If Wishes Were Horses

by Joey W. Hill

  “I need you, Justin. Now.”

  She had no warning. He dropped the belt, snaked his arm behind her, around the small of her back so her waist was cinched up against his body, and drove hard and deep into her at the same moment, using the power of his arm to hold her tight against him. The force of his movement shifted them, pushing them both against the window so she heard the frame creak ominously.

  She imagined what it would be like for that window to pop free so her head, shoulders and breasts were bathed by the wind and sunshine while her thighs and pussy were clamped around him in the exotic shadows of his shop. Her hair fluttering free even as their thighs grew damp with exertion, friction and need.

  Last night had been wild, primitive. This was primal. This was simple possession and escape, escape from a body in the woods, possession of a woman he appeared to want with an undeniable, raging hunger. She felt a matching need swell in her for him.

  She dug her nails into his shoulders and groaned as he withdrew and surged back in, long full strokes that he alternated with a series of tiny movements. He drew out until she felt the ridges of his head tease her clit and the sensitive opening, then he drove in again, reigniting all her nerve endings. She couldn't breathe, couldn't even

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  move, the power of the climax rising up into her like a paralysis where she had no energy to speak or struggle, just take all of him and pant for more. Each time she got close on those furious small strokes, he'd pull far out again, as if he were stoking a fire, seeing how hot he could make the embers before the whole thing burst into flame.

  “Now, Sarah,” he whispered in her ear. His fingers stroked her between her ass

  cheeks. She shrieked.

  An earthquake began within her, all the plates moving, splitting open to show the fire raging at the center of her being and realigning whole continents of beliefs and conceptions. At the moment she was nothing but a new creation in his arms, the Goddess in the arms of the Consort, overwhelmed by his power and strength, the thrill of that connection deep inside her, the sense of completion.

  It was both spiritual and blatantly physical at once, his grunts, her cries, the slap of flesh, her back rubbing against the rough wood of the dividers, a low, long moan as her climax shook her.

  He spilled himself in her then, and she felt the surge of his seed rush along the contracting walls of her cunt. Long after the heaviest wave of the prolonged orgasmpassed, she continued to shudder and jerk with the force of the aftershocks. She wrapped her arms more tightly around him, pressing her face to his neck.

  The stillness of the room returned, punctuated only by their deep breathing. Sheshould let go. In a moment shame and doubt would swamp her. Perhaps that was why she continued to hold on, thinking if she stayed in the circle of his arms, feeling hisfingers tracing her spine, the flare of her hips, she could stave it off a little longer.

  The screen door at the front of the store squeaked. “Justin?”

  Sarah stiffened and would have scrambled away, but Justin tightened his arms around her. “Sshh, be still. Margaret?” he raised his voice. “Take the others and go onup to the classroom to change. I'll be up in just a minute. My partner for the night ischanging in here.”

  “Oh, wonderful. All right.” There was a murmur of voices, men and women both.

  “It's all right.” Justin slipped out of her and eased her down to her feet, holding her waist. “It's my Tantra class.” He slid the other strap of the teddy off her shoulder and eased it down her body before she could organize her thoughts.

  “What?” She made a futile grab at it, but he had it down to her ankles, and his broad back and shoulder were in her way.

  “As beautiful as you are in this, I don't think you can wear it for the workshop. It would be distracting to say the least, and the thong and underwiring might constrictcertain energy centers.”

  She was completely naked now, standing in the dying sunlight of the window. Herne straightened, his gaze caressing her as he tucked himself back into his underwear and re-fastened his trousers.

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  Before she could protest or ask the whereabouts of her clothes, he covered her mouth with his in a gentle but firm kiss, holding her naked body against his fullyclothed one as he melted her fears, pooled them in the liquid heat in her lower belly.

  “Justin.” She struggled for orientation. “I'm dripping.”

  He smiled, reached behind him and tugged a soft towel off the screen. She extended her hand to take it from him, but instead let out a surprised noise as he insinuated hishand between her legs and began to clean her with soft rubs and pats, touching her thighs and her smooth folds.

  “I can do it,” she said, embarrassed.

  “I know. But it's a pleasure to touch you, Sarah, and to take care of you. I was a bit rougher than I should have been.”

  “I liked that,” she mumbled. Because she wasn't a coward, she looked up at his face. “You lost control. I liked that.”

  “I'll bet.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “Now you know how it feels. I like it when you let go, too.

  “Here.” He pulled a robe from the screen, a soft satin creation of ivory, and threaded her arms through it. Some reality returned, and with it, a flutter of panic.

  “Herne, I can't participate in some weird sex class you have. I'm a police chief.”

  “Weird sex class. A spiritual tradition that’s over a thousand years old.” He rolled his eyes, folded the fabric across her body and tied the sash. Justin held the ties wrapped around his knuckles to keep her from twisting away. “I have three couples in this class, Sarah. The women consist of a school teacher, a doctor and a housewife. I promise you, there is nothing about this workshop that will impugn your character in any way, and we will not be naked.”

  “So why am I wearing this?”

  “Tonight, we're focusing on the woman, and I told all three of them to bring robes so they can stretch out comfortably and not be restricted in any way. Energy flow is important in Tantric practice. Tantra is, very basically, increasing the spiritual connection with your partner through erotic and intimate practices, and thereby increasing your closeness to whatever you call God.”

  “Using sex to get closer to God. I don’t remember that from my Baptist Sunday school lessons.”

  He grinned. “It may be a little left of conservative, but it’s not quite trucker massages in a trailer by the interstate either. Sarah.” He let go of the robe ties, framed her face with both of his hands in a semi-impatient caress. “Trust me. I understand the importance of your job. I wouldn't endanger it.”

  Her jaw flexed under his touch. “You tricked me into this. Don't think I'm going toforget that.”

  “You can handcuff me and beat me with your nightstick later.”

  “Smart ass.”

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  Chapter 8

  He was right about the composition of the class. They ranged from Margaret and Bill Robertson, parents of teenagers and dressed in casual conservative clothes that suggested middle-class America, to Dr. Erin Stouffer, who was aerobically toned, in her late forties, with a husband who wore his corporate business acumen as easily as histan. The third couple was a pair of snowbirds down for the winter from Connecticut, and about to head back up in their sailboat before Florida began its sweltering summer. They were in their sixties, and the man sported a gray ponytail and twinkling eyes. His wife wore a soft night shirt in tie-dye colors.

  Justin moved smoothly into introductions and welcomed them all back to what Sarah learned was their second class. He shook every man's hand, and kissed eachwoman lightly on the mouth. He made genuine warmth look so easy that Sarah found herself enjoying being in his presence as much as the others did.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Justin said. “You all may be aware that Sarah is Lilesville's new police chief. She and I have only recently met, and I’m hopi
ng we’rebeginning an intriguing and long-lived friendship. I coerced her into being my guineapig for you tonight, so you will be our chaperones to make sure I don't get out of handand ruin my chances with her.”

  There was laughter and some speculative looks, but nothing unpleasant or affronted. So often, a cop learned to be polite and reassuring, but distant. It was best not to plan to get too close, because the potential friend could be involved in shit she didn't want to know about. It was easier to make friends with cops and their families, or other emergency personnel. During her marriage, she’d become the silent arm appendage at hangouts with her ex’s friends. There was no one to blame for that but herself. It was just hard for her to let down her guard. She was uncomfortably reminded that Justin had zeroed in on that about her right away.

  Of course, he couldn’t throw any stones. Justin offered warmth but still maintained his professional distance. He made everyone feel included and welcome withoutrevealing the reserve. His quiet charm distracted them from seeing it. A cop had tomake sure that reserve showed to keep his or her authority, but he was so clever at covering his she would have missed it, if she hadn’t seen him when it had slipped.

  But sex was one thing, real life was another. Who was Justin Herne? And what was the powerful thing that kept drawing the two of them together?

  “If you all will make yourselves comfortable on the floor,” he gestured to thescattered cushions and rugs, “I'll prepare the area. Sarah, if you'll sit there,” he pointed to one pile of cushions.

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  “Now, in our first class I explained the history and the philosophy. Tonight’s about practical application. To start us off, I want to give you something to think about.” He pressed the start button on a CD player and withdrew a long stemmed match from a blue ceramic vase. He lit it with a silver scrolled lighter shaped like a dragon’s head as the first strains of a relaxing percussion piece filled the room. “First rule. To have the type of sex you’ll both enjoy, every time, it's got to be all about her. If anything ever goes wrong during sex, go back to Rule One.”

  There was laughter, some elbowing between the spouses. Justin moved around the room, lighting candles, and Sarah saw she wasn't the only woman intrigued by the elegant long fingers hovering above the tapers, just a hair from being burned.

  “First, you create your sacred space.” He gestured at the candles, nodded toward the CD player. “We prepare ourselves. Bathe, cleanse our bodies, dab on scents that we know will please our lover. This is your time, your sacred hour. Take the time. It will help her, but gentlemen, you will find you’ll get the benefit of it as well. It’s the difference between the steak dinner you choke down, versus the one you savor. You taste the juices in your mouth, enjoy it with good company, an attractive woman, a glass of wine, or a good beer.

  “In this space,” he waved his hand at their circle, “sex may or may not happen. The point is, you create a circle of intimacy in which anything can happen and likely will, because you are open to each other. There is no dissembling here, no shields. There may be some teasing.” A smile flirted about his lips as he looked at Sarah. “But there is nothing in this circle except how you desire each other, in all ways. It works because your attention begins to center. All those peripheral spirals, work, cable schedule, kids, household chores, they are not allowed inside this inner circle. You step inside and you ward your space by whatever means necessary to keep all of that out.”

  He took a seat on a cushion in front of Sarah and motioned to the others to take the same posture with their partner. “Now, sit, knee to knee, and place your hand on your lover's heart. Not breasts,” he warned, with a quick male grin that elicited snorts and some nervous chuckles. “That comes later. Don't rush this. This is the time you have together, just the two of you. It’s a miracle. We all want to rush to that grand climax, but isn’t the view most amazing from the greatest possible height? We’d never get there if we flung ourselves off that first available cliff ledge.”

  He positioned himself cross-legged in front of Sarah, his knees touching hers. She felt silly, but when she stole a glance at the other three couples, she saw they were looking at each other, so she relaxed somewhat. Justin took her right hand in his, raised it and placed it over his heart. He did the same with his right hand, sliding it under the loose neckline of her robe so the palm of his flesh met the skin between her collarbone and the beginning slope of her firm breast. He took her left hand loosely with his left hand, linked fingers and let their two hands lie that way between them, resting on the slope of his calf.

  “Now, breathe. Deeply. Slowly.” He raised his voice to instruct his students, but his gaze focused on Sarah's face. “Close your eyes. Don't strain to listen. Just open yourself

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  to it. Become aware of each other's breathing, the thump of that heartbeat beneath your hand, that heartbeat that is yours, yours to cherish. The feel of the skin. The heat. Become aware of the circle of space around you, just for the two of you.”

  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