Nature Of Desire: Mirror Of The Soul

by Joey W. Hill

  “Maybe you should tell me the right ones.”

  He bit back a smile. “What kind of yoga do you practice?”

  “Kundalini.”

  “Tell me about that instead.”

  Her slender shoulders lifted in a sigh. If she were truly annoyed with his presence, he would have left, slipping away as quietly as he’d come, but he saw the loosening of her fingers, the easing of the tension in her back. Understanding dawned, making his heart lurch. It also made him rise, go and stand just behind her.

  “They didn’t tell you I was still here. You thought I’d just left without saying anything.”

  When she folded her arms up against herself defensively, he slid his around her. Crossing his limbs over hers, his palms against her shoulders, he held her in a close embrace, his clothed body against her bare one. “Marguerite, I would never do that to you.”

  “You shouldn’t matter this much to me. Let alone this soon.”

  “I know. Kind of knocked me on my ass, too. Tell me about this kind of yoga. Stop worrying about it.”

  Her lips curved and she closed her eyes, shook her head. “It raises the energy coiled at the base of the spine—the serpent power—and draws it up to the crown chakra to connect you to Divinity. There are two forms of energy, Divinity, Shakti and Shiva, male and female. Kundalini is the synergy of them. Their union brings energy and power, peace.”

  “So the bringing together of the male-female helps open you to divine guidance.” He turned her to face him, threaded his hands through each of hers, palm to palm, holding them up on either side of them, a tranquil mutual breathing pose. “Sounds like a wise strategy.”

  “Do you ever give up?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  She stared up at him. “No,” she said at last. Her cheeks flushed with color. “But it’s not about what I want. It can’t be, because I’m not what you think I am.”

  “And what do I think you are?”

  “I’m not like Leila, or your others.”

  His fingers squeezed her, mild reproof. “I know that, angel. You’re Marguerite Perruquet, an extraordinary Mistress, a Ka-See-Ka who takes her submissives to unparalleled levels of physical ecstasy and emotional fulfillment. You’re also the woman who trembles in my arms, who becomes something entirely different when I dominate you, a woman who craves my touch, my cock. You’re not a submissive in the normal sense. You’re nothing in the normal sense. You’re extraordinary,” he repeated.

  “You’re idealizing me.”

  “No. I’m telling you that I want you, light or dark, every shade in between. That’s the formulation of trust, unconditional acceptance.” He locked his gaze with hers. “Remember, I swore it to you. No matter what happens between us, I’ll always be there for you.”

  After she gazed up at him for several moments in silence, with thoughts obviously swirling behind those vivid eyes, he noticed a slight change in her expression. Somewhat more calm, a wary acceptance of his presence.

  “Teach me this,” he repeated quietly. “Let me do this with you.”

  She closed her eyes again. He pressed his hands against her palms. “Should I undress?” he asked.

  “No.” She opened her eyes in alarm.

  “It’s not necessary?”

  “No…it’s Chloe and Gen. They might have heart attacks. And good staff is hard to find.”

  “How about you? Will you have a heart attack?” Reaching out, he caressed her throat with his fingers, his eyes laughing.

  She recaptured his hand, put the palm firmly up against hers. “Behave. This is spiritual.”

  So was touching her throat, he thought. As well as watching the changes that occurred in her body, her eyes. But he let his hand be retained.

  “Yoga uses a combination of poses called asanas, breathing techniques and chanting to reach a certain meditation state where the finite self can merge with the infinite, achieving a higher state of consciousness.”

  “Are we going to chant?”

  “No.” She appeared amused at his look of male concern. “For me, the breathing and the poses are enough. I like the silence, prefer it. You hold the pose, integrate it with the breathing. As you do so you think about that base power center, the coiled serpent at the bottom of your spine. You imagine the track of the breathing as circular, moving up from the base all the way to the crown chakra and then looping back again. The way of all spirituality is circular, cycles.”

  “You use this at The Zone. When you had Brendan breathe with you at the first.”

  She acknowledged his insight with a nod. “Part of that was a method called quantum breathing, which is a way of synchronizing yourself with the energy of the other person, for healing or connection. But there’s some of this in it as well. Through this, I can get to the soul and consciousness of the subs I choose, connect with them more easily. It also helps keep me focused. I don’t always know when I walk in what my intention is with the sub I’ll choose but the ritual of the breathing, the clearing of the mind, that helps reveal that intention. Ready?”

  He nodded. “Do what you normally do. I’ll follow.”

  What she normally did would not involve Tyler Winterman standing in close proximity to her, his palms matched to hers, him clothed, her completely not. It was odd how that felt normal, acceptable.

  As she started the breathing cycles, Marguerite reflected on something else that was odd. She’d come out here to pull herself together. When she saw him, she thought she’d stay in her flustered, demented state, resigned to that condition until she could figure out a way to get rid of him. But she found that she didn’t want to get rid of him. Until he spoke the words himself, she hadn’t realized that the bereft feeling she’d had when she woke was because she thought he’d left without a word. As he worked with her now, their palms holding fast against one another, their breathing came together. The tranquility she normally achieved began to steal over her. She transitioned into the meditative state more easily than she ever had, a surprising click of mindless peace with his consciousness moving comfortably around hers, like two cherubic spirits intertwining on the spiritual plane, his presence a balancing force.

  The raw edges of the past day began to smooth, the fear and anxiety receding. Her fingers slowly folded in between his, so relaxed that it felt more natural to be laced together. She was alert and aware, yet so calm it was as if she were in a dreamless sleep, just at rest. Being.

  At length her internal clock warned her she’d delayed long enough. It was time to get her shower and start helping Gen and Chloe with the pre-opening routine. She opened her eyes. His were closed. Her heart clutched at the bruising and lacerations on his face. In the way of such injuries, the purple and red coloring had gotten deeper and uglier from a night’s rest. The compulsion swept over her again even more strongly than before, to cup her palms over the painful areas and brush her lips over each. To take care of him.

  At the change in her breathing, his lids rose. His gaze was open, curious. Loving and accepting. For this single second, there was no tension between them, just a clear understanding that them standing here connected to each other was the most natural, desirable place to be.

  “That was beautiful,” he said.

  She nodded. No sense in denying it. “I…I need to help Chloe and Gen.”

  He turned toward where he’d left his coffee cup, keeping hold of one of her hands. “Would you consider sitting on your front porch with me just another few moments while I finish my coffee? I’d like your company very much. Then I’ll go, let you get to work.”

  “A few minutes. I can do that. Yes.”

  He picked up her robe off the side chair, held it out while she slipped her arms into it. Reaching around, he belted it in front of her, pulling her back against his body to nuzzle her cheek and neck with his jaw. And remarkably, she let herself lean a moment, reach up to touch him, to receive a kiss on her pulse.

  “I could be good for you, Marguerite. If you let me.” />
  “I’m so bad at this, Tyler. I’m…I’m sorry about last night.”

  He turned her, still holding her hand to lay it over his cheek, over the taped cut from the tawser. She felt the swelling of his jaw under her palm. “There’s nothing to forgive. We’re working things out. This is just part of it.”

  “Let’s hope I don’t kill you in the process,” she said.

  “I’m tougher than I look, though you can destroy me with a glance, angel, and that’s the truth.”

  He looked tough to her on all sorts of levels with his morning stubble, the eyes narrowed against the sun, the lips half curved in a smile.

  “I can’t believe you had Chloe make you coffee. I didn’t even know we had coffee.”

  He let her lower her hand but retained it, that sweet gesture she found she was beginning to anticipate and appreciate, particularly when he idly ran his thumb across her palm.

  “She finds me irresistible.”

  “She’s young and hormonal. And she doesn’t know what an arrogant pain in the ass you are.”

  He grinned. “You find me irresistible, even knowing that about me.”

  She bit back a smile. “Why the front porch? We have chairs in the back.”

  “So I can see you when I drive away.”

  She cocked her head as they followed the side pathway past her car and the blooming azalea bushes to the side steps to the front porch. “I think you just want my neighbors to see me sitting in my robe on the front porch with a man and destroy my reputation.”

  “There’s that. And it makes the men realize you’re not available.”

  She came to a stop. “You couldn’t possibly be indulging in something so Neanderthal.”

  She was a step above him. He put his hands to her waist, hooking the robe’s sash and turning her so her back was against the rail. Before she could stop him, he opened the front of the robe, worked his hands inside over the soft skin of waist and hip. One hand threaded up behind to cruise up her back and press her into him for a kiss. His lips were not physically demanding but their seductive persuasion was relentless. Her knees went weak, the now almost expected but still amazing sensation of desire curling warmly in her belly, like the question mark of steam over a fragrant cup of tea.

  If she had turned a hundred and eighty degrees, she would have faced the street. But in her current position, she was covered, modest. Only the most imaginative neighbor would realize that her fully naked body was pressed against his clothed but quite obviously aroused one. The movement of his hands along her back and over her hips under the robe would be disguised by the fluttering shadows of her magnolia tree on the side of the house.

  “You’re going to cripple me,” he said against her lips, his voice urgent with desire. “You’re a drug, Marguerite. I want to keep you near me every moment.”

  She pulled back, more than a little breathless. “You won’t keep my attention that long. I’ll get bored of you any day now.”

  “Ah. You’re considering the future. An improvement. You’ll find I have a fascinating mind. I’m an exceptional conversationalist. And listener. You haven’t gotten bored of me yet, right?”

  “Does tedious and irritating count?”

  “Keep it up and I’ll kiss you again. I’ll rely solely on sex appeal to keep your interest.”

  Hastily, she pulled her robe closed and retreated toward the front porch. She jumped when he caught her hand, settling down when she realized he wanted to do only that.

  Her tiger was still there, curled around the base of the pedestal table where Chloe had put the large bouquet. The door was open, the familiar sounds of preparations for the day’s first customers drifting out through the screen with the aromas of tea, mixing with the scent of Tyler’s flowers. It was an unexpected extension of the peace she’d felt in their yoga session. It wasn’t a hardship to be sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tyler on the front steps watching the early morning work traffic go by. As neighbors she knew headed to work, they raised a hand in greeting, eyes alive with curiosity at Tyler’s presence. Marguerite turned so her knee was pressed at an angle to his, accepted his coffee cup and took a sip. “So you prefer coffee to my tea?”

  “A question with a decidedly female word choice. In the category of ‘does this dress make me look fat’.” He leaned back, stretching his arm along the top step, which put her inside his arm span. He plucked at the sleeve of her robe, tugging it off her shoulder.

  “Tyler Winterman.” She shrugged it back up, poked him in the side. “There are children in this neighborhood.”

  He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Tell me about your neighbors.”

  She found herself doing so, responding to his questions about them, appreciating his quick mind, his grasp of her affection for her surroundings, his understanding of the unlikely place she’d set up her café. While they spoke, he casually passed the cup back and forth with her, reinforcing the tentative intimacy, the truce in tensions they were sharing. While on one hand she thought of it that way, another part of her wondered if he was trying to prove to her that this was the way a relationship would be. Passion mixed with the beginnings of friendship.

  “Another question. There’s a locked armoire in your room. What’s in it?”

  She slanted him a glance. “Tools of the trade. Floggers, plugs, vibrators. D/s magazine subscriptions. Why didn’t you just jimmy the lock and find out? It’s not like you don’t ignore or bypass any other locked door I put up.”

  “I did. I just wanted to see if you’d lie to me.” He grinned, ducked her swat.

  “I have a lot to do.” And think about. She said it reluctantly, handing him back the coffee cup. “Thank you for the flowers and the tiger.” Then, because she wouldn’t let herself be less than honest in the moment, she added, “And for your understanding. I appreciated this morning. Very much. And, even if it we don’t go any further, decide it needs go no further, I’ve gotten a lot from our interactions…these past few days.”

  She could tell by his expression she was stumbling into dangerous waters but she didn’t know where else to go with this. Where it was going. Or how to direct it.

  “Marguerite.” He took both of her hands. “I need you to listen to me. Are you listening? Are you paying attention?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I’m going to go home, take a shower. Do the things I’ve planned to do with my day, much as I’m sure you’re planning to do. But then I want you to think about last night. What was said, what I meant. And think about what you want.” He stood up, still holding one of her hands. “I’m going to try very hard to give you some space. To stay away while you think it through. I’m asking you to think it through. If you accept what we both understood well enough last night, then you come to me. Please come to me.”

  It was obvious he was struggling with a desire to state his Will more forcefully but he stopped at that. Squeezing her hand, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his lips. She held on to his touch, not realizing she was squeezing back until he began to pull away and had to wait for her to loosen her grip. Her cheeks pinkened.

  “I’m taking that as a good sign.” He smiled a smile that did not quite reach his eyes which were warm and intent on her face, spreading that heat on her front the way the sun coming in through the side of the porch was spreading warmth on her back.

  Reaching out, he touched his fingers to her throat, a sensual reminder. “No more of that. Remember. I mean it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Go away, Tyler. I’m not fragile ‘that way’. Remember?”

  “No, you’re not. You’re strong, so strong you won’t bend. You’ll snap off like a brittle twig when you finally face up to something you can’t handle.”

  “I can’t handle you,” she snarled. “And I’ve bent in twenty different directions trying to shake you off. I haven’t broken yet.”

  She bit her lip, wishing she could have bitten off the words before she said them.

  “Why do you t
hink you have to handle me?” he asked after a quiet moment.

  “Us. I can’t…” She sighed, shook her head. “Tyler, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  “You know why I can’t. You’re inside me. And I’m inside you. If you’d just… Goddamn it, if you’d just open the door so I don’t have to pick the lock every fucking time, I promise I won’t do anything to abuse your trust.” He shook his head, backed off the step, gave her a long, thorough look. “I’m going home. Don’t even try to pretend you won’t miss me.”

  “Like a mosquito.”

  He smiled, for real this time, and went down the walkway. She moved to the top step, her hand falling on the paw of the stuffed tiger. Absently, she stroked the soft plush, watching him walk to his car. He had a fluid stride, a bearing that women would notice and men would respect. She couldn’t pull her eyes off the stretch of the shirt across his shoulders, enhanced by the fact he carried his jacket slung over one shoulder, his fob in his hand to deactivate the security. He was James Bond, she thought with a suppressed amusement, but her gaze lingered on his waist, the fine ass, long legs. He was more than that. He’d just told her he was hers. All she had to do was come to him. The hardest thing in her life she could possibly do.

  She glanced over her shoulder to find Chloe and Gen in the doorway, their fascinated attention divided between her and the man leaving. Realizing she was still petting the tiger, she folded her hands together, gave herself a quick, reassuring squeeze—that’s that—and rose.

  “Give me just five minutes for the shower,” she said briskly. “I apologize that I’m behind schedule.”

  Her employees exchanged glances. Gen folded her arms and tucked her tongue into her cheek. “Should we slap her on principle for that comment and then beat information out of her, or just combine it into one general throwdown?” she asked Chloe.

  “If you don’t tell us something that explains why he was here this morning, why he looks like he’s been in a fight to protect your honor and why your dress is in pieces on the floor, we’ll just implode,” Chloe added.

  Marguerite pushed her hands through her hair. “I suspect it’s rather obvious why he’s here. I do have a personal life, though it generally doesn’t intrude on my routine. Tyler is… We’re… I don’t know what we are and it…” She stopped, all of the calm she had felt after the yoga drifting away, eluding her desperate grasp before inquisitive eyes that suddenly felt invasive. “I am not a teenager. We are not teenagers. He was here, we fucked.” Or something close enough to it that it was not a lie, exactly. They both looked startled at her crudity and that spurred her further. “We had a fight of sorts and I beat the hell out of him. Does that satisfy my staff’s curiosity?”