Reach Out and Touch Someone

by Pearl Jones

  She stared at her reflection. If she were being perfectly selfish, not considering anyone or anything but herself, did she want him to leave?

  No. But I'm not sure what—how much—I want to happen tonight.

  Well, there was an answer. Great. Now what? She tried to picture herself telling him that, just speaking those few words. I can't.

  Maybe I won't have to?

  No one's that intuitive. Not even the walking tree.

  Well, fine. Decide how far you'll go. Now. Before you go back out there.

  Her whole body tingled as she thought of what she'd like to do with him, each fantasy image calling the appropriate sensation. Oh, boy. Maybe I should tell him to leave.

  But I won't. She opened the door.

  "It's all transferred,” Muir said, holding out her cell. “Synced to all the rest of your devices.” He shrugged. “This system's much more reliable, but I wrote in a reset protocol, in case it ever happens again. Notes on your desk."

  He really did look amazingly uncomfortable, and childlike again, for all his size. “I don't mind that you stayed. It's sweet."

  "Sweet. The bane of my younger years, that word. Girls were always telling me I was, and then dating the guys who weren't.” His smile made it quite clear it no longer troubled him.

  "But then they grew up and acquired sense.” She didn't mean to continue, but couldn't help it; her tongue simply kept on. “So, are you seeing anyone right now?"

  His eyes went cold in an instant, the blue of a winter sky.

  "I-I don't mean seriously, of course, I know you wouldn't...” Well, she thought he wouldn't, anyway; it wasn't like she knew him at all, really. “I just meant, if you were to start, um, something with someone, would there be any entanglements?"

  His head tilted to one side, he considered her for a long moment before his face relaxed into that usual gentle smile. “No wives or exes, no children, in wedlock or out, no diseases, transmissible or otherwise. A few unusual habits, but I'm fairly sane, more or less."

  Since she'd already lost control of her tongue, she figured she might as well keep going. “Good,” she murmured, and kissed him.

  * * * *

  They were stretched out on the yoga pad when the phone rang again. Just kissing, slow, exploring kisses that grew as each learned what the other liked—Jackie hadn't known just how sensitive the bow of her lips was, until he showed her, and she was engrossed in the sensation when he broke away.

  "Are you going to get that?"

  "No.” She didn't know what time it was, but the view from the window was a night scene. “I'm off for the day."

  "Well, maybe you should test my work."

  "Oh, absolutely.” She pulled him back to her.

  The phone rang again, and again, and each time, he paused in his ministrations. By the fourth time, she was ready to scream.

  "Maybe you'd better check your messages. It could be important."

  "Quite frankly, I don't care right now.” Her nipples bade fair to tearing through her shirt; she had never been more aroused by simply kissing in all her life. Desire spurred her speech. “I'm a lot more interested in having my needs met than in what the hell anyone else wants. Except maybe you."

  "Maybe?” His chest bounced when he laughed; she lay atop him and enjoyed it, the warmth and the bounce and that strange comforting, exciting sense of being known that didn't fade, but only receded from notice now and then. But then he rolled out from under her and sat upright. “Only maybe?"

  She knew her face was red, but met his eyes steadily. “Yeah, maybe. A little hard to quantify right now, y'know?"

  "Ah. Well, then, perhaps you'll allow me to ease your frustration?"

  "I don't—"

  "I'm not asking for what you think, I don't think.” He shook his head. “Did that make any sense at all?"

  "No, but that's okay. Yes."

  His smile was slow, and spread across his face like dawn. “I have a feeling your needs and mine will mesh very nicely. Shall we find out?” He pulled her to her feet and enveloped her in a simple hug, his body warm and hard against hers.

  She reacted instantly, pushing her breasts into him to soothe her distended nipples, spreading her legs to feel the heat of his thigh at her crotch. He didn't move, but let her rub herself against him. She had a sudden flash of herself, of how she must seem: like a hormone-drunk teenager rushing to get it on before curfew! If not for his shirt, her nails would be buried in his flesh, and she was humping his leg like a bitch in heat. Which I am. “Sorry."

  He smoothed one hand down her back, heat she could feel through her top, and strength, and that comfort, stronger than ever as his touch loosened her muscles, easing, soothing her. “Would you like to stop?"

  "No!” She gasped, feeling almost like she'd been hit. No, she didn't want to stop. She wanted ... she wasn't altogether sure what she wanted. Her body, yes, she knew what it wanted, but it wasn't in charge. Or shouldn't be.

  "Slowly, then.” He dipped his head to hers for another of those soft, undemanding kisses that made her feel like time had stopped, and then backed up until he found a chair, tugging her down into his lap as soon as he was settled. “Would you let me...” His voice trailed off, but his hands finished the question, stroking down her arms to capture her hands, pulling gently upward.

  Her breath whooshed out as he tongued the space between her pinkie and ring finger, the touch so incredibly intimate, and knowing. And then he traced a line to the joint of ring and middle fingers, to mirror the kiss there. By the time he reached the curve at the base of her thumb, she was dizzy with pleasure, tingling everywhere. And then he bit down, very, very gently, and she felt a bolt of lightning go through her, setting off fires that spread through her in waves.

  Wow.

  She laughed; she couldn't help herself. It was just all too much, this impossible giant of a man with a touch more perfect than any dream had just made her come by licking her hands. “That was ... you are..."

  "Thank you."

  She buried her face in his neck to hide her blushes—and nibbled while she had the chance. He gasped in his turn. She decided she liked the sound, and spent some time exploring the textures of his ear and jaw and face to see what other sounds she could elicit.

  The other reactions were equally fascinating. His heart beat faster, tiny pulses she could feel at his neck and temple; his body heated, warming the air between them; his muscles tensed.

  She traced the curve of his ear, and he shifted in his seat, shifting her on his lap. The hard ridge of his arousal brushed against her in a delightful way, and she pressed down to increase the sensation, rubbing once, twice. With the third stroke, ecstasy sparked through her, almost shocking in its speed. His hands slid to her waist and he took over the movement, sliding her along his body again and again all through her climax.

  He held her as she quivered, as she calmed, and then simply held her close. She drifted, at peace with all the world, until he spoke. “Can we talk?"

  "Testing. Why, yes."

  "Funny.” His eyes searched her face. “Seriously, over dinner? I think it's my turn to provide."

  "Is there anyplace still open? What time is it, anyway?"

  "Late. We'll find something.” He placed one outsized finger across her lips. “A public place. For my sake, if not yours."

  "What kind of talk is this going to be?"

  "Honest. And naked.” He chuckled. “Not that kind. I know this is going to sound odd—no, you don't like that word, I remember. Unusual, then, for a man to say it, but: this is all too fast. And I'm sorry. You told me that earlier, and I know you need more time. I tried, I did, but you're just ... so..."

  She couldn't stand the look in his eyes, like a hurt little child. “I'm hungry, that's what I am. Faint with hunger, and seconds away from low-blood-sugar bitchiness. Wherever you're taking me, they'd better be able to cook. Shall we?” She was babbling, and she knew it, and she didn't care. Anything to wash that look out of his eyes
. “Well, what are we waiting for, tree-man?"

  The phone rang as if on cue. “I'll go put my things in the van."

  She took a stuttering breath, forced a smile, and picked up the receiver. “Deas ex Machina—"

  "What are you doing still there?"

  Carrie-Anne. Jackie's smile became real. “Leaving. You wear out beefy-boy already?"

  "Not hardly. But since he's all tied up right now, I thought I'd give you a call and tell you to go home. You really are?"

  "Mmm.” Tied up? No, I really don't want to ask—she might tell me! Jackie took a breath. “What do you know about a guy named Muir, B. Muir?"

  A crow sang down the line. “The tantric Muir-man. How'd his name come up?"

  "Tantric. That's that sex-yoga stuff, right?"

  "Close enough. Word ‘round the salon was, he was damn near a master. ‘Til he went celibate, of course."

  "Celi...?"

  "Uh-huh. Waste of good man-flesh, you ask me. Or any of his women friends; they wore white for weeks when he locked himself away."

  "And in English, that means?"

  "He's a nice guy. You know what happens with unmarried nice guys—his female friends crawled into his bed every time they wanted a boost, but he was still just a friend. I think he's a romantic, wanted the perfect love-at-first-sight thing, and when he didn't get it, he swore off the whole game."

  So, what, he's going to tell me he's saving himself for marriage? Jackie couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.

  "Hey, what gives? Where'd you run across the Muir-man anyhow?"

  "He came to fix our phones."

  "And you liked the look of his hands, right? I should have known. Sorry, love, he's not for you. His hands are only for his own pleasure now, if even that. But, y'know, I could bring you a little something home."

  "Ha. Go vacate. I'm off.” And Jackie hung up the phone. We do have to talk, he's right.

  Celibate?

  Yoga-sex must have different definitions.

  She shook her head, starting toward the door, then stopped. Looking around, though she knew there was no one to see, she dashed into her partner's office and rummaged through the desk drawers.

  There! Carrie-Anne had quite an impressive assortment of condoms, foil-wraps in all the colors of the rainbow, a dozen rugged and masculine brand names shining bold and bright. Jackie licked her lips and grabbed up a handful, shoving them into her purse, feeling her cheeks heat yet again.

  Just in case.

  Celibate, him? Not possible—not in anyone's dictionary. She knew what she'd seen. What she'd felt.

  Smiling, she nudged the drawer closed with one hip and went on her way.

  * * * *

  By the smells wafting through the beaded curtain, the food would be Thai, and hot, and very, very good, but Jackie was less interested in food than the coming conversation. Muir looked all too young again, not his expression, but his posture. His head was turtled into his shoulders, his body compressed: the perfect picture of a boy waiting to be scolded. “There's ... something you have to know about me,” he said.

  She waited to hear that word that didn't match what had gone on, was going on between them in any but the most literal sense. He surprised her—again. Still. Hell, this whole day's been impossible, I should just stop expecting things to make sense.

  "I'm a lot like Carrie."

  "Sure you are.” Jackie couldn't have kept from smiling had her life depended on it; the big man was nothing at all like her pint-sized partner. He hadn't once pronounced some uncomfortable, unknowable truth or leapt to a correct conclusion from facts so far from evident it seemed more like magic than reasoning, hadn't made any off-color jokes, hadn't said or done anything really outrageous at all. Aside from the fact they both did yoga, and a few of his less obvious remarks ... and the way he seemed to know her ... “All right, in what way are you and Carrie-Anne alike?"

  "We both believe in things that can't be seen or heard or smelled or tasted or felt—or, at least, touched."

  The arrival of food made a welcome business; she needed a moment to figure out what to say. “So, why did you feel it necessary to tell me that?"

  "Because you'll wonder why I'm so sure when you hear what I'm about to say."

  Ah, now it comes. “Um, don't bother. Carrie-Anne told me.” Her cheeks burned, and she couldn't look at him. “It's ... I don't get it, but, so what? I'll ... Well, you said I needed time, and I guess that's probably true, and, and this way I won't worry about running out the clock, right? I-it's fine. I think."

  "Mmm-hmm.” There was so much warmth in that single sound that, blushes or not, Jackie simply had to look up. Muir had propped his elbows on the table, had his chin cupped in one hand, and was smiling across at her. “Rupture."

  "What?"

  "Rupture.” The hand not supporting his head held chopsticks, which he used as easily, as confidently, as he did nearly everything else. He fed her a bit of some spiced vegetable she was too distracted to taste. “When people think they're talking, but the sense is lost. Though, in this case, I can probably guess what you mean."

  She opened her mouth and he fed another tidbit between her lips. He understood her mumble well enough. “Ah, that. I was, yes, for a while.” This time, his chopsticks went to his own mouth; she recognized the delaying tactic for what it was. “It ... is no longer a concern."

  "Oh.” Surely there was something she could say to that. Wasn't there? “When?"

  "When I met you.” She wasn't sure, what with the suntan that turned his skin nearly as dark as hers, but thought he might be blushing a bit himself.

  Damn, but that's sexy. A blushing redwood. Redder-wood?

  They spent the rest of the meal largely in silence, staring at one another and playing footsie. Sitting over tea, the only people in the room, she finally decided she had to speak or fall asleep again. Strange to be so comfortable with someone she hardly knew; stranger still, how little it bothered her. It's only been a few hours! Why do I feel like we're just ... reuniting? But Jackie didn't feel like thinking about that, or about anything at all, really. She just wanted to wrap herself up in it, in him. “So, can I ask you something?"

  He chuckled. “Why a red-blooded male would decide to give up sex?"

  "No. Well, yes, but if you don't mind, I'd kind of like to get some sleep before the life story. And, um, I was wondering how you feel about playing pillow again. Teddy bear. Whatever.” She needed to take a breath before she could finish what she'd set out to say. “First. Or maybe after.” Or between.

  In a low voice, almost a whisper, he answered: “I would be honored."

  Muir rose from the table and quite casually scooped her out of her chair. A few words with the half-asleep cashier and they were off. No money had changed hands; she decided she'd wonder about that later. After she'd tired of the feel of iron-strong, sun-warm, gentle arms around her, and a body firm as wood, though far more interesting, against hers.

  He carried her up a steep incline, his heart beating harder, though no faster, with the exertion. Through a small gate, up a switchback stair, to a vine-screened porch like nothing she had ever seen. “Home,” he explained, and shifted her to his hip so he could reach and use his key. He set her down only once they'd crossed the threshold, letting her slide down his leg.

  Her own were weak. The smell of him, the feel, the length and strength and heat ... She felt moisture on her cheek, and realized she was drooling. Way to impress. But she wasn't worried—she really didn't think he'd mind knowing he did that to her.

  After a very gentle kiss, he knelt to remove her shoes, then slipped bamboo slides on her feet. Barefoot himself, he wandered briefly off, returning with two thimble glasses and a small carafe.

  "It's ... a ritual,” he answered her look. “Welcome."

  The liquid was garnet-red, thick, sweet and fiery; she felt it from the tips of her hair to her toenails. Her nipples hardened in a rush and liquid spilled from her sex. “Wow.” Sleep was suddenl
y the furthest thing from her mind. She took a second tiny sip, emptying the glass. Liqueur glistened on his lips, too tempting; she reached for him.

  The thrill that ran through her then made her shiver, and if she hadn't held tight to his shoulders, she would have fallen.

  "Welcome,” he whispered against her lips, and, “goodnight,” as strength faded, quickly as it had come.

  Chapter Three

  Jackie woke to sunlight streaming through leaves and air that smelled like the moment after rain met the sea. No disorientation at all; she knew where she was, that he had been in the bed with her until recently—the very large indentation was still warm—and that she was ready for that conversation about tantric sex and celibacy. Preferably after the hands-on portions of the lesson.

  But I kind of need the guy for that. She rose, and caught a glimpse of sweat-shiny suntanned skin. The angle wasn't great, but she found that, by leaning halfway out the window, she could see down into the tiny courtyard where Muir was exercising, clad only in loose pants.

  Carrie-Anne, I think my prayers have been answered. She would have stood and stared forever had her bladder not insisted on her attention; as it was, she banged her shin on a corner, trying to navigate without looking away from his sun-gilded form.

  He'd left her a toothbrush, a towel, and a loofah. Mirabile dictu: a sensible, sensitive man. She marveled only for a moment before using the room for its intended purposes.

  He was waiting when she emerged, hands dwarfing a tea tray. “Good morning."

  She blinked. For some reason, she'd expected him to say something else. Something less prosaic. “Is it?"

  "Oh, yes.” He had a smile like springtime, warming all the world. “I woke up, and there you were."

  Jackie shook her head, not following. Of course she was there; she'd still been asleep.

  "I was afraid you were only real in my dreams."

  Caffeine is good. Caffeine is lovely. But, damn! There are some things that will wake a woman much more thoroughly—like having a glorious chunk of a man tell her something like that. He set the tray down almost quickly enough for her, and then those wonderfully huge hands were lifting her, and the taste of his mouth was like life, and he was hot and strong and very treelike, but more limber. He didn't even have to break off the kiss to carry her to the bed, or to lay her down upon it.