Silent Sins: A Lotus House Novel: Book Five

by Audrey Carlan

  I shake my head, shoving the debauched thoughts aside. This innocent woman in front of me makes me want to do tawdry, dirty things to her, clean her back up, and start all over again. Christ, I’m in trouble with this one.

  “The other side.” I stretch out my left leg and repeat the first pose. “After you’ve gotten your groove, ease from side to side several times, then go back to center and allow your body to hang, giving the spine and hamstrings a nice, long stretch. And don’t forget your breathing. Inhale fully and exhale completely.”

  For a few minutes, the class follows along with me, moving from side to side, finishing with the last pose.

  “Go into a closed-leg squat, as if you’re about to sit in a chair, then swing forward and move into airplane pose, which is a variation of Warrior Three. It’s a newer pose recently added to the assemblage of yoga asanas also known as Dekasana. Allow your body to be supported by the silks under your arms as you open the heart and throat chakra, lifting your chin to the sky.”

  Honor shifts into the position perfectly, but once again, I’m reminded of the fatal error of putting her directly in front of me. As she stretches her body forward and lifts her pale, pretty neck to the sky, her large breasts press up and out, taunting me with their lusciousness. The view zips along my conscious mind, grinding against the part of me that’s all carnal, filthy male. My cock reacts and rises to the occasion, wanting to spear between those large globes as she licks the fat head of my dick.

  Christ on a cross, I’m fucked.

  Moving a bit faster than I normally would, mostly because I don’t want to embarrass myself by letting a class full of yogis see me fighting off an erection, I issue the next command. “Slowly straighten your legs, maneuver the silks to the hinge at your hips, and bring your hands to the floor to allow your feet to ease off the ground. It will seem as though you are in a variation of downward facing dog but with your feet just a foot or two off the ground. Keep your face level with your arms.”

  Please, God, keep their faces level with their arms.

  I let go of the silks and look at the other patrons, needing to separate myself from the goddess in front of me. For the first time, I notice a familiar, bulky form in the back corner. I walk over to my buddy’s side.

  “Hey, man. Didn’t see you there.”

  Clayton Hart lifts his head and grins. “I’m sure you didn’t since your eyes have been on nothing but the slender blonde with the killer rack in the front row.”

  My mouth tightens on instinct, hearing Clayton’s appraisal of Honor. I narrow my gaze. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your gorgeous, pregnant wife and daughter?”

  Clayton chuckles and stands. I glance around the rest of the class and watch them ease into their final squat.

  “Needed a good stretch. Took on an NFL client today. Worked him and myself hard on the weights. My muscles are killing me. Your class helps put me back together.” He grins before lifting his chin toward the front of the class. “What’s the deal with the blonde? You haven’t stopped looking at her.”

  I run my hand through my slicked-back hair and rub the back of my neck. “Not sure yet. Doin’ a number on me, though.”

  Clayton frowns. “You don’t usually tend to be sweet on clientele. You thinkin’ about breaking your own rules?” Clayton pushes back into another stretch I wouldn’t give in the introductory class. His body is jam-packed with muscles, and he could easily be a poster boy for Men’s Fitness, but he’s taken my class many times before and knows the movements and how to be safe. He’s also a fitness trainer who knows his own body and what it needs.

  “Man, I don’t know. All I know is she’s a game changer. There’s something about her. I don’t know what.”

  My buddy grins and lifts his body up into the silks like a professional gymnast, all flexing muscles and heavy lifting made easy. “Wish you luck with that, man. Go get her.” He winks.

  I nod and head back to the front. For the rest of the class, I put them all through their paces, giving them just enough instruction to get comfortable in the silks and stretch out what the average person needs…back, neck, legs, getting out the usual stiffness a person feels when working a sedentary job or standing on their feet all day.

  “Okay, last pose of the day. We’re going to go into cocoon. Stretch out your hammock, slide it under your butt and along your back. Then shimmy your body into the fabric. It will stretch along with your form. You can either put your feet to your chest or just curve up. Bring your arms inside the swing, allowing the silks to cover you completely. Find a comfortable position that suits you because you’re going to stay here for a solid five to seven minutes for Savasana.”

  Each participant gets into their swing, and I give them a minute to position themselves. Usually, I’d cocoon myself as well, but today I need to offer guided meditation for them and for myself. Walking around, I avoid Honor, needing to gather a little mental space as well as physical distance. Being close to her is like being in a vortex. All I want to do is get closer, plaster my body along hers, and breathe in her essence.

  “Inhale, letting in peace and serenity, exhaling any remnants of frustration or irritation from your day. Allow yourself to float in your cocoon. This position mimics being back in the womb, where everything was safe and sound. Go to your safe place. Breathe into it. Remember here that you are protected, you are perfect, and you are loved.”

  Honor’s hammock jiggles wildly before her small feet pop out, and she sits up gasping for breath.

  Shit. Sometimes this happens; people feel claustrophobic.

  I rush over to her and curl my hands around her cheeks, tipping her chin up with my thumbs. Her eyes are wild and untamed, searching for an exit. “Breathe, Dove, in with me.” I inhale long and slow. Her fingers wrap around my neck, and I place my forehead to hers. “Out slowly.” Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she shudders out her breath. “In again…” For long moments, we breathe together until her body calms and the shivers wracking her frame abate. “You better?” I whisper, close enough she should be able to feel my breath against her lips.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what happened. I just…”

  “It’s okay. You probably felt a bit claustrophobic. We can work on that in future classes. We’ll start by keeping your head out of the cocoon, and work toward full coverage.”

  She nods and licks her lips, letting me go. When her hands fall away, I force myself to take a step back. I hate it. Instantly, everything inside me calls to protect her. Wrap her up in my arms and never let her go.

  Instead of going with my instinct, I go back to the front of the class and call out the commands to bring everyone back from their relaxation. When I’ve turned off the music and turned around to talk to my dove, she’s gone.

  Chapter Five

  Those motivated by the throat chakra tend to focus more attention on using their five senses. It’s important that they are able to touch, hear, see, know, and speak their intentions effectively.

  HONOR

  “Go to your safe spot. Breathe into it. Remember that here you are protected, you are perfect, and you are loved.”

  Nick’s words roll around and around in my head as I toss and turn in bed.

  You are protected.

  I haven’t been protected a day in my life. Not from my mother’s wrath or my father’s endless—and unmet—expectations. To both of them, I’m just the pathetic daughter they were stuck with. Hannon had been their pride and joy, until they found out he was gay and living with his boyfriend, Sean. Then they destroyed his life by threatening to ruin Sean’s.

  You are perfect.

  Far from it, Nick. I groan and turn over onto my side, looking out the window. The moon is high and shining into my room, casting gray streaks of light onto my bed. I sit up and shove off the covers. My skin reacts with gooseflesh at the sudden chill, but I don’t mind the cold. At least I can feel it. Tonight, I can feel everything—the sadness and grief, which swallows me whole, threatening to
drown me. It anchors my heart with concrete cinderblocks while I attempt and fail at wading through this thing called life.

  With heavy footsteps, I go to my special spot. Just like Nick suggested. Mine isn’t all that special and comforting, but the window seat in my childhood room still beckons. Countless nights I’ve spent sitting here, knees to my chest, staring out at the world, imagining all I could be. Useless dreams of a child. Where would I go to school? Who would I marry? What friends would I make outside of these walls? When would I leave this life behind?

  Twenty-six years old, and I’m still sitting in my window seat, wishing for a life I don’t deserve. One I don’t even know how to fight to have. Because my mother is right. I’m nothing. I’m certainly not perfect as Nick suggested we all are in class tonight.

  Nick.

  The unusually tall Italian yogi had every nerve in my body flaring white hot. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man. Sure, I’ve been hit on, dated a few boys in college—one I even gave my virginity to—but nothing serious. Once a man finds out what kind of family I have, the fact that no one is good enough for a Carmichael, they leave. Unless, of course, he’s part of the mighty one percent or the good ole boys club, where my father sits at the top of the heap. If a man is not one of them, he might as well move on. And they all do. Every last one of them has.

  It’s been years since I’ve had a man in my life in any capacity. My last year in college, I put pedal to the metal and blew my studies out of the water. I was Valedictorian, with the highest GPA in the class, and still my parents didn’t flinch. Nothing made them proud. Maybe, if I become the prima donna charitable guru and socialite party planner like my mother, they might even hug me.

  Do I want to be touched by them? Not anymore. I’ve long since lost any desire to make my mother and father happy. Only, somehow by not caring what they thought, I stopped caring about me and my goals and dreams. Now I don’t have any.

  You are loved.

  Remembering the last line Nick said before I lost my cool in class tonight makes me cringe. I can just barely see the ugly scowl on my face through the reflection in the window. It’s as unpleasant as my thoughts right now.

  Loved is what I was when Hannon was alive. There’s no one to love me now. No one who cares if I exist at all. I could take my life, and all that would happen is my mother would hold another charity event in my honor. Squawk to all her friends how, as twins, we couldn’t be without one another and that I’d never been the same since Hannon passed. That part is true. I’m not the same. Though, even when my brother was alive, I wasn’t anything special.

  What does it take to become special?

  I dig for the journal and pencil I’ve hidden under the plush cushion of the window seat and open it to the next available page.

  Dear Hannon,

  I tried something new tonight. Aerial yoga. I can imagine you laughing now, but honestly it was the most alive I’ve felt in years. Something about dangling in the air and letting your body fly free put some things into perspective. I haven’t been living, Hannon. And I’m still not sure I want to, but I know I should want to, and that counts. Right?

  Dr. Hart told me to try something new and physical to get my blood pumping and endorphins flowing. She suggested it as a substitute for, you know…the thing. And today it worked. Though, I had a weird episode in the class, kind of like a mini panic attack. Nick was right there to bring me out of my freak out.

  Nick. That’s my teacher’s name, and Hannon, he’s beautiful. Everything I’m never going to be. And I don’t know for sure, but I think maybe he likes me a little bit. I don’t want him to like me. Again, that’s not exactly true. It feels good to have his interest, but I don’t know how to be normal. Once he gets to know me, if I ever go back to his class again, he’s going to see how strange I am. All men do eventually. And if they don’t disappear before they see the real me, they will as soon as they meet our parents.

  I’m not sure if I’m going to go to his class again, even though I enjoyed it. It was the first time I can recall that the weight I’ve been carrying around for the last two years lifted off my heart, giving me room to breathe.

  Is it wrong to feel happy when you’re not here to share it?

  Hannon, I’m so screwed up. I wish I could be someone else. I wish you were here to tell me what to do, but you’re not. You left.

  Come back to me.

  I miss you.

  All my love,

  Honor

  * * *

  This yoga room is different from the one I was in last week. It’s smaller, more cozy, with candles and a beautiful mural of a forest along one wall. Since Nick’s class, I’ve held up in my room, reading, journaling, and thinking about the sex-on-legs yoga instructor. I even Googled him and found out that he not only teaches yoga a handful of times per week, he owns and operates Sal’s Gym & Fitness Center. I saved all of the pictures of him from his bio on the Lotus House website and the enticing photos of him boxing and teaching on the other website. Hands down, the man is fit, healthy, and makes my heart pound a million beats a minute. Because of said pounding, I decided to skip going to his class until I could get a handle on my inner freak. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to do yoga, so here I sit on my mat, waiting to start a class called Vinyasa Flow with a woman named Grace.

  Yesterday, I spent a long time refreshing the henna I’d placed over my scars. I even added it to the marks on my outer right thigh in case anyone sees me shower or change in the ladies locker room. For me, it’s always been better to be prepared than to have to answer any questions. Besides, I think the ink looks pretty, and I’ve gotten really good at it.

  Feeling a tad more confident when I see tatted-up patrons strutting around in just shorts and bralettes, I remove my bulky hoodie. I’ve chosen a brilliant green tank this time that seemed cheerier than the drab black and taupe colors I wear around Mother. Maybe I’ll go online and pick up a few more outfits if yoga is going to become a regular thing.

  No. Go out and shop for clothing. Get out of the house, Honor. That’s what Dr. Hart would suggest.

  I nod to myself and sit quietly in lotus pose while the people around me get situated. A bright-blue mat lands a couple feet to my right, jarring me out of my peaceful contemplation about where I could find yoga clothes like the ones I see on the ladies here.

  “Hey, Dove,” a deep, low voice calls out, sending a tremor of recognition through my veins.

  To my right, I find Nick pulling off his shirt. He raises it slowly, allowing each brick of his abdominal muscles to make an appearance one toned slab at a time. I lick my lips, wondering what it would taste like to run my tongue through the lines of each indentation. My sex feels heavy as I imagine running my fingers along his square pecs before licking and sucking each of his nipples. I’ve never done that to a man. I’m ill-experienced in the bedroom. The dozen times I’ve had sex, I allowed the man to basically get me naked and do his thing. I’ve never even achieved an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced, and I rarely indulge in that pastime. I’m too lost in my own head and unhappiness. This man, though, brings all kinds of tawdry, sexual ideas to the surface.

  Nick tosses his T-shirt on the floor near his mat. He thumbs the waistline of his track pants, and I swallow. As if putting on a show, he inches the loose pants over his hips, past his muscled thighs, and down to the floor, leaving him in a skin-tight pair of yoga shorts. They look more like boxer briefs, but I know they’re not. These are lined and have a cool red stripe down the side, but good God in heaven above, his quads are cut. I want to lean forward and touch each hill and valley, memorize what the hair on his legs feels like fluttering across my palms.

  “Keep up the eye-fucking, Dove, and you’ll get a much more interesting view from the front.”

  A wave of heat flushes my cheeks as I snap my head down.

  “Aw, you’re really lovely when you blush. I like it. I’ll have to make sure to flirt with you more often.”

 
; I bite down on my lips and turn forward. His magnetic energy pulls me to look over at him when he sits on his mat, only a foot or so away, but I fight it. He’s so close, though, enough to touch without problem. I take a couple of slow breaths, trying to calm the fluttering sensation in my stomach from his sheer proximity.

  I feel a heaviness enter my personal space when Nick leans close enough to whisper in my ear. The hair at the back of my neck stands on end as his lips brush the shell. I gasp and hold my breath.

  “Why haven’t you come back to class? Are you afraid of me?”

  Afraid. Of him. Not even close. I whip my head to the side so fast we’re nose-to-nose. His eyes widen, and then he grins like he planned on poking me to get a reaction.

  “You don’t scare me.”

  “Then what is it?” he taunts.

  I narrow my eyes and focus on his. They’re a blue, no, a grayish tone with hints of dark navy around the edges. Probably the prettiest eyes I’ve had the pleasure of looking into. “Maybe your class was too hard.”

  He chuckles but inches closer, our mouths only a couple inches apart and our noses even closer. “You were a natural once you got past your anxiety.”

  A natural. I’ve never been a natural at anything. The compliment throws me off guard.

  “Really?” I’m scrambling for any nugget of positive reinforcement.

  He nods. “Yep. You just need more practice. Come on Friday, and then I’ll take you out to dinner after.”

  My mouth goes completely dry as the reality of what he just suggested resonates. “Did you just ask me out to dinner?”

  “Smart and beautiful. I like that in a woman.” His eyes blaze with desire as he smirks.

  That smirk sears into my heart, making it beat fast, this time carrying with it anticipation and a note of excitement.