When Valentines Collide (9 page)

C
hanté was in heaven.

Sinking deeper into the tub, she was certain every muscle in her body had turned into mush at the feel of Matthew's hands roaming her body as he took his time bathing her.

“More champagne?” he asked.

His rich baritone seemed deeper than usual and when she opened her eyes, she noticed his onyx gaze was polished with passion. Was he getting as hot as she was?

“I would love another glass.”

Like a skilled magician, Matthew produced the champagne bottle, without having left her side, and poured her another glass.

“There is one last place I have yet to clean, my beloved,” he whispered. “May I have permission to enter your secret garden?”

Chanté choked on her champagne. “My what?”

Her husband looked as though he was having a hard time keeping a straight face as well. “According to the worksheet we are to use a different vocabulary for body parts.”

“And you came up with ‘secret garden'?”

“It's not without a certain charm,” he said, stroking the small vee of curls between her legs. “Of course, if you don't want me to…” He slowly drifted his hand away.

“No.” She grabbed his arm with her free hand. “I didn't say that.”

“So that's a yes?”

Suddenly shy, she bit her lower lip and nodded.

Their gazes locked as his hands glided languidly up her inner thigh. Though she was expecting the probe of his fingers, she nevertheless sucked in a small gasp as he slid one inside of her.

Matthew set a slow, lazy rhythm that made it difficult for Chanté to hold on to her champagne glass. Without her having to ask, he removed it from her hand.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Wooonderful,” she moaned, licking her lips and sliding her legs farther apart.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he said. “What in the world did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You just got lucky,” she joked, but then closed her eyes when he glided in another finger, instantly doubling her pleasure.

“I think you're just about clean,” Matthew said.

“No, no. Don't stop,” she panted.

“As you wish,” he whispered.

Chanté shivered at the feel of his warm breath drifting across the shell of her ear. In the next second, an explosion of lights flashed behind her closed eyes and her body shook with incredible tremors.

“That's it, baby. Let it go.”

Quaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm, Chanté stilled Matthew's hand in order for her to catch her breath.

“Do you require any more cleaning, my beloved?”

Still panting, she shook her head. “I think I better climb out of this tub before I drown.”

“As you wish.” Matthew stood and offered a hand to help her stand.

Chanté accepted his offer and loved how a few of the tub's soapy bubbles slid down her body and how the bathroom's cool air drifted across her skin and hardened her nipples.

This time, her husband magically produced a thick, terry cloth towel and wrapped it around her body as she exited the tub.

“After you,” Matthew said, sweeping a hand toward the door.

Excited to see what awaited her, Chanté strolled back into the bedroom and glanced around. The romantic setup still caused her heart to beat in double time.

“If it pleases you, I would love to give you a full body massage.”

For the first time, Chanté noticed a massage table at the opposite end of the bedroom. Next to it was a long line of body oils.

“If you keep this up, we may never leave this place,” she threatened.

“You'll get no complaints from me,” he said, leading her to and helping her up on the table.

At the first drop of warm oil against her back, Chanté teetered on the edge of her second orgasm. But then Matthew's large hands rubbed, caressed and teased her body and she quickly found herself back straddling that edge.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have wonderful hands?” she moaned.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Matthew chuckled. “I ran out and married her as fast as I could.”

“Then she is a lucky woman,” she joked back, but then her husband's hands stopped their massaging.

“No. I'm the lucky one.”

Chanté carefully turned onto her side so she could look up at Matthew. It had been a long time since she could read his emotions so clearly and what she read took her breath away.

He still loved her.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, feeling that she would wither away if he didn't.

A small smile tugged his thick lips. “As you wish.”

As his head descended slowly, Chanté stretched forward to meet him more than halfway. The moment their lips touched her body continued to melt lazily on the table.

Matthew wavered on his feet and it had nothing to do with the heady taste of champagne on his wife's lips. In fact, he felt certain it had everything to do with the raw energy transmitting between them. He knew by the way her body trembled beneath him, that she felt it, too.

Determined and eager to give her the best night of her life, Matthew gently repositioned her to lie on her back and then broke the kiss. For long seconds afterward, he maintained eye contact. Her emotions were clearly reflected in her gaze.

She still loved him.

“Would you like for me to continue your massage, my beloved?”

“You're welcome to do whatever you want.”

He pressed another kiss against her lips and with a great sigh, reached for another warm bottle of oil. He watched in delight when aromatic oil kissed her skin.

“That smells divine. What is it?”

“Chocolate massage oil.”

Chanté slid her finger between her breasts and then tasted the oil. “Mmm. That's good.”

“Does that mean it meets with your approval?” he asked with a wicked grin while he rubbed the oil over her breasts.

“I'm not sure. I'd like for you to taste it and give me your opinion.”

“As you wish.” He met and held her gaze again while he lowered his head.

She sucked in a small gasp as his warm tongue settled over her marbleized nipple, and with slow deliberative strokes, Matthew polished it clean of the oil.

“Mmm. I'm not sure. Let me taste the other one.” Matthew stretched over and popped the second nipple into his mouth.

Chanté instinctively arched her back and lolled her head from side to side. While he continued to lick and suck her nipple dry, his hands massaged the oil down her flat belly and even between her legs.

Briefly, she wondered if anyone has ever died from such pleasure. If not, then surely she would be the first.

Matthew's tongue, at long last, trailed away from her glistening nipples, only to explore the valley between her breasts.

But he didn't stop there.

Lower and lower he went, setting off tiny tremors. He even smiled to himself when her breathing quickened to someone running a marathon. He squeezed more oil from the tube and ran his hands down her legs and in between her thighs.

When he finally reached the end of the table, he slid his hands beneath her buttocks and then grabbed hold of her waist so he could slide her down to the edge.

“You know, I think I can get a better taste of it this way,” he said huskily and then lowered onto a small chair while settling her legs over his shoulders.

Chanté's eyes widened at the feel of her husband's tongue sliding into her. Then they drifted close as it began moving inside of her. Every thought emptied out of her head and all that was left were these wonderful sensations heating up her body.

Matthew paid particular attention to the hard pearl in the heart of her “secret garden.” The strokes were languid at first then accelerated to a pace with which she could hardly keep up.

Vaguely, she was aware of herself moaning, but she lacked the ability to monitor or control how loud she cried. When the pressure started building, she tried to squirm and crawl back up the table.

It was too big and too intense, she realized, but Matthew would not let her get away. “Oh,” she cried and then screamed as she tried to brace herself.

However, there was nothing she could've done to prepare herself for the earth-shattering explosion that detonated from one deft stroke of Matthew's tongue.

Chanté discovered a new octave as blinding lights flashed behind her closed eyelids. Shortly after, she struggled for breath and gripped the sides of the table. She arched her body as high she could, trying to break the intimate kiss, but Matthew stood with his tongue still delving deep inside of her, driving her insane.

The pressure began to build again and the squirming and twisting became mindless. She wanted to beg for time to catch her breath, but somehow she'd forgotten how to speak. All she could manage were senseless moans and orgasmic cries. In the next second, another orgasm slammed into her and sent her soaring through an endless sky.

“Baby?”

A lazy smile drifted across Chanté's lips. “Hmm?”

“How do you feel?”

“Like water,” she murmured truthfully. Nothing in the world would convince her that he hadn't drained her of muscle and bone.

Her husband's soft laughter danced through the air like music.

She was unaware of being lifted from the massage table, but she was aware of being placed onto the bed's silk sheets.

“I think I've come to a decision,” Matthew said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He nibbled on her ear. “I love chocolate.”

She giggled and lolled her head away.

“Of course,” he said, reaching across her. “We could always try the strawberry.”

T
he next morning, Chanté woke with a smile as wide as a football field and a body completely rejuvenated. Memories from the previous night began to spin lazily inside her head and she released a moan of contentment as she leaned back against Matthew.

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled when her eyes met her husband's. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“That it certainly is.” He kissed the tip of her nose and continued to hold her in their spoon position. “It's been a long time since I've seen that kind of smile on your face.”

She twisted around so she could lie on her back and stare up at him. “You know, you're smiling, too, and you wouldn't let me—”

“You weren't supposed to.” He kissed her. “Last night was your night. Of course, it shames me to say that after years of training, I never thought to do that for you on my own, to just give a whole night dedicated to you. What does that say about me?”

“That you're not a mind reader,” she offered. “You had no idea I was unhappy until I kicked you out of our bedroom. Then I was a crazy woman.”

“Amen to that.”

“Hey!” She gave his chest a playful shove. “I wasn't the only one who flew over the cuckoo's nest. You're buying me a new car and replacing every shoe you destroyed in my closet.”

Matthew laughed and rolled over onto his back. “I really did lose it, didn't I?”

Chanté now moved onto her side and ran a finger down the length of his chest. “I don't ever want us to get like that again.”

“You know, I always said that if we had a child—”

She groaned and also rolled onto her back.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, but it was clearly a lie.

Matthew launched back onto his side and took a cue from her by drifting his own finger up her chest and then around her breasts. “That was not a nothing. That was clearly something.”

She shook her head, but a thin sheen of tears coated her eyes.

“C'mon, talk to me. We're supposed to be starting over, remember?”

Chanté didn't speak for a long moment, but her husband was determined to wait it out. “It's just that you're always talking about children and…” She shrugged. “Maybe it's not in the cards for us. Maybe we're just not meant to be parents.”

He took her hand in his. “Look, I know that we had our difficulties conceiving, but there are a lot of options we haven't even tried yet. Now that your book is such a success, I was hoping that you would let the radio station go…”

She pulled her hand away and rolled out of bed.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“It's nine o'clock. We have a ten o'clock class and we haven't taken a shower or had breakfast yet.”

“We also weren't finished talking,” he pointed out.

“No, no. You're right.” She shrugged again. “We still have a lot of options.” Chanté flashed him a smile and trotted off to the bathroom where she closed the door firmly behind her.

Matthew fell back against the pillows, wondering what in the hell had just happened. Whatever it was, he guessed that it was somehow his fault. Maybe it was one of those times he should follow Seth's advice and just apologize.

Groaning, he fell back against the pillows. Would he ever understand his own wife?

In the bathroom, Chanté turned on the shower, but she didn't immediately step inside the tub. Instead, she reached for her cache case and pulled out her morning pills. At the sink, she cupped a handful of water and used it to wash the pills down.

When she was done, she stared at her blurring reflection in the mirror. “Quit my job,” she mumbled under her breath. “Why does his dream mean I have to give up what's important to me?”

And why can't I just tell him the truth?

She shook her head and turned away from the mirror. Standing beneath the steady stream from the showerhead, Chanté continued to grapple with the question until she heard the shower curtain slide on its rail.

Matthew stepped in behind her wearing a wide smile. “Care if I join you?”

It was just on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it was a free country when she realized that she needed to check herself. Her husband was doing his best to make this four-day excursion work. The least she could do was meet him halfway.

“Actually, it looks like you arrived just in time to help me with my back.” She winked.

“As you wish.” Matthew grinned and took the loofah from her hand.

She turned and waited while he squirted more liquid soap onto the loofah and then smiled when he began scrubbing her back.

“Uhm, about what happened in the bedroom,” Matthew started awkwardly. “I'm sorry if I said something that upset you.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking and, you know, you really don't have to quit your job if you don't want to. I know how much you love it at the station. I was just making a suggestion.”

This was the second time in two days that Matthew had apologized and it still had the effect of having the rug pulled out from beneath her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Matthew stepped forward so that her soapy back pressed against his chest. “I just want to do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

Tears sprang to her eyes at the complete sincerity in his voice.
Tell him.

Chanté turned around with the full intent to tell him the truth, but one look in his handsome face, and she simply couldn't do it.

“We'll get pregnant again,” Matthew said. “And I'm willing to wait however long it takes.”

She twitched her lips into a smile and nodded her head like a good little girl. As her reward, Matthew leaned forward and gave her a kiss that nearly took her breath away.

 

Matthew and Chanté weren't the only ones late for their morning workshop. Mable and Wilfred, as well as Seth and Edie tiptoed in more than thirty minutes late. Every woman had a certain glow about them that wasn't there the day before, while every man held their chest about three inches higher.

Dr. Gardner, dressed in a bright sun-yellow gown, moved about the room as she lectured about the importance of soul gazing.

“I want everyone to turn on their pillows and face their partners,” Gardner instructed.

Matthew and Chanté complied, folding their legs into the Indian position.

“Now, for the next twenty minutes, all I want you to do is stare into each other's eyes. I know it will seem awkward maybe even silly at first, but this exercise is to get you into the practice of truly connecting with your partner. We've all heard the phrase ‘The eyes are the windows to the soul.' You need to go beyond just eye color, you need to connect with the soul.”

Dr. Gardner was right, Chanté felt silly just staring at her husband. And for the first five minutes, they did little more than give each other goofy smiles.

“Now concentrate on calm, even breathing as you continue soul gazing,” the doctor said.

Again, Chanté did as she was told and after a few deep breaths something happened. Her husband's dark gaze somehow felt like an industrial magnet that pulled her into its depth. She grew lightheaded but comfortable at the same time.

Sighing in contentment, Chanté suddenly felt loved. But a renegade question as to whether she was worthy of his love and trust derailed her soul gazing and brought her out of her trance.

“Very good, class.” Dr. Gardner clapped her hands together. “How do you feel?”

The crowd murmured different answers while Matthew leaned forward. “That was sort of weird how that worked.”

Chanté agreed and returned her attention to the instructor. The class went on to learn the Yab Yum position—where the man sits cross-legged and the female sits on top of his legs and wraps her legs around his waist. Keeping the Yab Yum position, they learned how to transfer each other's sexual energy by leaning close to soul gaze and synchronize their breathing.

By the end of the class, Matthew and Chanté felt less like educated doctors and more like flower children from the sixties.

“How are you liking it so far?” Edie asked Chanté as they sat down for lunch.

“I—it's definitely different,” she answered, glancing over at her husband.

“Forget that,” Matthew cut in. “I feel like a kid in a candy store.”

“You and me both,” Seth snickered. “Who knew a woman had so many sex buttons to push?”

“Or that you could push them all in one night,” Matthew volleyed.

“Duh,” Chanté and Edie intoned together and then slapped each other a high-five.

The men rolled their eyes but knew better than to continue with the touchy subject.

After lunch, the men and women were once again split up, this time to learn different techniques to awaken and honor the god and goddess within them. Overall, Chanté thought it was a fun class and made a mental note to do more research on the subject for possible future books.

“Now's the time for us to discuss this evening's homework.” Dr. Gardner beamed at the crowd of excited women.

In response, everyone clapped, except for Mable who shouted, “Bring it on.”

“Your assignment, ladies, is to give your partner the best night of his life. Last night, you were just the receiver. Tonight, you will cultivate your natural instincts and become the giver. It's important that you become subservient to his needs. Reassure him that you are there to please him and he does not have to do anything in return. Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, but Chanté was already experiencing a mild case of panic. Being an independent woman and always an equal partner in the bedroom, the word “subservient” made her nervous.

“You're obsessing again,” Edie said, cutting into her thoughts.

“No, I'm not.”

Edie lifted a dubious brow.

“All right, so I was. Sue me.”

“What's the matter? I thought that you were having fun?”

“I was—I—I mean, I am.” She shook her head. “Don't pay any attention to me. I'm just making things harder than they need to be—as usual.” She sighed. “You know, it's not easy realizing that the biggest problem in my marriage is me.”

Edie cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Chanté's talk with her husband that morning flashed through her mind. “Nothing. Forget it. I can do this.”

“Well,” Edie said, swinging her arm around her shoulders. “Speaking as your friend and not your editor, I'm really happy to see you and Matthew giving this an honest try. As crazy and neurotic as you both are I truly believe that you two are soul mates.”

Chanté smiled and also swung her arm around Edie's shoulders. “Despite your lying and scheming, you're the best friend a girl could ever ask for.”

“Well said,” Edie boasted. “Now what do you say we go and give our husbands a night they'll never forget?”

“Separately, right?”

“Of course,” Edie laughed.

“In that case, you're on.”