Chailali’s Curse

by Anna Leigh Keaton

  Confusion battered at him, and damn it, he needed to look into her eyes. He swallowed and pressed on, deciding to just let the conversation continue and see where it led. “It’s Thursday, isn’t it? Delivery isn’t for days. Do we just...play around...till then?” He wasn’t sure he’d survive. He’d gone so many years without a woman, and he never thought it bothered him. But now, having her here was like having an entire chocolate cake laid out before him, and he was only allowed a little lick of the frosting.

  “I thought the playing around was good.”

  He dropped his head forward and gripped the edge of the bed. “Good doesn’t begin to describe it. But... Damn, Christy, I want more. I want it all. I want you.”

  “Don’t get mad,” she whispered.

  Her soft voice had him turning toward her and gathering her in his arms. She was the type to bark at him, not beg him not to be mad. Stretching out next to her, he ran his palm over her cheek, pushing her long hair back over her shoulder.

  “I’m not mad. I’m frustrated and horny as hell, and I can’t go to the store. I’d probably wind up walking into the ocean and drowning. I haven’t left the house by myself since I lost my eyesight. The store isn’t that far. This is a safe town, so I don’t understand you not wanting to go there. It’s not like downtown L.A. where you have a chance of getting mugged every time you leave the house.”

  She let out a deep breath and burrowed her face against his neck. “I guess it’s my turn to tell you my problems,” she said, her words slightly muffled, her tone filled with anguish.

  Chapter Eight

  She had avoided telling him last night rather effectively. “About your anxiety problem?”

  She nodded against him. “Uh huh.”

  “Are you agoraphobic? Is that why you don’t want to go to the store?”

  She leaned away a bit, and he got the impression she was studying him. He carefully raised his hand and cupped her cheek. “It’s okay. You know all my dark secrets. Tell me yours.” God, he wished he could look into her eyes.

  “It’s not leaving the house that causes me problems,” she said, her words halting and unsure. “It’s going into public buildings.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand. What does that have to do with the storm the other night?”

  With a huff, she shook her head. “I told you I wasn’t afraid of the storm. I’m not. It was the banging on the roof. I woke up to it, and...” Her breathing sped up, as if just talking about it was bringing on a panic.

  “Shh,” he whispered and pulled her back to his chest. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

  “I know. I just don’t like talking about it. Remembering it.”

  He waited a few long moments, rubbing her back, holding her tight.

  When her breathing had fallen back to normal, she said, “Sometimes I have nightmares about the most terrifying day of my life. There’s no rhyme or reason about when they come, but when they do, I wake up scared out of my wits. Usually I can talk myself out of a full-blown anxiety attack, but the other night...”

  “Tell me.”

  She let out a slow breath that ruffled the hair on his chest. It spurred his lust, his need for her, but he knew now wasn’t the time. He wanted to hear what she had to say. Needed to understand in case it happened again.

  “Even though my brain told me that the sound of that loose shingle slapping against the roof wasn’t a gun shot, the...the...I don’t know what it is inside me... Mixed with the nightmare I’d been having, that bang was a gunshot, and I woke up thinking I was back in the bank with the robber holding a gun on us. I swear I could even smell the gunpowder. Taste the—” She gagged.

  “Okay, honey. Okay. Shh.” He rubbed her back and felt her tremble. “You’re not there now. You’re with me. In bed. Safe.”

  She nodded against his shoulder and lay silent for long minutes. Her hand snuck over his side and splayed open on his back. “I’ve been through months and months of therapy,” she whispered. “I’m not crazy.”

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  “It was almost nineteen months ago, and I still can’t walk into a store or any other public building without my blood pressure skyrocketing, my heart beating so hard it feels as if it will break a rib, and this feeling of...of loss of control.” A sharp, almost hysterical laugh came out of her. “I can’t even walk by a bank without it happening.”

  “What about those pills?”

  “Yeah,” she said on a sigh. “Drugs. They dull...everything. I can’t even think straight when I take them, which was fine the other night. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted it all to go away. But...when I take them...I don’t feel anything anymore, and that’s almost worse.”

  Mike felt stupid for his earlier comment about getting mugged. What Christy had been through was so much worse. Being in a bank during a robbery...he couldn’t imagine the terror.

  “My best friend was shot that day,” she said in a whisper. “We were on our way to lunch, and I needed to drop the weekend deposit from the restaurant at the bank. Cindy died protecting me.”

  “Oh, hon...”

  She shook her head. “The robber told us all—there were a dozen of us in the bank—to sit on the floor in front of the counter and be quiet while the one teller put money in the bag.” She shuddered. “My cell phone rang, and the man turned and pointed the gun at me. Cindy threw herself over me, and he shot her in the back of the head.”

  Dear Lord. Mike rocked her and kissed her hair.

  “There was blood everywhere...I could taste...” She gagged again and jerked away, out of his grasp.

  He reached for her, finding her sitting up on the other side of the bed. “That’s enough, hon. That’s enough.”

  “No matter what I do, the memory of that... The smell and taste and...”

  “Sweetheart. That’s enough. I understand.”

  “No. No one understands. Beth brought me here and dumped me because she said I needed tough love. That she wasn’t going to allow me back in their house until I got over it.

  “I can’t get over it! Every time I close my eyes, I see Cindy. The only thing that makes it go away are those fucking pills, and I can’t stand them. I’d rather live with the memory, and be stuck in a house, than to just be...numb. Because when the pills wear off, it all comes back. Nothing makes it go away forever.”

  Mike pulled her back into his arms and pinned her under him when she tried to fight him. “I do understand, Christy.” Her knee came up and almost caught him in the groin. “Damn it, woman. Calm down. I understand. You can’t control your physiological reaction to the trauma any more than I can make myself see.”

  She went limp under him. Only her heavy breathing and the slight whimper that came out with each heavy breath told him how upset she was.

  “I understand, honey. Your emotional trauma is as real as my physical one.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He moved to her side and cupped her cheek, feeling the moisture of her tears streaming into her hair. “Come here,” he whispered, and she moved back into his arms, snuggling up against him. “Fine pair we are, hmm?”

  She nodded again. He hated her like this. He preferred the fighter in her to this insecure, hurting woman.

  “Even the psychiatrists told me it was time to get over it. I had to take the pills and deal with life.”

  “Did they give you any other techniques to help you through it? Breathing exercises? Going to your happy place?”

  “No. Take the pills, then you’ll be fine, they told me. Though I do the breathing thing on my own, and sometimes it helps.”

  “That’s a crock of shit.” He brushed her hair back from her cheek then leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. Mmm, she was so sweet. He stopped himself from taking it deeper and pulled back slightly.

  “I had a therapist at the hospital that taught me techniques for blocking out the physical pain with my mind. I don’t know if it’ll work the same for
you, but I can tell you what I know. Teach them to you.”

  “I’d like that,” she whispered. “Could you kiss me again? Please?”

  He grinned. “You never have to ask twice for that.” He speared his tongue between her warm, moist lips and moved over her. Good thing she was in those damn sweats, or he’d sink into her, protection be damned.

  Her hands roved over his shoulders, into his hair, and she tipped her head slightly so he could go even deeper. His cock throbbed, straining against his underwear, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinding against the apex of her thighs. Even through layers of cotton, he could feel her heat, knew she was damp and slick and hot. All for him.

  He slid his hands up under her shirt and cupped her breasts. She arched into his touch and moaned into his mouth. Her nipples puckered against his palms. He trailed kisses along her jaw, lightly nipped her neck, which made her moan, and he knew it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge.

  It had been years and years, but he knew he’d never had a woman respond so quickly to him. It made his ego inflate and his need for her expand.

  He leaned up and shoved her shirt over her head. Her hands went back to his hair as he scooted down, first taking one pebbled nipple between his lips, then the other, sucking, licking, teasing. Her skin was as soft as a rose petal, and she smelled of spice and heat. He couldn’t get enough. Would never have enough of her. They’d deal with their problems later. Now, she needed him to give her release, and he was more than willing.

  He scooted farther down the bed, kissing and suckling her silky flesh. Over her ribs to her belly. When he flicked his tongue into her shallow navel, she arched up and moaned.

  Slipping his fingers into the waistband of her pants, he slid them down as he scooted even farther.

  “Mike?” she asked in a breathy voice that set his blood to pounding.

  He ripped her pants off and tossed them to the floor. “Spread your legs, honey,” he said even as he gripped her thighs and pulled them apart.

  She raised her knees on either side of him and spread wide. He trailed his fingers up her inner thighs, feeling her quiver at his touch. When he found her damp curls and spread her slick pussy lips with his fingers, she whimpered.

  “What color is your hair?” he asked as he fingered her slick folds, gathering her moisture and bringing it up over the tight, hard nub of her clit.

  “Brown,” she said on a pant. “Chestnut brown.”

  Mmm. “Your skin, love. What color is it? Pale? Olive? Dark?”

  “Fish belly white.”

  He stopped moving, and she groaned, raising her hips toward him.

  He burst out laughing.

  She giggled and ran her hands over his cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t go outside much.”

  “We can tell which one of us is the writer here,” he said, and then he dipped his head and ran his tongue over her heated, plumped flesh. Her scent was heaven, her taste good enough to make his mouth water.

  She thrust up against him with a cry.

  He grinned, knowing she would come with only a few strokes of his tongue. “Milky white,” he whispered then licked her again, savoring her spicy cream. “Soft as a white rose.” He flicked her clit with his thumb as he delved his tongue deep into her pussy.

  She lifted her ass from the bed, and her hands that gripped his head pressed him hard against her. He turned his head slightly while he suckled her hot folds, intentionally abrading her sensitive flesh with his morning whiskers. Her pants grew faster, harder, nearly driving him over the edge.

  “As smooth as white chocolate.”

  “Shut up,” she cried and ground herself against his face. “Please!”

  Her need undid him. All teasing done, he suckled her clit into his mouth and slid two fingers deep inside her, aiming up for her G-spot.

  Her inner muscles clamped around him like a vise, and he imagined his fingers were his cock, sunk deep inside her, feeling every tight clench of her velvety core.

  She screamed and rode his face while he pumped his fingers and suckled her hard little nub. When she shouted his name, he pressed his hips into the bed, grinding his cock against the mattress, and came with her, imagining he was inside her.

  Christy’s legs slid down onto the bed on either side of him, and he rested his cheek against her smooth thigh as he tried to catch his breath.

  Her heavy breaths turned into gasps of laughter. “Oh, my God.”

  He raised his head, and once again wished he could see her. Why the hell was she laughing when he could barely move? He frowned in her direction.

  “I have never come from oral sex before,” she said as her giggles subsided. “Never.”

  He grinned. “Happy to be your first, ma’am.” What kind of idiots had she dated?

  “Come here,” she said. “Let me do you now. It’s only fair.”

  He pushed up to his hand and knees and moved up over her. “Too late, hon. But you’re going to have to wash the sheets.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then she burst out laughing again, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard. She moaned as her tongue delved into his mouth. Knowing she could taste herself on him, and that she enjoyed it, almost brought him back to full attention. But then she loosened her grip around his shoulders and collapsed back on the pillows, pulling him down over her.

  “Hold me then,” she whispered. “And teach me what you know about controlling my emotions.”

  * * * * *

  Chailali perched on the counter, watching Christy make breakfast for Mike. Everything had worked out. The two of them had spent the night in Mike’s room, in bed together—she’d peeked to find out for sure sometime in the middle of the night. This morning they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other. Their argument last night had led to a wonderful making up, and Chailali knew it was almost time for her to move on.

  She smiled, even though she was a little sad. She hated leaving the couples she helped bring together, but ten years was a long time to spend in one place. The longest she’d ever stayed, in fact. But knowing that Mike would now be well cared for, she was ready. There were more lonely people out there, and if she could keep helping them one by one... Well, it was the least she could do.

  “The weather channel says it’s near sixty degrees,” Mike said as he settled in his seat at the table. “And sunny. Should be a great day for a walk into town.”

  Christy set a plate in front of him. “Omelet, twelve o’clock. Bacon at six. Coffee at one. Are you sure you’re up for it?” she asked, her tone indicating she wasn’t very excited about the prospect of a walk.

  Chailali hadn’t popped back in on them until they left Mike’s bedroom, and she had a feeling she’d missed something important. Why wouldn’t Christy want to go for a walk with him? If Chailali could touch a man, hold his hand, she’d want to go everywhere with him.

  “I’m up for it,” he said, his voice heavy with underlying meaning, which made Chailali grin. If they’d done all night what they’d started when she’d left them alone the night before...

  Christy took another plate from the counter and sat down across from him. “But your leg. I don’t want you overdoing it and winding up in pain.”

  Mike’s smile was tender and patient. “My leg will be fine. I work out several times a week, if you hadn’t noticed. It’s as strong as it’ll ever be.”

  Christy’s shoulders drooped, and she cut into her eggs with the edge of her fork. “I don’t know...”

  Mike reached across the table and held his hand out to Christy. She laid her palm against his. “Why don’t we just walk into town, and if you aren’t ready to go in the store, that’s fine. We’ll take it as slow as you need. But I’ll be there with you. This isn’t going to be easy for me, either. I haven’t stepped foot in town since...”

  “I thought you said you went to the doctor and stuff,” Christy said as she squeezed his hand.

  He shook his head. “I g
o into Coos Bay. I hire a driver.”

  “Oh. I didn’t... Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Mike rubbed his thumb over Christy’s knuckles, and Chailali wished she could feel a touch so tender.

  “I’m sure, honey.” He gave a soft, endearing smile. “We can lean on each other.”

  “Okay,” Christy whispered. “We’ll go after we eat.” She pulled her hand away and lifted her fork. “But I’m not making any promises.”

  Mike winked his one eye, which made Christy laugh. “No problem. No promises.”

  Chailali floated over to the window near the table. She loved these two people so much, and she was so glad they’d found each other. “I’m glad you finally talked,” she said softly. “Didn’t I tell you it was all a misunderstanding?”

  Christy dropped her fork and turned her head in Chailali’s direction.

  “What’s the matter?” Mike asked.

  “Uh...” Christy turned back to her food and picked up her utensil from the edge of the plate. “Nothing. Dropped my fork.”

  “He can’t hear me,” Chailali said. “I’ve been here for years, and he’s never once heard me. I have to make his electronics talk in order to get his attention.”

  Christy made a shooing motion in her direction, which made Chailali laugh. “I think your sister’s husband heard me when they were here but, like you, he thought I was just in his head.”

  “You are in my head,” Christy said under her breath.

  “What?” Mike asked, looking toward Christy.

  “Nothing. Talking to myself,” Christy said with a fake, forced smile.

  “Oh, I am in your head, but only because you can’t see me,” Chailali said as she crossed her ankles and leaned back against the window. “But believe me, I’m real.”

  Christy shook her head.

  “Why are you fidgeting so much?” Mike asked. “Your chair is squeaking,” he added when Christy just looked at him.

  “Uh... Nervous about going into town. Sorry.” She cast another glance toward the window and mouthed a very clear, though silent, “Leave me alone.”