Show & Tell

by Rhonda Nelson

  5

  FOLLOWING SAVANNAH out the door, Knox involuntarily tightened the orifice in question. “What?”

  “For someone who was so determined to do this story—had to do this particular story,” she emphasized sarcastically, “it would seem that you would have put a little more research into the project.”

  “I did my research,” Knox insisted with a sardonic smile. “But I didn’t come across anything that suggested tantra partners began foreplay with an enema.”

  Savannah chuckled darkly. “Who said anything about an enema?”

  “Well, how else—” Knox drew up short as realization dawned. His ass instantly clenched in horror.

  Oh, hell.

  Catching his appalled expression, Savannah’s pale blue eyes sparkled with amusement. That sinfully beautiful mouth of hers curved ever so slightly with mockery. “Aha. Light dawns on marble head.”

  Knox swallowed and continued to follow her down the hall. He’d rather be eviscerated with a rusty blade than even think about anal sex, much less discuss the loathsome subject with Savannah. He didn’t need to get unblocked, thank you very much, and after a moment told her so. Forcibly.

  She winced, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Don’t worry, Knox, I was kidding about the visit to the back door. But I have to say, you have one glaring characteristic of a man who needs to have his root chakra unblocked.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. Knox knew better than to ask, but found himself forming the question anyway. “Really? And what characteristic would that be?”

  “You’re a tight-ass. I think I’ve pointed that out to you before.”

  Knox smirked. “Cute.”

  He held open the heavy front door and allowed her to pass. Their first class was on the south lawn in the outdoor classroom. Butterflies and bumblebees flitted from flower to flower through the Sheas’ eclectic garden, Knox noticed as he and Savannah made their way across the lush lawn. Grass pushed between his toes, bringing a reluctant grin to his lips. It had been a long time since he’d been barefoot in the grass.

  A peek at Savannah confirmed that she was enjoying the sensation as well. A small smiled tilted her lips and she’d turned her face toward the kiss of the sun. A light breeze ruffled her black bed-head locks and that same breeze molded the white, all-but-see-through kurta to her small, womanly form.

  It was at this point that Knox became hopelessly distracted.

  Naturally, over the course of Savannah’s career at the Phoenix, Knox had observed her body and noted its perfection. He was a man, after all, and men—being men—tended to notice such details.

  But noticing and really appreciating were two completely different things.

  Knox’s gaze roamed leisurely over her body and, much to his helpless chagrin, his visual perusal ignited a spark of heat in his loins.

  The delicate fabric lay plastered against the unbound globes of her breasts, and the rosy hue of her nipples shadowed through the clinging material. Knox could easily discern the flat belly, the sweetly curving swell of her hips and the black triangle of curls nestled at the apex of her thighs.

  She was beautiful. Utterly and completely beautiful and…

  And feeling his dick begin to swell for sport, Knox mentally swore and made a determined effort to direct his lust-ridden brain toward a more productive line of thought—like his story. With that idea in mind, he studied his surroundings.

  Picnic tables, some already occupied with couples, were arranged in a large circle beneath a huge whitewashed octagon canopy. Crystals of various sizes and shapes dripped like icicles from the perimeter of the canopy, sending rainbows of colorful reflected light dancing through the air. The tinkling tones of wind chimes sounded, adding another element to the mystical environment. A white silk chaise sat upon a raised dais in the center of the outdoor room. Who knew what sort of depraved acts had been committed upon that little bench, Knox thought with a grim smile.

  “Where should we sit?” Savannah asked as she surveyed the circle of tables.

  “Somewhere in the middle,” Knox told her. “If we sit in front, we’ll look eager and too easy to snag for demonstrations. If we sit in the back, they’ll think we’re bashful and will want to draw us in and make us participate.” He guided her toward an appropriate table.

  Savannah grinned. “Why do I feel like this is the voice of experience and not a fabricated load of BS?”

  “Because it is. I honed the skill in grade school.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Savannah sat down. “Sounds like you were trying to figure out a way to do the least amount of work possible.”

  Knox returned her grin and attempted to sit down next to her. He wasn’t used to navigating in a dress and almost toppled chin first into the picnic table when the hem of the kurta caught the seat. He scowled, smoothing the damned gown back into place. “That was one of the perks,” he finally said. “Be sure and take good notes. I always copied someone else’s.”

  She gave him a droll glare. “I’m sure you did.”

  Actually, he hadn’t. He’d only been trying to needle her. What did she think? That he’d been able to sail through an Ivy League school on nothing but his parents’ money and his charming personality? And she had the nerve to think him a snob?

  She’d never said it, of course. Just like none of his other co-workers had ever said it. But Knox knew they were laboring under the mistaken assumption that his wealthy background had afforded him his present career and, moreover, that his being talented could have nothing to do with it.

  Knox smothered a bitter laugh. Let them think what they would. Screw ’em. He didn’t care. In fact, he purposely invested a great deal of time making sure that no one—least of all any of those co-workers at the paper—knew just how much he longed to be respected for his work, rather than simply tolerated with virulent envy.

  Between his condescending co-workers and equally condescending parents, Knox was doubly determined to succeed.

  For reasons that escaped him, Savannah’s opinion, in particular, annoyed the hell out of him. But what did he expect? That after spending one day with him, she’d see him any differently than she always had? That his character would have suddenly jumped up a notch in her esteemed estimation? Not likely. And he didn’t care, dammit. He did not care. When he made it, when he proved himself, she’d be just like everyone else—eating crow.

  Curiously, the thought didn’t inspire the smug satisfaction Knox anticipated and, instead left him feeling small and petty. He shrugged the sensation aside and focused instead on the Sheas as they finally moved onto the dais.

  “Welcome to your first class,” Edgar began. “The title of this lesson is Beginning Tantra/Energetic Healing. We have much ground to cover over the course of this weekend and everything we teach you will be built upon these basic tantric principles, so please have your pad and pencil poised and be ready to learn.”

  “Before we begin,” Rupali said to the class at large, “there are a few things we must cover.” She steepled her fingers beneath her chin, the picture of glowing serenity. “I’m sure you are all wondering why you’ve been asked to wear the kurta and remove your shoes. Let me address the kurta first. The kurta denotes purity, helps promote chakra healing and enables us all to remove psychological boundaries. At times, our clothes can be our armor against our sensual selves.” Her keen gaze landed pointedly on a few people. Savannah, too, Knox noticed with mild surprise. “We’ll have no armor here. Only truth and healing.” She paused. “As for not wearing shoes, we need to be grounded to Mother Earth, to let her energy flow up through our feet and connect us once more with the force of all that’s natural, that’s pure. Curl your toes in the grass—let it massage your feet,” she instructed. “Isn’t it nice? Can you feel Mother Earth’s power?” she asked, smiling. “If not, you will by the end of this clinic, I promise you. All of you will leave here with a new sense of energy, of purpose, of happiness.”

  “That’s a mighty big promise,”
Savannah whispered from the side of her mouth.

  Knox nodded. “Yeah, but it’s what she didn’t promise that’s wise. She didn’t promise impotent men erections, and she didn’t promise you frigid-unable-to-climax types an orgasm.”

  “You’re right,” she quietly agreed. “It’s inferred, but not stated. Smart move. Very crafty.”

  “Are there any questions so far?” Rupali wanted to know. “If not, then we’ll move on to the next item on the agenda before we officially begin class. In order to insure that you fully understand and appreciate what sort of sexual gratification tantra can add to your sex lives, you need to understand what was lacking in the first place, and you need to be able to instantly discern the vast difference between the lovers you officially are today and the new lovers you will become. What I’m about to ask of you will be exceedingly difficult, but it’s simply crucial to the success of your experience—you must abstain from physical intercourse until the end of the workshop.”

  A chorus of shocked gasps and giggles echoed under the pavilion.

  “It’s crucial,” she repeated firmly. “Men, through tantra we’re going to teach you the most effective way to bring your lover pleasure. We’re going to teach you to worship your goddess. The techniques you will learn will enable you to prolong your own inner release as well as hers.”

  “Likewise ladies,” she continued, “we will teach you the most effective way to worship your man, to massage and heal, and bring pleasure beyond anything he’s ever experienced before. We want you to make love, want to encourage you to grow spiritually as well as sexually with your partners. But there are lessons to be learned first.” She laughed. “Lessons that will have you writhing with pleasure and begging for the most carnal form of release. But you can’t have it…yet. Consummation will occur on Sunday night and not a moment before. Does everyone agree to this rule?”

  After a few reluctant nods and one gentle but firm admonishment to Chuck, who’d been busy throughout her speech, Rupali finally concluded, and Edgar stood once more.

  He clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s begin,” he said.

  While Edgar began a brief summary of each of the chakras, Knox’s thoughts still lingered over Rupali’s revelation—no consummation until Sunday. He couldn’t begin to imagine why this was relevant to him as he and Savannah weren’t going to be consummating anything. Still…

  Just knowing that they were going to have to participate in everything—learn all of the supposed pleasure-enhancing techniques—up until that point and then miss the grand finale was heartily depressing. Unreasonable, he knew. The whole point of bringing Savannah along was to remain asexual about the entire concept, to remain focused on the story. The nudge was still there, powerful as ever.

  Jeez. He was pathetic. Obviously, he was so preoccupied with his pecker that being denied even mythological sex irritated him. Knox cast a sidelong glance at his companion and felt his lips twitch with wry humor. If she had any inkling of the direction of his thoughts right now, she’d undoubtedly pull a Lorena Bobbitt and permanently extinguish his “wand of light” like she’d so lethally threatened before.

  So, he could either keep this one-sided attraction to himself—which unquestionably would be the sanest and most healthy thing he could do—or he could work on her until it was no longer one-sided.

  With luck, the weekend would be over before he came to a clear decision.

  “DOES ANYONE KNOW what the word tantra means?” Edgar asked. “It means to weave, or extend.”

  Right, Savannah thought. She’d known the answer, but couldn’t make her sluggish brain form the required definition—she was too busy mourning the loss of the great spiritual sex she’d never intended to have in the first place.

  And not just any sex.

  Sex with Knox.

  Savannah knew she shouldn’t feel like wailing with frustration. Shouldn’t feel like whimpering with regret. But she did. He’d been sitting beside her for the past hour, and her palm had literally itched to reach over to shape her hand to the oh-so-clearly defined length of him. She wanted to stroke him, to feel him grow in her hand, grow inside her. Which was ludicrous. Knox had admitted that the sole reason he’d asked her to attend this sex workshop was because she happened to be the only woman he could bring along that he wouldn’t want to sleep with. He’d admitted that he didn’t find her the least bit attractive.

  And that was a good thing, dammit. She didn’t want him to be attracted to her. It would be nothing short of ruinous. She’d already dated a pretty prep-school playboy and he’d given her the old heave-ho the minute his parents had squawked their disapproval. As far as the Lyleses had been concerned, Savannah had been foster-care trash, not worthy of their precious pedigreed son.

  There were a gazillion reasons why she shouldn’t have hot, sweaty phenomenal sex with Knox. Savannah’s insides grew warm and muddled at the mere implication of the act. Still, he was like Gib, he had a love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation, he was a co-worker…The list went on and on.

  Yet none of them—or the combined total—could hold a candle to the ferocity of the attraction.

  Every part of him that was male drew every part her that was female. She yearned for him. Longed to have those big beautiful hands of his shaped around her breasts. That talented mouth tasting every mole, every freckle, everywhere that was white and everywhere that was pink.

  And she wanted to touch him as well, wanted to slide her fingers over each and every perfectly formed sinew. Wanted to feel that powerful body unleashed with passion and, ultimately, sated with release. She sighed.

  She just wanted.

  Savannah swallowed another frustrated wail. She’d kept her distance, hadn’t she? She’d even made herself dislike him, all in an effort to avoid this very predicament. All of that hard work for this beautiful mess.

  Even if the talk of sex finally sparked some latent interest in him, he’d never be so pathetically unprofessional as to act upon it. For reasons Savannah didn’t understand, this particular story was incredibly important to him. He’d coerced her into coming, after all. He’d never jeopardize the story, regardless of how much he might like to overthrow his traditional tastes and take her for a quick tumble between the sheets.

  So she needed to put the whole idea out of her mind. She’d forget that damned kiss and pray they wouldn’t have to participate in that madness again. She’d ignore the enormous penis draped across his thigh beneath that kurta and her own beaded nipples and moist sex and…

  And, Savannah realized with mounting frustration, she’d undoubtedly end up masturbating the entire weekend, just like poor oversexed Chuck.

  “Hey,” Knox said as he gently nudged her in the side. “I thought I told you to take notes. You stopped at the genital chakra.”

  That seemed appropriate, Savannah thought. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got to go over all of it and work on unblocking as many chakras as we can tonight for homework. At the end of this lesson we move on to building trust between partners and the art of erotic massage.” Knox waggled his brows suggestively. “They have scented massage oil in the gift shop.”

  Six and a half feet of gloriously oiled, aroused male loomed in her mind’s eye. “Great,” she managed to deadpan. “You can rub it all over yourself.”

  Shaking his head, Knox tsked under his breath. “Now what could we possibly learn from that? How can we do this story justice without at least trying some of the techniques?”

  She couldn’t fault his reasoning, though that was her first impulse. Still, if they tried one, she’d want to try them all. Which meant it would be best to forgo the whole lot. “I suppose you should have thought of that before you hauled me to a sex workshop.”

  “Who said anything about having sex? It’s just a massage. Are you planning on giving this story anything but your best objective opinion?”

  Savannah bristled. “Of course not.”

  “Then it
’s a no-brainer,” he said with a negligent shrug. “Tell you what, I’ll go you one better and do you first. How does that sound?”

  Like torture, Savannah thought. Delicious torture, but torture all the same. “Whatever.” She gestured toward the Sheas. “They’re about to conclude the lesson. Shut up and pay attention.”

  “In a few moments we’ll take a short break, and then we’ll move on to part one of our erotic massage lesson,” Edgar said. “Before we stop, however, let’s take a moment to quietly reflect and connect with our lovers.”

  Oh, hell, Savannah thought with a premonition of dread. That didn’t sound good.

  “Everyone please stand,” Rupali instructed. “For some, this is a very difficult exercise, but Edgar and I didn’t promise that this weekend would be easy. The level of intimacy we want our students to achieve requires that fears and inadequacies be set aside, that the true self be revealed.”

  Savannah resisted the urge to squirm. It was sounding worse.

  “One of the simplest ways to do that is to maintain eye contact, to search your partner’s eyes and reveal past hurts, regrets, happiness and love.” Rupali paused and gauged the room’s reaction to her words. “In time, you will be able to look into your partner’s eyes and see your Imago, or mirror image, reflected back at you. While you might be uncomfortable now, the longer you practice tantra, the more you strive for a more spiritual union, you will eventually learn to prize this very special connection.”

  Edgar set the timer on his watch. “Men, pull your women to you, so that their heart beats against your chest. So that you can feel the steady rhythm of her life force thumping against you.”

  Knox, damn him, didn’t appear the least bit annoyed or uncomfortable by this new test as, smiling, he did as Edgar instructed and pulled her firmly up against the hard wall of his magnificent chest.

  With a decidedly sick smile, Savannah’s own heart threatened to pound right through her ribcage. In addition to feeling Knox’s heartbeat, she felt the telltale ridge of his “wand of light” against her belly button and, to her eternal chagrin, her “sacred space” swiftly grew warm and wet. If he’d branded her with the damned thing, she couldn’t have felt it more.