Chapter 7 #2
Ding. Ding. Ding. The timer on my watch alerted me that I could go back to my room. How long had I stared? Was it obvious that I was staring at the Dom and sub?
I shifted my gaze to my plate, gobbled a few more bites in careful order, and relaxed into another idea.
Pretending that Atlas was feeding me, I put a little bite of egg white with a piece of hashbrown on my fork and brought it to my mouth. Chewing became a forced process. My stomach once again disagreed with food.
A shiver ran up my spine. Slimy egg mixed with crispy hashbrown. Yuck. I needed to spit it out. Would anyone care? Would they be more offended if I barfed?
Try new things. I reminded myself. Mixing textures was one of the things I’d put on my list of items I wanted my therapist to help me with. The dynamic duo of slimy and crispy hadn’t been conquered yet.
But every previous combo I’d tried had made it down the hatch.
I didn’t want to seem disrespectful, so I forced myself to swallow.
Anxiety rose from the depths of my gut. My mouth watered. I clenched my teeth together and inhaled deeply through my nose.
Was I cut out for a place like this? Or would I find the limits of people who seem to have no limits?
Fear circled me, stalking its prey.
No, I couldn’t let this spiral go any further.
Gulping down the rest of my amazingly tasty pomegranate juice, I grabbed the edges of my tray to leave.
“Are you okay?” a kind voice called from beside me.
I met the woman’s gaze and nodded.
Everything about her screamed kindness as she stood there holding her tray. “Hi, I’m Catherine, one of the counselors at Rawhide Ranch.”
“Hi, I’m Penny.” The shakiness of my voice answered her previous question about me being okay. I really didn’t want to explain that my body was trying to expel the demon duo of egg and hashbrown. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
“I’m available to talk, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, but I’m practicing my coping mechanisms.” A burp escaped me, and I let go of one side of my tray to rush a hand over my mouth. “Excuse me.”
She waved it off. “Not a problem. I’m always available if you need help with your practices.”
“Thank you.” I bobbled my tray, knocking the empty glass over.
“Here.” She set her tray on the table, then reached toward mine. “May I get this for you?”
“Yes, thank you.”
And without another word, she took my tray and allowed me to vanish to the safety of my room, where I could use toothpaste to battle the mixed-texture demons at war in my belly.
With a fresh palate, I propped the pillows against the headboard, set my bookgami project in front of me, and found where I’d left off.
Breathing methodically and deeply as I folded the page, pressing my fingers along the bend, I imagined my fingers running over Phoenix’s rugged jawline.
The temperature in the room increased. Only it didn’t really.
Still, I had to stop and fan myself after a few pages.
Continuing, two pages got stuck together, and I had to fidget with the edges to separate them.
As I peeled them apart, I imagined opening the fly on Atlas’ pants as I knelt before him, looking up, gazing into his eyes.
He had such strong, dominant energy, like he could control any situation we found ourselves in.
Hot room again. I stopped to once more fan myself.
Trailing my finger over the directions, I found my next step and resumed folding while my brain conjured up situations with Atlas.
Thankfully, my eyeballs hadn’t fully checked out. They noticed the newly folded page didn’t look right. Checking the page number against my notes, I saw that I’d folded it wrong. That never happened.
My cheeks were hot… again. I fanned myself, checked the page number and fold pattern, then tried again.
100, 101, 102, 103… How many orgasms would those three give me? There’s no limit in fantasy land.
The sound of music from outside pulled me from my count. Too bad.
No, that was good, because I wasn’t going to get a single orgasm from anyone if I didn’t leave this room.
My insides tangled with what to do and settled on one indulgence.
I set the book beside me on the bed, laid my hands in my lap, and let the memory of my time with Everest consume me.
After he’d confirmed that I was okay with getting naked, he’d given me a sheet and left the room.
He’d only exposed the part of me that he was working on, explained his technique, and pointed out trigger points that I could learn to dissolve on my own.
He’d asked if a visual might help, and I’d said it probably would. My favorite was imagining the knot as a tightly-closed rose. As he pressed on the painful trigger point, he’d talked me through the bud slowly, gently opening, releasing the tightness to become a beautiful flower.
It worked.
The question would be if it would still work when I was alone and didn’t have his deep and soothing voice as a guide.
His voice… could I actually hear it… singing? Surely I was hallucinating.
I let the memory continue. He’d never crossed a line the entire massage, even when I was on my belly and his fingertips dipped between my thighs—so dangerously, erotically close to my pink parts, but he didn’t tease.
He’d done what he’d promised. So professional, in fact, for a moment, I wondered if he was just being nice. But when my nose itched and I’d unexpectedly raised my head to scratch it, I’d seen the bulge in his pants.
It had surprised both of us. He’d turned away immediately, and I’d slammed my head back into the headrest.
His voice grew louder. For real, not just in my memory.
He was singing outside of my cabin unless my brain had gotten totally hijacked.
I couldn’t make out the words, but the deep soothing tones had to be him. Why would he be singing outside of my cabin?
Placing my book and directions in their space on the table, I returned the pillows to their proper place, straightened the bedspread, then went to the door.
The singing had gotten really close… like on my porch.
I cracked the door open as quietly as I could and peeked through the crack.
Everest was singing and playing guitar. He wasn’t joking about being good with his hands.
Beside him, Phoenix glanced over his shoulder nervously.