turn her so they faced one another.
“Now for that Tantra position you promised me. Follow my lead, and use my strength.”
Centering his weight on his left foot, he raised his right knee. He extended his foot past her hip, then bent his leg, sliding his calf across her buttocks, forming a triangular brace support around her, his ankle resting against her opposite hip.
When he nodded, Rachel lifted her right leg, mirroring the position by sliding her bent leg behind him, her heel pressing into the side of his buttock, twining them together. Guiding her arms around his neck, he gripped her thigh with one hand, and slid his other arm around her back, pressing her breasts into his chest and lifting her up enough to align them properly. At a brush of hardness, she realized if he was naked, he could fit the head of his cock into her p-ssy at this angle. But that awareness was a small part of the intimacy of the position.
“This presses the sacral chakras together and, as a bonus, the solar plexus and heart chakras.” He smiled down at her, his eyes warm and intent. She focused on her balance, but she didn’t need to devote much energy to it. He was so well-grounded on the sole of one foot, he was able to steady her with both his strength and confidence. They were two parallel currents, but in this moment the energy snaked together, brought even closer by all they’d shared last night.
But the general meaning of Tantra was weaving, wasn’t it? The idea that two energies could intertwine. Of course she was sure the spiritual aspect of it was man intertwining with divine energy, but she couldn’t think of any better way to do that than this.
Oh Goddess. She loved him. Deeply, fiercely, a journey that had been going on for well over a year, but it was undeniable in this moment.
“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I won’t let you fall, Rachel.”
Too late.
* * * * *
After they’d finished up their practice, he shared her small shower with her, and finally gave her leave to touch him as she wished. Every fine line of muscle, length of limb. The man’s ass was sheer artistry, worth lingering over, exploring with every one of her ten fingertips. When she made the shy request, he gave her a tender look, turned his back and put his palms on the shower wall so she could slide her hands unimpeded down his back, down to trace that tight seam. Then she molded her palms over his hip bones so that she could press her back to his. His buttocks fit into the curve of her stomach as she ran her hands over his chest, exploring the ridges of his abdomen, then down, to find him more than ready for her to slide her hands along his cock, over his heavy testicles.
When he turned, so fully aroused it seemed daunting because of how sore she was, he lifted her up against the wall, coaxed her to relax for him. “Will you refuse your Master, Rachel?” The sensual threat against her temple was met with a vehement shake of her head, her nails biting into his back. He sheathed himself so carefully, building her climax like a spring rain, a slow but thorough soaking of the ground so it was ready to be seeded. The initial ripple of feeling expanded into a breath-stealing climax with shuddering intensity. He came right after her but kept himself still, every muscle like iron under the wrap of her hands, her legs.
She clung to him like a child as he moved them both out of the shower, slid her feet to the floor so they could dry. Taking the towel from her, he rubbed it between her legs, dried that area himself, then knelt, holding her hips as he licked and nuzzled her there, making her body sway like a willow over him, her wet locks of hair brushing his head, his shoulders. He stopped when she was breathing deep, shuddering, and rose, threading his hands in her hair to stroke it from her face. “Cats like to mark humans by rubbing their faces against them after they shower. It restores their smell upon them, so other cats know that’s their human.” He kissed her, so she tasted herself on his mouth. “I have a similar ritual. Bagels and tea, or a full breakfast?”
Not sure she could contemplate a full breakfast with an army of happy frogs doing pirouettes in her stomach, she chose bagels and tea.
He chose what she would wear, going through her closet and picking out a gauzy thin cotton dress that followed the curves of hip and breast as well as the line of her thighs as she walked. It was a very feminine dress, the hem flaring out to swirl around her calves. In the long-forgotten back of her lingerie drawer, he found a lacy ice blue thong with the tag still on it. But he refused to let her wear a bra, no matter how much she hedged. It bothered her, not so much that the dress would reveal the shape of her nipples, but knowing that her breasts didn’t sit as attractively high and rounded as they did in a bra.