Adam's Apple (Touch of Tantra #1)

by Liv Morris

  “There’s something different about you, Kathryn, in a good way. You’re confident, serene, and seem to have a strong, unflappable inner peace. I’m curious to know if it’s a result of you practicing Tantra?” I prepare myself for her response, as I have no idea how she’ll answer my query. She gazes at me with a sweet smile. She appears to be happy with the question. Hopefully she’ll accommodate me with an answer, because I’m dying to know.

  “Are you curious because it involves sex? Or are you wondering why I chose to practice it?” Her question makes me contemplate my motive. What is the reason behind my curiosity?

  “I’ll be honest with you. I am interested in the sex angle, and why you practice it and the effects it has on you.”

  “Fair enough.” She looks at me with a keen understanding and shifts closer to me. “I think most people wonder the same thing when I tell them about my association with Tantra.”

  She glances down at the couch, as if she’s collecting her thoughts before continuing with her explanation.

  “A few years ago I was in a dark place personally. I mentioned my late husband last night at the bar when you asked if I was French. Remember?”

  She pauses and looks at me to answer her.

  “Of course, I remember. You surprised me with that answer. It was definitely unexpected.” Part of me wants to tell her I’m sorry for her loss, sympathetically acknowledge his death. But I remain silent because she appears ready to resume talking.

  “Before I continue, how much do you know about Jean-Paul? You seem to know almost everything about me, and I don’t want to bore you with details you’re already aware of.”

  Without thinking, I glance over to the bookcase where Kathryn and Jean-Paul’s wedding picture sits along with the encased silver medal. I turn back to her, and I can see that her eyes have followed mine. She realizes I looked at her memorial to him when she left me alone earlier.

  “Okay.” I start my confession on the extent of my knowledge concerning her late husband. “I know he was an Olympic skier who died a few years ago in a skiing accident. I have to admit I looked through your pictures and saw your wedding photo. You two seemed very happy.” Her eyes gaze beyond me like she’s leaving the here and now in a dreamy way. I know she’s reminiscing about him and what they had together. I watch a slow smile form on her lips at she remembers him.

  “We were very happy.” She turns back to me now. The smile still lingering on her lips. “I was gutted when he died. I sank into a deep depression. Even getting up to go to work was too much most days. His death was traumatic for me on so many levels. It left me shaken and all alone. From the day he and I met, we were inseparable. He was my life. We were each other’s worlds.”

  I want to envy him, hate him even, but I can’t. The feeling doesn’t come to me. Instead I feel sad that she lost someone so dear to her. After my mother’s death, I know losing someone you love deeply is nothing I’d wish upon anyone. I reach for her hand as her eyes fill with tears. When our fingers connect, I realize how much I missed feeling her soft skin against mine.

  “He died skiing in the French Alps. An Olympic skier gliding down a semi-steep hill should’ve been nothing out of the ordinary, but he must have hit an unseen mogul. He lost control and veered off course and headed straight into a thick patch of trees. I was watching his movements from above as I skied down toward him.”

  She closes her eyes; a few tears fall down her pale cheeks. I move on instinct and wipe them from her face. Their presence is too much for me to stomach. She opens her eyes again and forces a smile through her tears. I want to pull her into my arms and soothe away the pain, but I hold off and wait, choosing to comfort her with words.

  “I’m so sorry, Kathryn. I can’t think of anything more horrible than being witness to the accident.” I think back to my nightmares, the ones that still haunt me, and wonder if she has anything similar to them. Imagining the pain Kathryn went through watching her husband die right in front of her eyes; it’s horrific.

  “Thanks, Kingsley. I’m sorry to drag you back to that dark place with me. But that’s when I discovered Tantra, or when it saved me. It brought light back into my life.” Her tears are dry now, but I’m still holding her hand, not wanting to let go.

  We’ve moved even closer to one another. Our bodies turned toward each other on the couch with our legs now touching at the knees. We’ve once again succumbed to the magnetic pull between us, an unseen energy we can’t seem to control.

  She takes a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. Her eyelashes still wet from her tears, but her face doesn’t show a trace of the sadness she expressed a short moment ago.

  “So Tantra helped you get beyond his death?” I ask, encouraging her to continue.

  “It did. The man you met today at the café, Jacques LeBaron, was a fellow psychologist with me in Paris. We’ve known each other since our doctorate studies and remained friends after graduation. Jacques worried that I was withdrawing from life after Jean-Paul’s death, and he feared I wasn’t coping with my loss. I knew he was right, but I had no idea how to feel again. I was very numb at that point. Going through the essential motions of existing. Jacques had practiced Tantra for several years and persuaded me to come to a meeting with him. I agreed to go, but just as friends.”

  My jaw tenses at the mention of Frenchie’s name. Jean-Paul is a ghost from her past, but this other man is here in her present. And I don’t care for him being in her life now, sticking his nose in her business like he did earlier when I was with her. I don’t like it, or him, one fucking bit. Over the course of twenty-four hours, I’ve turned into a green-eyed monster. It’s a foreign feeling to me.

  “So is this when you began seeing him? After your husband’s death?” My brows pull together; I can’t conceal my feelings for Jacque.

  “Jacques and I have never been together in the true sense of the word. This may be hard for you to hear, but he and I have practiced Tantra together for the past two years. Jacques is very special to me, but I will never love him beyond being my dear friend. Our relationship lacks chemistry, that spark needed for love and a basic attraction. It’s missing, and we both acknowledge it. We respect and care for each other, but without that deep chemistry we’ll never be more than occasional lovers.”

  Part of me wants to punch the couch pillows beside me. The other part wants to shout for joy that she doesn’t feel anything more for him than she does.

  “I can tell you’re having a hard time with me mentioning Jacques’ name. But enough with the double standard, Kingsley. I’m looking past your countless one-night stands right now.” She crosses her arms over her chest, standing her ground.

  “Touché,” I agree with her assessment and throw my hands up in surrender. “Please, go on.”

  She brings her arms back down to her lap and leans toward me. The same stance she had before I went all caveman.

  “Let me tell you what happened to me emotionally and spiritually when I started practicing Tantra. I’ll leave out the physical part with him. It seems to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You picked up on that, did you? Perceptive woman.” My sarcastic laugh follows, lightening the mood between us. “I’d appreciate it. Besides, we have some wild chemistry, don’t you think?”

  “You’re winning me over in that department, Mr. Kingsley.” Her eyes dip to my lips, and for a moment I think she’s inviting me to kiss her. But her eyes rise again to mine and her plump, tempting lips move instead. “There is definitely something going on between us. My conclusion on what it is exactly is still pending.”

  “All right. The lady finally confesses.” I pump my fist a few inches in the air like I just scored a touchdown.

  Her eyes fill with laughter as she giggles. “Back to Tantra, you distracting man.” God, I love to hear her giggling. It’s music to my ears.

  “Please continue. Seriously, I want to know how you became the amazingly together woman you are today.”

  “Cha
rmer has to be your middle name.” She teases while reaching for my hand and squeezing it lightly. “Back to my story. During my first meeting, I was so much like you. Curious but unsure what Tantra was about. Also my mood was foul that day. I had grueling counseling sessions with clients and just wanted to go home and sleep. The thought of hanging out with a bunch of people talking about feelings, sex, and love was the last thing I wanted to do, but I went any way. More like I dragged myself there.”

  She continued. “I endured the meeting and stuck it out. I’m so thankful that I did, too. At the end of the session they had us participate in a simple exercise. Nothing too sexual, more about opening yourself up to someone. Connecting on a basic human level.”

  “So no sex lessons the first time?” I ask her, surprised. I was expecting something more down and dirty like the picture I viewed in the book with the couple dry-humping each other.

  “Nothing like that at all. I sat across from, well, you know who.” She speaks the words out of the side of her mouth cutely, trying to skip over Frenchie’s name, and I’m glad.

  “Yes, he who shall not be named.”

  “Yes, him. Anyway, the simple exercises the instructor had us do made me reconnect with my feelings. I’d totally shut them off. I thought it would be better to feel nothing than the pain of my loss. So I locked the door to them and became numb. Tantra was the key that opened the door up for me. All the emotions I’d stuffed away came tumbling out.” Her eyes have a sincere look, and she takes both my hands in hers. “It all started with opening myself up and feeling again.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.” Confusion has to be plastered all over my face. “Care to show me?”

  “What? Now?” Her eyes are wide in surprise. My request obviously isn’t what she expected.

  “This will not come as a shock, but I’m more of a hands-on learner.” I wiggle my brows suggestively. “Possibly the engineer in me, who knows? Whatta ya say?” Kathryn bites her lip as she decides on an answer. But I can’t wait and I push her to respond. “Come on, say yes. Please?”

  “On one condition. No laughing. Tantra means a lot to me. The thought of you not taking it serious bothers me. You laugh and my teaching stops. Capiche?” There is no arguing with her menacing threat. She loves to end with a punch that puts me in my place.

  “You love the word, capiche, don’t you?” I pause for a second and watch her beautiful face. “But I’ll be your willing student. I’ll only laugh if you tickle me.”

  “You’re ticklish?” She smiles devilishly at me. Her hands wander up my sides, and her fingers start tapping eagerly against my ribs. She huffs when I don’t respond with even a slight chuckle.

  “Nah, I’m not ticklish. Well at least not there.” She punches my arm lightly. But if she glanced down at my crotch, she would have seen how much her touch did affect me.

  “You’re just hilarious.” She stares at me pointedly. “This type of humor is what I’m talking about, though. If I introduce you to Tantra, you have to be serious. I mean it.”

  “Settled down,” I say. “I sincerely promise. If it’s that important to you, I’ll be good. Maybe just an occasional smile or two. Surely that would be all right?”

  “Of course you can smile. But that’s where I draw the line.” She lifts herself off the couch. Her sweet ass right at my eye level. No lines appear on the curve of her yoga pants, so my mind immediately wonders if she’s wearing anything under them.

  She bends over and takes our ice cream bowls. “Let me rinse these bowls out and I can give you a simple intro session explaining Tantra. Unless you’re too tired?”

  “Not at all. I’m wide awake. See?” I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to show I’m alert and ready. I’m rewarded with a sexy toss of her lovely hair over her shoulder.

  Damn, how I want this woman.

  “Why don’t you go ahead of me?” Kathryn begins to walk toward the kitchen. “Change into the pajamas I mentioned earlier in the guest room. My brother’s pair. You need to get out of your stiff monkey suit.”

  “When a woman tells me to take off my clothes, I always obey.” My remarks get a half-hearted laugh.

  Before disappearing into the kitchen, she looks at me over her shoulder. “When has a woman ever had to ask you to take off your clothes?”

  “Touché,” I say mostly to myself as I once again concede her point.

  Gathering up my suit coat, I quickly make my way back to the guest room in search of some borrowed pajamas. After shutting the door I disrobe, removing my suit pants and wrinkled dress shirt. I lay them over the edge of the bed.

  The bed I would prefer to only have my clothes lying on tonight. I can’t help but hope Kathryn will give into me in some way and quit trying to fight this pull between us.

  Our being together seems as inevitable as the sun rising and setting. She wants me, although she still hasn’t completely admitted to it yet. I more than want her. I’ve made this fact abundantly clear.

  The inability to gratify the desires I have for her drives me crazy, too. When has my cock not gotten its way? I have to reach back pretty far to recall a time.

  High school was the last memory I have of denying myself, but even then I usually had some girl at my beck and call. Until Kathryn, I’ve never used the words “waiting” and “sex” in the same sentence, nor have they been put together as a thought in my head.

  All it’s taken is a beautiful, alluring, and feisty woman with a body fit to be worshipped to completely unhinge me.

  Walking over to the dresser, I open a drawer and find a pair of black pajama pants and a T-shirt. I glance at the tag and see Kathryn was correct in guessing my size matched her brother’s. Maybe I should say they didn’t fit and wander into that harem tent of hers in just my boxer briefs. Fuck, I might do it anyway.

  Only issue with wearing just my briefs is that my dick has been at half mast almost the entire time I’ve been in her presence tonight. I wouldn’t be leaving much to the imagination.

  The barely-there clothing she’s wearing is to blame. Her sports bra dipped seductively low on her chest and exposed the full mounds of her breasts. So round, real, and perfect. She has more than a handful, and I hope to find out how much more soon.

  My cock comes alive at the thought of her breasts in my hands and her nipples against my tongue. If I’d walk into her office right now, even covered in these pants, she’ll see how tightly wound up I am for her. But she wants me to be serious, so I remind myself to be good.

  After dressing in the pajamas, I glance at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. I’m in all black from head to toe, but when I look closer at my face, I see something strange in my eyes. There’s anxiousness in them, something unfamiliar to me.

  Sighing, I chalk it up to the entire day I’ve endured.

  One thing is for damn sure: I need to get back to the real me. The man who makes grown men tremble at the boardroom table. Who cowers to no one, not even a vixen he’s desperate to fuck.

  Standing tall with my head held high, I walk out of the guest room with a renewed purpose and decide to quit acquiescing to Kathryn and all her wishes. It’s time for her to give me what I want, which adds up to more than a couple of kisses for the night.

  But I scoff at my own thoughts. If I’m being honest with myself, my ability to live up to this declaration is highly unlikely. Not where Kathryn’s concerned.

  Once I’m out in the hallway, I notice the door to her office is slightly ajar. My bare feet are quiet as I walk over on the dark wood floor. Stopping in front of the door, I lean forward and listen for any sounds coming from inside. Erotic music plays softly and the room appears dark from what little I’m able to see through the cracked door.

  Not wanting to enter without Kathryn’s acknowledgement, I tap my fingers on the wood.

  “Come in, Kingsley.” Her voice is breathy and low, almost unrecognizable.

  I place my hand on the door but restrain myself and slowly p
ush it open just a couple of inches. There are candles burning faintly on small accent tables, but I can’t see where Kathryn is yet. Golden lanterns hang in various lengths from the silk-draped ceiling. A subdued glow filters through patterns punched into the lanterns’ metal.

  I push the door open the remaining way and gasp. Kathryn comes into my view. She’s kneeling on the large cushion in the middle of the room. Breathtakingly beautiful.

  Her pose is one of pure submission. Kneeling as she faces me with her sweet ass resting on the heels of her feet. Her delicate hands, the ones I want touching me, are placed flat above her knees as her body leans forward.

  I’m still absorbing the scene in front of me. Kathryn is waiting for me while the flickering light casts shadows across her skin and hair.

  “Come join me, Kingsley.” Kathryn curls her lips into a sexy smile, and with a gesturing motion of her hand she invites me to join her. At this moment, I’m powerless and will do whatever this beautiful woman kneeling before me wants.

  The magnetic pull I’ve felt since I met her last night draws me to her. I’m powerless against its force. Walking across the rug-covered floor, I arrive at the pillow she’s gracefully kneeling on. Without another thought, I bend my knees and reflect her pose. Willingly, I submit.

  Chapter 13

  “Are you ready?” Kathryn asks me with a quizzical lift of her brow. The fact I’m here kneeling quietly and waiting for her to start should be a good enough sign for her.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” I look deeply into her eyes as shadows play across her face. With silk tapestries and flickering light surrounding her, she takes on an ethereal presence as if she belongs in another world. My hands itch to reach and touch her soft skin. Yes, Kathryn, I want to say, I’m ready and willing, totally spellbound by you and your beauty. But I hold my tongue.