I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) (7 page)

“Feeling better?” she asks, looking concerned.

“Much.” I slide back down out of sight and text Amber, for backup.
Our textersation goes exactly like this...

Me: Have started a work fling. Hot. Very hot. He wants me to call
him. What do I do?

Amber: Do NOT have a work fling. Do not call him!

Me: Okay. Wait. Don’t call, because I shouldn’t have a work fling?

Amber: No. Never call a guy. Don’t do it. Do NOT.

Me: Okay.

Amber: And don’t have a work fling.

Me: Okay.

Amber: Oh…Nicole texted. Said we’re going out tonight.
J

(pause)

Me: Have to reschedule.

Oops.
 

Same Day - After
Work

I am so amped up that I hit my favorite yoga class
to relax, and let it all go. People can bitch about yoga all they want –
the people who don’t do it, I mean – but the truth is, every time I’m in
a class and I’m in some posture stretching out my chi or whatever, I get a
little turned on. I can’t help it. I’m bent over this way or that and some part
of my body is releasing all the stress. My energy opens up and I’m balanced in
ways my brain can’t understand. So why try to understand? Just go with it. I
don’t tell anyone it turns me on, though. Because they’d think I’m oversexed or
look at me like they don’t know what I’m talking about, and get jealous - or
both.

In class there is a man who intrigues me. I’ve seen him there four
times before. Yes, I’ve counted. Each time, we smile at each other and I check
his naked ring finger when he’s not looking. He has that “I’m a good guy and
therefore the marrying type” thing about him. Really natural. Easy Smile.
Warm-toned brown hair and brown eyes and his skin is slightly tan all the time.
Either he’s in the sun a lot or his skin is naturally olive-toned. Is he
Spanish, Italian or Brazilian, maybe? I’m not sure. Whatever the cause, he
looks sun-kissed and handsome.
 
He’s
not the movie star type of gorgeous that James is, but he is very easy on the
eyes. More rugged… which I like. He wears earth tones and cotton when I see
him, but it’s yoga. You can’t bend in jeans.

“Hi,” Mr. Natural says, smiling in his nice easy-going way as he
picks up a couple blocks and a strap.

“Oh, hey.” I smile back, run my fingers through my hair to pull it
into a messy bun. “I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“You haven’t been here in a while.” His eyes glitter as he walks
away, leaving me with the knowledge that he’s noticed my absence.
 
Huh.

We all take a place on the floor with our mats, I sneak a quick look
at him stretching, and then class begins. As Enya pours out of the speakers,
our incredibly limber teacher – age unknown, toned body and clear, clear
skin - guides us with her hypnotically soothing voice to bend past our assumed
limits. She moves us through Warrior One, Two and Three, as well as Plank,
Downward-Facing Dog, and a series of other positions, always reminding us,
“Breathe.” I follow everything she says with the awareness that there is a man
in this room that noticed my absence. My awareness switches to acute when my
ass goes up in the air for Downward-Facing Dog and our teacher says, “That’s
right. Push those hips up. Reach to the sky. Feel that?”

It takes a hell of a lot of focus to not feel it, let me tell you.

When we are all on our backs in Happy Baby pose, I look over and see
Mr. Natural looking at me. Let me be clear. This position entails me on my
back, legs spread, knees bent and holding my feet up by my ears - in case
you’re unfamiliar. For some reason I choose
this
moment to look to my right. And there he is, looking at me with one eyebrow
raised, before he gives a nod of approval.

The teacher croons melodically, “Okay, nowwwwww release.”

I completely lose it. I laugh so hard and loud that she stops walking
and looks at me, surprised. Other people catch the giggles. I don’t look at my
instigator-friend, for fear of laughing harder, but I’m pretty sure he is
grinning ear to ear.

The teacher informs the class, “That’s good. Energy holds itself in
our bodies and when we hold these postures for extended periods of time, it
allows that energy to move through us… to be released.” I nod to her that she
is so right.

When the class ends, we put away our accessories. Mr. Natural looks
at me, grinning and all I can do is shake my head. He chuckles and walks over.
He’s about six feet tall, which is nice. I have to look up, but not too much.
“It was so hard for me not to laugh.”

“Well, it was impossible for me, apparently.” I toss my strap onto
the big hook, like I’ve done it a hundred times. Because I have.

“What’s your name?” he asks as we step away from the line.

“Jessica. Yours?” I pat my forehead with a towel. Here, sweating is
okay. Plus it’s a sexy sweat.

“I’m Chris. I like your red hair, Jessica.” He drinks from a water
bottle, but keeps his eyes on me. I like his mouth. Everything about him looks
relaxed and easy. Like he’s comfortable in his own skin.

“I dye it.” I confess like an idiot, as we walk to get our shoes from
the bins by the door. Why did I tell him that? I have this bad habit of
announcing how much something cost when people compliment my clothes, or
telling them that this is not my real color. Thank God my boobs are real, or
else the whole world would know they weren’t. I stop myself before I tell him
the usual, “My hair is normally dirty blond.” I mean really, why do I do that?
 

As he puts his sneakers on, he says, “Well, I like it. Nice to
finally meet you.” He doesn’t shake my hand, and I know that it’s out of
respect for the sweat and the dirt from the mats, the shoes he’s just touched,
etc… New Yorkers are very germ-conscious. You have to be.

“You too. Thanks for the laugh,” I say with a smile. As he leaves I
cannot help but look at his ass. It is so cute. And he’s got narrow hips, which
I love. His shoulder and his back are toned and broad. My body likes what I
see, for sure.

The teacher comes out and sees me on the bench. “Will I see you next
week?” She doesn’t know my name, yet. Which is fine. I like feeling anonymous
with teachers. I don’t know why. It just feels good - like I don’t owe them
anything.

“I’m not sure.” I answer her as I’m putting on my shoes. “Great class
today. Thanks so much!”

“You’re welcome, Jessica.” She says serenely, and leaves.

Dammit. How’d she learn my name? Sigh. The door opens again and I
look up to see Chris poking his head in.

“Oh good. Hoped I’d catch you. Are you going to be here next week?”
he asks casually.

“Uh… yes. Yep. I just told the teacher that.”

“Michelle,” he offers, telling me her name. Which I don’t want to
know. It makes this seem like more of a commitment!

Oh. Wait, what?
Am I afraid of
commitment?

“Michelle. Yes, of course. Michelle. Awesome.” I don’t move from the
bench and he just looks at me.

“Yeah. There’s something about you, Jessica. I don’t know what it is,
but I feel like we’ve met before. Like I
know
you. I can’t explain it,” he adds with a thoughtful look. He pauses like he
wants to say something else, but shakes his head. “Anyway…see you next week,”
Then he slowly closes the door again and is gone.

I stare at his absence. He feels like we’ve met before. Odd.
Because I feel the same way
.

People are filing in to get ready for the 8 p.m. class, and the
business around me jogs my mind away from Mr. Natural enigmatic exit. I pull
out my phone purely out of habit,
 
and seeing it, remember that James is waiting for me. How did I almost
forget that?

It’s probably better to text him, I decide, since I don’t like
calling men. I know that the man is the hunter and that’s the way men like it.
It’s embedded deeply into their DNA and there’s nothing we can do about it.
Yes, sometimes they want you to give them a sign that you’re interested before
they pursue, but I’m pretty sure having sex with him in the bathroom at work,
gave him a sign. And I’m pretty sure that sign reads
, Good To Go
.

I type: Hey

That’s it. “Hey” is good enough.

Grabbing my bag and my things, I get up and squeeze through the
onslaught of yoga types who are clearly not relaxed yet. Someone steps on my
foot and for some reason I’m the one who apologizes. But you know what? Today,
I don’t care. As I’m walking to the subway I think, this is why sex is so good
for me. It helps me let go of anything that gets in the way of my high. My
organic, free of preservatives, starch, gluten, saturated fats, sugar,
narcotics, nicotine, coffee, alcohol, and anything else they tell us is bad for
us – high. So why I’ve been so shamed by society about sex is beyond me.
Way friggin’ beyond me. Luckily my girlfriends are like me. We dig the dong.
And we’re okay with that.

A text message from James beeps on my phone and I expertly dodge
other people hustling through New York, as I pull it out of my bag to read: About
time. Come over.

What? No no no. I can’t go over! I type back: Need to shower.

Within seconds, he replies: Shower here.

No emoticon. Just an order to bathe at his place. Plus his address.
Do I dare bring
this
to his place?
Will we shower together? I could ask him… (about bathing together. I’ll leave
out the part of my not smelling like a rose petal). I’m holding the phone,
looking down at it and thinking hard on what to say, when I turn a corner and
slam right into David. My phone goes flying.

“Whoa!” he exclaims.

“Oh no!” I yell. I see it spinning through the air and imagine it
shattering into a million pieces and taking my life with it. With one hand, he
reaches out and catches it before it hits the ground and destroys my world. He
hands it to me, smiling. Like he finally did something right.

“Here ya go,” my ex says to me. It is in this moment that I remember
why I fell so hard for him. When he looks at you, it’s as if the world
disappears. Dammit.

“Thank you,” is all I can manage. He looks good. Healthy. Happy. Then
it hits me all over again. This guy whose eyes are locked on mine - as he
shuffles his feet and looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly – slept with at
least one other girl while we were still together. And then came home and slept
with me the same day or night. I’m guessing, but chances are very high since
they were hooking up for over two months.

“Were you at yoga?” he gestures to my outfit and the way my hair is
piled up on top of my head. I cock my head to the side and raise my eyebrows at
him.

“Thank you. For saving my phone. But that’s about all I have to say
to you. Bye, David.”

I start to walk around him but he moves in front and blocks me.

“C’mon Jess. Give me a break,” he says.

“David. I did. In fact, I did you one better. I gave you a break UP.”

I step around him. It takes all I have, to not turn and see his
reaction. Why can’t he move away? Am I going to keep running into my past, when
I’m enjoying my present so much? Why does this keep happening?

Twenty-Two
Minutes Later

When I knock on James’ door, he answers it wearing only a navy blue
terry-cloth robe. He’s so fucking gorgeous I can’t help but wonder
what the hell he is doing with me?
Stop
it, Jess. He’s invited you over because he wants to see you, I tell myself.
Running into exes can sure do a number on us.

“Hey,” he says with a sexy smile, his blue eyes telling me he sees
through my clothes.
 
“Yoga or
Pilates?”

I smile, “Yoga.”

“Mmm…” He reaches out, wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his
apartment before he smoothly shuts the door.

His apartment is nice, larger than I would have expected. As he takes
me by the hand to his bathroom, he notices the look on my face and explains that
his family has money. That makes sense. I know we make a decent wage at the
magazine, but this is much nicer than the shoebox most people who live in the
city, have. He’s got it decorated fairly well. I can see from the messiness,
the random unframed poster of The Godfather, and several baseball and football
fan paraphernalia items, that he is just a normal guy.

The shower confirms this because it’s got two items in it. A bottle
of shampoo and a bar of soap. How men manage with so little, I’ll never know.
I’m not jealous thought because I love all my girly-stuff. Love. It. ALL.

I wish my head would stop cataloging his home, though. The first time
in a man’s home, it’s like you’re a spy sent in from the other side.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks, turning on the water and adjusting it
to the perfect temperature.

Oops. “Right here. Sorry. I’m here.”

“Good,” he smiles and stands in front of me. “Nervous?”

“No! Not at all nervous. I was just thinking about…stuff.”

“You’re funny,” he laughs and leans in to kiss me. There go those
electric shocks up and down my body, again. Wow. He pulls away slightly and we
look into each other’s eyes. “That’s some chemistry right there.”

I smile up at him. “You feel that, too?”

“Yes. Wait. I’m not sure. Let me check again.” He kisses me in such a
way that my clothes want to fall right off. My knees buckle and he holds me,
pressing his body and his electric lips onto mine. We peel each other’s clothes
off as the steam fills the room. He steps back and looks at my naked body, and
from the look in his eyes, I feel beautiful. I know I’m just a normal woman,
but it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way now.

I take the opportunity to look at him, too. He’s muscular, but not
overly so. He even has nice toes, and that is rare. His proportions are
perfect, long legs under his long torso. His cock is thick and hard and
waiting. Looking at how erect it is makes me tingle because I know it’s all for
me. He’s that hard because he’s looking at me. This is a wonderful feeling.

He takes my hand and guides me into the shower. I turn to face the
waterfall that is more hot than warm. I love the way it falls on my skin,
wetting my body in sheets until I’m covered and soaking wet, clearing away the
toxins I just got rid of in class, and in seeing my ex yet again.

James comes up behind me and presses his body against my backside. He
bends a little and picks up the soap from where it sits on a rack he’s
installed. I don’t look to see what he’s doing so when he slides his cock in
the crevice between my cheeks I can feel from how slippery it is, that he’s
lathered it up and is enjoying a new way of bathing us both. He kisses my left
shoulder, biting it gently as he repositions his cock with his hand, bending
his knees to aid in sliding up and down.

My hair is still dry and he pushes and bends me forward with his left
hand so that I’m immersed in the pouring water. I reach out and hold onto the
wall, bracing myself and I close my eyes, let him do what he wants to do with
me, as it falls down the back of my head, my neck, hot and soothing. As he
reaches around me from behind, his fingers open me tenderly, traveling inward
to find my clit and tease it. The water falling down my neck, him playing with
me while his cock is slowly stroked by my ass, is so hot. I let my mind go,
turning my head to feel the waterfall on my cheeks, into my mouth, drinking it.
He pushes his cock through and uses it to caress the tenderest part of me. His
other arm reaches around my chest and he pulls me to him to kiss me over my shoulder.
As our mouths move on each other, he does something that drives me insane with
pleasure. He employs a building rhythm, alternating pressure and speed,
arousing me until I can’t take it. Then he surprises my body, slows down,
presses himself much more lightly against me, sliding back and forth and back
again, so that I want more. I press my back against his chest, angling myself
in an attempt to keep enjoying those amazing kisses. It’s no use though. I
can’t control myself. I don’t want to control myself anymore. I’m so fucking
tired of controlling myself when it seems like I’m the only one who’s doing it!

He whips me around to face him, takes my mouth in his, slides his
cock in the space above my upper thighs, pushes my legs together to hold him
there, reaches around and uses his hands to press his cock up against me, to
control the pressure even more. Sliding it back and forth, stroking everything,
his tongue plays with mine, teases it until he brings me to orgasm.

“I… have to… scream.”

“Then scream,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot and heavy.

As the waves burst from me, he says heavily, “I’m coming, too,” and
we rock with the juicy thrill of coming together, using each other to draw out
the pulses, to stretch the feeling, extend the aching need of it. I let out a
yell from deep inside my soul. I release all the fucked-up pain of everything
I’ve been through. I scream out with the pounding intensity of this. He grunts
and groans and presses into me, against me, wet skin on wet skin as the shower
cascades down us. My head falls back and I release my all of my strength to
him, allowing him to hold me, keep me upright with his muscles and care. He
kisses my collar bone, my neck, and my breasts, while my crossed legs hold him
tight between them, his hot sexy liquid splashing out, blending with the water
crashing behind me.

We take our time pulling apart, kissing… standing there, connected. He
washes me as I close my eyes and leans my head into the water to hide my tears,
tears that he’ll never see, that I’ll never tell anyone about. When he goes to
apply more soap to me, I stop him and tell him that too much soap is bad for my
little peach.

“Peach?” he asks, with a teasing smile, reaching over to turn off the
water.

“Yep. Sweet and tasty, like a peach.” I smile, covering my sadness
and grab the towel he holds out for me.

“I like it. But I think I prefer ‘pussy.’”

“I can tell,” I say, drying myself off.. He doesn’t get the joke.
Maybe he doesn’t know that people think he’s gay. I’m not going to tell him.
But I want to. But in truth, in today’s world, who really gives a fuck.
Whatever turns you on.

Rubbing the towel on my head, I’m not really sure where to go from
here. He doesn’t indicate that I should stay naked – is that an option?
Am I staying over? – so I reach to put my clothes on, slowly. Still no
stopping me. He picks up his pants and now I know we’re getting dressed. Okay.
That’s fine with me. I don’t really want to stay over. I just didn’t want to be
rude. As soon as we’re clothed, I ask for a comb.

He leans against the doorframe, says, “This was fun, Jess,” and
watches me try to fix my hair.

“It was,” I say, yanking on a knot until it gives.

“Let’s not tell your boss, though, okay?” I dart a sideways glance at
him and see, from the look in his eyes, there’s a reason for him saying this
that I’m not aware of.

I stop combing and look at him through the mirror’s reflection. “Um,
James…I’m not telling her
anything
. Why
would I?”

“Girls talk, sometimes. Just probably not the best thing to do. You
know.”

“Right.” I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s best to act as though
I know what he’s talking about, because it’s pretty obvious that he thinks I
already know. I add, fishing, “She wouldn’t like it.”

“No way. She’d hate it!” He laughs and looks at the ceiling and
shakes his head. “You know how it is. She can’t seem to get it through her head
that we broke up.”

We
broke up.
We
as in he
dated The Bitch? WHAT??!!

With a nod and a weird smile, I conceal my horror. They used to date?
You have got to be kidding me. WTF. The Bitch goes on dates? With guys like
James? Well, she is powerful and powerful women get what they want, but still.
I can’t see it. She’s at least fifteen years older than he is.

Oh no. Wait. Did he sleep with me to get back at her?

Pulling my hair into a wet ponytail, my mind races. I feign apathy.
“Right. I forgot. Who broke up with who, again?”

He thinks I knew, right? I hope so. Could he be that diabolical? Ugh.
That would wreck me, if he just used me. I swear it would. You know what? From
the look in his face, if I have any idea what truth looks like – and
believe me, I question that ability now – then he thinks I knew, which
means he thinks I signed on knowing. He doesn’t think he pulled one over on me.
I’m going to go with that idea.

“I did. I broke it off,” he answers simply, like it’s obvious.

“You did. You broke it off?”

“She’s not a very nice person sometimes,” he adds, frankly.

 
I smile at him, kiss him
once on the lips, relieved, as I lean my hip on the bathroom counter, facing
him. Why do I always think the worst? Oh yeah,
because I was cheated on
. Another bi-product of betrayal. Damn you,
David. I was a pretty trusting person before you, you jerk. “No, she’s really
not. How long ago did it end?” I hope I’m not asking too many questions.

He turns and walks into the living room with me following. “About a
month ago, but she still thinks we’ll get back together. See those flowers?”

Now I do. How did I miss those flowers sitting right in the middle on
the coffee table? “Umm…yes?”

“She gave me those. You want to read the card?”

YES.

“No. That’s okay. You know… it’s private…” He walks to get them, with
a smile on his face that says he knows I want to read the card. I watch him,
biting my lips, knowing I shouldn’t read it. “…and it’s about my boss, so I
probably shouldn’t. And I just had sex with you in the shower, so it’s a little
weird.” Nicole would say to read it. Amber would say to get the hell out of
here. He plucks the card from out of the flowers and walks back to hands it to
me.

I look at it and read:
Give
mommy another chance.
Shrieking, I toss it into the air like it bit me.

“You should see your face!” he says, laughing.

For once, I don’t find something funny. That was so not funny.

“What the hell is that? ‘Mommy’!!??”

 
“Don’t ask. She’s trying
to be nice,” he laughs, shaking his head.

Have to go now. Or ten minutes ago. Before my brain was defiled with
images of The Bitch and James together and her being Mommy. Someone should fly
out of the sky and give me an Oscar for my performance as I laugh, like I did
earlier when The Bitch suggested I live with wolves. I laugh. I kiss him
goodbye. I tell him this was sooooo much fun. I tell him I’ll see him later.
Tired. Have to get up early. Great time. Thanks. Bye. He doesn’t see anything
weird going on. He waves from his door as I stroll ‘happily’ down the hallway.
As soon as I hear him close it, I push the button for the elevator, pull out my
phone and text Amber: James dated The Bitch. And I just showered with him. What
do I do?

As I’m riding down, there is no response. Why????? Oh. No cell
service. The second I step out, the response text comes through.

Amber: Who is James?

What is she talking about? I just told her about – ohhhhhhh. I
told Nicole, not Amber. Amber is the one who told me not to have an office
fling. Oops.

Another text comes through, and I cringe before reading it.

Amber: James, from your OFFICE?!!!

Out the door of his building and I’m walking up Fourth Street,
heading for the subway, scheming how to get out of this. I’m not going to lie
to her or anything wrong like that. I don’t think? Grrr.

Another text tone. I peek at the phone, terrified, but it’s from
Nicole.

Nicole: With Amber. Girl, you are in trouble. Get over here and tell
us all about it. ;)

Then one slams in from Amber: Come to ‘Angel’s Share’ immediately so
I can spank you. I thought he was gay! Must hear details. Weeeeeee!

I freak out an old guy by bursting out laughing at exactly the moment
he passes me. After he jumps I reach out and almost touch him in apology. “Sorry.
It’s just, my girlfriends are really funny, and I… sorry!”

He jerks away from me, and lets me know with a “harrumph” and a deep
frown that he wants to be left alone. It’s hilarious and makes me laugh harder.
I love this city.