Afterlife (56 page)

and you’re not giving it

to yourself, because no mother who

loses a child thinks she

ever deserves happiness again.”

She shook her head, more

vehemently. “There’s a

rhythm, a natural energy that moves

through us, a natural

order, and you see it around us al the

time. I feel it when I

do a particularly good yoga session.

But it doesn’t mean

we’re special or unique in the

universe, magnified under

some cosmic being’s glass. It just

means that life goes on,

and you can make the most or the

least of it. Your choice.

There isn’t a grand scheme. What you

get is what you get.”

“But you haven’t chosen.” His voice

was soft, but

relentless. “You can’t not choose,

Rachel.”

“I’m afraid of any more choices.”

Her voice cracked. “I’ve

made al the wrong ones. I have to just

stay…on the same

track, you know?”

“Remember that day I had you close

your eyes and tel

me the age you always feel, no matter

what you see in the

mirror?” At the reluctant lift of her

shoulder, he took a step

into the room. “Close your eyes now.

And when you do, I

want you to imagine the type of

woman you think would suit

me best. Who do you see, Rachel?”

She couldn’t resist the edge of

command in his tender

voice and he knew it. Just as he knew

when she closed her

eyes, she couldn’t see him with

anyone but her. She could

tel herself that merely meant her mind

was being a wil ful

child, refusing to let go of the candy

the adult part of her

knew wasn’t good for it. But if she

tried to see him with

someone else, like one of those girls

at the coffee shop, it

wasn’t only anger and jealousy that

made it hard to

envision. It
felt
wrong.

When she opened her eyes, he was

taking a seat that

mirrored her lotus position, sliding

up so that his knees

touched hers. Laying his hands there,

palms up in invitation,

he met her gaze, that powerful

connection she couldn’t

deny. “Close the circle, Rachel. Let

the energy flow

between us. You know as wel as I

do, when we meditate,

things become clearer. Let’s go to

that place together and

see what we find.”

“I don’t think I can. My mind is too

scattered.”

“Let’s try. Let me help.”

She gave a bitter half-chuckle.

“You’re the reason it’s like

that. You’re so persistent, and

eventual y you’l win, but it

won’t work, Jon. I’l make you

miserable, and I won’t be able

to bear seeing it happen. Why don’t

you understand that?

Let me live my life like this, with

yoga and physical therapy,

and don’t make me take things to

places I can’t control.”

“Lay your palms in mine, Rachel.”

She complied with a sigh, because in

al truth, she

couldn’t keep herself from touching

him. He shifted one of

his hands so her palm was the one

facing up, his pressed

down on it, the opposite of the other

side, so they had

balance in the closed circle. The heat

of his flesh sent a

ripple through her nerve endings, a

jolt to her system as if

she was an appliance that had been

plugged in, brought to

life. Fear constricted in her chest. He

had so much power

over her.

“Control is the whole point, Rachel.”

His eyes locked on

her face, holding her stil . “As I told

you in the beginning, you

need a Master who won’t
let
you take

control. I’m him. And

you can keep fighting it, but I won’t

give up. When I put that

col ar on you the other night, you

knew you were mine. It

was why you tried so hard to tear it

off. Because Cole

made you feel like an utter failure,

and you thought you

didn’t deserve what I was offering.

Like a lot of other things,

that ends now as wel .”

The steel took over now. “I’l never

al ow you to think that

about yourself. When you grieve for

your son, I’l give you

my arms, my comfort, and I’l grieve

with you, because he’s

a part of your soul, a large part of

who you are. But he’s in a

place where he can understand now,

where his father’s

disappointment and anger can’t

poison him. He knows, as I

do, how much you love him. And

how hard you tried to love

his father. And because he knows,

and loves you, he

doesn’t want you in that grave with

him.”

Their palms lay flat together, not

gripping, yet stil

connected. Her gaze rested in the

light clasp of his, her

heart ful of both uncertainty and

longing, the way he so

often made her feel. “It’s in yoga you

found your peace,” he

said in a low voice, his thumb

making a gentle pass over

her palm. “A way to accept the good

and the bad, to have it

make more sense. And as much as I

enjoyed the club,
this

is where you need to accept me as

your Master, in that

delicate balance between the

tragedies of the past and the

possibility of your future. Breathe

with me, Rachel. Just

breathe with me, and let’s see what

happens.”

He closed his eyes then, drawing that

first deep breath,

his hands loosening further so that

their palms had room for

some heat between them, that energy

transfer. She

watched him breathe, watched his

chest expand, the lift and

fal of his shoulders, the pulse at his

throat.

His lips curved. “Close your eyes,

girl, and breathe with

me.”

She shut her eyes and began the

pranayama
. As the

silence settled over them, their

breathing started to align,

and she was sure their heartbeats

would as wel .

They stayed that way for some time.

Though attuned to

Jon’s stimulating presence, her body

integrated it, made it

part of the calm center the breathing

was expanding inside

of her. Some of the sick fear and

throbbing want started to

ease, to slip away. As much as she

wanted to deny it, she

knew his presence was responsible.

He helped bring her

balance.

His hands left her palms, graceful y

turned and curled

around her wrists, a loose circle that

slid back along her

forearms, then forward once more as

she kept her hands

outstretched, both palms facing

downward now, so when he

came back he met them again, making

them vibrate with

the strip of heated space between

them. Her wrists were

tingling from his caress. Three more

breath cycles, then he

did it again. After nine repetitions, he

spoke. “Keep your

eyes closed.”

Using the pressure of his hands, he

guided her to her

feet with him. He faced her away

from him, his touch fal ing

to her waist. “Lift your hands above

you, bending back

toward me, arms overhead.”

She did, feeling the stretch in her

spine, his shoulder

beneath her head as she went into the

second step of the

sun salutation cycle. He slid up her

rib cage, palms molding

her there, holding her. “Tree pose.”

Sole of her foot pressed against the

opposite thigh, knee

bent, her hands adjusting to a pointed

fold above her head.

He took down her hair, combing it

out with his fingers, and

she held her balance with effort.

“You are so beautiful,” he

said, his voice a sensual rumble in

the quiet room. “Al

mine.”

She trembled, but he steadied her,

holding her in the

pose. “Next phase. Forward fold,

then to Down Dog.” When

she folded forward, he was stil

holding her hips, fingers in

the bend between hip and thigh, his

body against hers. She

let out a tiny sound as he pressed his

groin against her

through the narrow space between

her legs. His cock was

hard enough to make her mouth

water, but he sounded

entirely calm, placid as a lake.

“Keep your mind in a meditative

state. Let the arousal

take you where you need to go. Just

let it happen, Rachel.”

He shifted so she could stretch her

legs back into

chaturanga
, Plank, then she lifted her hips to lean back into

Down Dog, taking the stretch to her

shoulders, the back of

her legs. He ran his hands along her

buttocks now, down

over the long muscles in her thighs.

“One day, I’l make you hold this pose

while I slide inside,

let you feel how my cock buries into

the very heart of you.”

His fingers trailed over her

dampening crotch panel and her

arms quivered harder. But now he

bent over her, his arm

around her waist, steadying her as he

dropped a kiss on

the bump of her spine in the center of

her back. “Have you

ever done the
camatkarasana
,

Rachel? The Wild Thing

pose?”

She shook her head. She’d seen it of

course, but maybe

because of what it symbolized, a

celebration of personal

power and freedom, she’d avoided it.

“Wel , we’re going to do it now.”

It was a very advanced position.

From Down Dog, it took

a lithe lift of hips, swinging one leg

over so she’d go to a

backbend
asana
, where her right leg

would be straight out

to the floor, foot rol ed on its edge,

while her left leg stayed

bent, foot flat on the mat. One arm

reaching up and out, off

the mat, the other braced, then she’d

arch her back farther

to complete the pose.

He backed off then, but stayed close

enough to spot her.

“You can do it, Rachel. I want to see

you do it. Do it for me.

And for yourself. Deep breaths, feel

what it means. Prepare

yourself for it. Embrace it. When

you’re ready, go.”

She breathed, closed her eyes, felt

the thrum in her

muscles, the energy flow through her.

She’d found peace in

yoga, balance, but she hadn’t become

whole, because

she’d hidden there, instead of treating

it as a sacred

sanctuary. Hiding meant that a person

stayed out of sight of

the good as wel as the bad. A

sanctuary had windows to

see the world, a door to invite it in,

because there was

nothing to fear there.

She lifted her hips, giving herself the

momentum she

needed to do a slow turnover. Then

she was there, him over

her. He didn’t touch her, but his

energy was close, ready if

she slipped. Letting her make the

step, but providing her

the courage to give al of herself to it.

That focus and

attention of his was there, radiating

on her even as he

straightened, moved back, and let her

finish it under his

satisfied expression. She could see

herself in the mirror,

and it was an extremely sensual and

feminine pose, the

body reaching out as if it was flying

backward through the

clouds. The short name was apt, but

she was also aware of

another translation for

camatkarasana.

The ecstatic unfolding of the

enraptured heart.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” His

fervency was impossible to

deny, as was the passion that was

starting to swel in her

body in this thrown-open wide pose,

al under the heat of

his gaze. Her hair brushed her

fingertips. He bent then, and

she drew in another breath, feeling

that energy surge

through her as he pressed his mouth

to her arched throat,

his hand passing over the curve of

her breast, her

distended rib cage and stretched

abdomen, coming to rest

over her mound, and lower, cupping

her pussy and

pressing on her there.

“Hold the pose, sweet girl. Just hold

it. Feel what this

does to the energy.”

It spiked it like a rubber bal through

her body, but there

was a contained focus to it that let

her hold the position, the

energy so dense she was helpless and

yet exuberant in its

grasp. He was taking her to that place

she kept denying

existed, that she refused to accept for

herself. And she

knew he was right. Her acceptance

was irrelevant. She