by Anna del Mar
I added a few links to other sites, most of them dedicated to women’s self-image issues. They were a bit technical, but maybe someone would benefit from them. The ferry horn alerted me to the end of the ride. I took a last look at my post. Wow. It read a bit...personal? It was different from my previous posts, because it shared my own recent experience. It came directly from my heart.
I hit Publish and closed my laptop, slid it into the case, and rushed off the boat. My BMW awaited in the parking lot. I started the engine and drove the car north. My cell started ringing at 8:58 on the dot. It didn’t stop ringing for the entire two-and-a-half-hour drive to DC, not even while I negotiated the beltway’s horrific traffic. To make matters worse, since I hadn’t anticipated the whole weekend away, I had to stop by my flat in Georgetown to change before I finally made it to my downtown office, hours late.
Lori welcomed me by dumping a heap of proposals on my desk. A tall, curvy brunette with a short mane of spiraling curls, she was my executive assistant and my right-hand woman. She was also the closest thing to a best friend I had, even though Mother didn’t condone best friends on account that they could easily become a public-relations liability.
“You okay?” Lori said.
“Sure, why do you ask?”
“You’re never late.” Her big brown eyes narrowed on me. “And you look different. Oh my God, Clara. Did you get laid this weekend?”
“Please.” I dismissed Lori with a wave.
What I’d done this weekend wasn’t up for discussion. But Lori was right. I did feel different, although, technically speaking, I hadn’t “gotten laid.” The thought rankled me a little. The next time, it was going to happen, whether Noah planned on it or not. The idea curled my toes in my shoes.
“Your mother has been calling nonstop,” Lori said.
“She’s been clogging my cell too.” I booted up my laptop.
“She wants the details on the gala.”
“Of course she does. Last year she fired three event companies and tripled the benefit’s budget before it was all said and done. It was money we could’ve put into the programs.”
“You can’t avoid her forever.”
I sighed. “I’m working on avoiding her by the hour. Anything else?”
“There’s a guy here from LabCorp. He says he has an order for you. What’s that about?”
“Oh.” I hid the flush on my face by rummaging through my purse. “Blood draw, life insurance policy application.”
“Got it,” Lori said. “Should I let him in?”
“Please.” Noah sure knew how to make things happen fast.
I tackled my day like a locomotive, full steam ahead. It went about as expected, staff meetings, program meetings, prospective donor meetings, marketing meetings, planning meetings, you name it. But I liked being busy. I was a willing workaholic. I didn’t have time to think, stress or anguish when I was busy.
As usual, I didn’t pause for breaks, lunch or breathing, because I had tons of calls to return, hundreds of emails to answer, piles of program reports to evaluate and a stack of new applications for funding to consider.
Dr. Dodd called at lunchtime. “I read your email,” he said. “Why this sudden interest in PTSD?”
“It’s about a friend of mine,” I explained. “Is there hope?”
“We’re only now beginning to understand PTSD,” Dr. Dodd said. “I’ve been doing a lot of work with the Veterans’ Administration. The condition is a challenge, but if your friend is willing to work hard, I might have some options for him.”
“My friend is kind of fed up with doctors,” I said. “He says they didn’t help.”
“I understand how he feels,” the doctor said. “But we’ve been trying a brand-new experimental approach. It entails several different kinds of intensive strategies, including cognitive, exposure and psychodynamic therapy combined with a desensitization and reprocessing treatment developed specifically for war veterans. It’s a trial program, concentrated, rigorous and exhaustive. In short, it’s a grueling process for the patient, but we’ve been getting some good results with it.”
“Would you be willing to talk to my friend?”
“Sure,” Dr. Dodd said. “I’m happy to answer his questions. But here’s the caveat. This type of intense therapy only works with individuals who are highly motivated, patients who have strong reasons to live—kids, spouses, family. It’s hard work and requires a huge commitment.”
I thought of Noah, sitting alone in his house, used to two years of isolation, set in his ways. I ran the risk of losing him altogether if I pushed him to do something he didn’t want to do. But could I not run the risk, knowing the alternatives?
“I’ll see if I can get him to call you,” I said to Dr. Dodd. “Thank you.”
My work day only got crazier after that. The foundation’s annual gala at the Wilkins Museum was coming up and the event planners needed my approval for every single detail. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, I had to prep for tomorrow’s board meeting. By 4:59, I was dead on my feet.
“Special delivery.” Lori placed a package on my desk. “This just came for you.”
“Thanks.” I set it aside distractedly as I read through a report.
“Do you want me to stay late?” she asked.
“No way, go home to your baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Clara.”
I kept working. Somewhere after 5:30, a flashing box intruded on my screen, blocking my view of the spreadsheets. A picture popped up with Noah’s face on it. Below it, the caption glowed. Click to accept.
As soon as I clicked, Noah came alive on my monitor, sitting at a desk, his handsome face illuminated by the blue glare of many screens.
“Hello there.” I smiled and willed my heart to slow down. “How on earth did you manage this?”
“You left me no option,” he said, none too pleased. “I had to hack in, because you’re not answering your cell.”
“You hacked into my system?”
“Easy as pie,” he said. “Don’t even get me started on what I think of your security measures. If you’d like, I can give your network administrator some pointers.”
“Oh.” I’d have to look into that. I glanced at my cell. He’d sent me several texts. “Sorry, I’ve been so busy...”
“We’ve got to work on that,” he said. “Why haven’t you opened the package?”
I frowned. “How do you know I got a package?”
“I sent it.”
Duh. My brain was fried.
“Open it,” Noah said.
“I’m really busy right now and I have to—”
“It’s way after five,” he said. “You’re done for the day.”
“But—”
“Done.” The glint in his eyes steeled. “What I said goes, remember?”
“Noah, my work is important.”
“Of course it is,” he said, “but if you’re sick or exhausted, your work doesn’t get done at all. Trust me. Tomorrow will be another day. Open the damn package.”
I knew better than to antagonize him, especially when he was right. I opened the package and examined the contents. A brand-new state-of-the-art smartphone emerged from the box, the finest, hottest, latest technology, along with a headset, a book and a bottle of wine.
I lifted the cell up in the air. “What’s this?”
“My direct secured line to you,” Noah said. “Turn it on.”
I powered on the cell and, once again, his face appeared on the screen. Now I had two Noahs echoing each other, one on the cell, one on the laptop.
“You’ll keep that cell with you at all times,” he said. “The only one who’ll call you on it is me, so you better answer it and promptly. You will not turn it off. Understood?”
“Fine.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Fine?”
“Oh, sorry...yes, Noah.”
“Better.”
I picked up the book. “And this?”
“Required reading,” Noah said. “Put it in your bag, along with the wine bottle. It’s for later. Now pack up your stuff and get going, because otherwise, you’re going to be late for your appointment.”
“Appointment?” I checked my calendar. “I don’t have an appointment.”
“You do now,” he said. “Get going.”
“But...”
“You either want this or you don’t.” His jaw set at a stubborn angle. “If you want it, you’ve got to show me, otherwise, it won’t work out.”
Yikes. I didn’t like the implications in his tone, so I packed up my bag, took the elevator to the garage, got into my car and drove, following the directions he called into my ear.
“Turn right.” His voice came crisp over the headset. “Now left.”
“How do you know where I am?”
“GPS on the cell,” he said. “This is it. Park in the back.”
“You realize it’s after working hours.” I took in the nondescript brick building. “There won’t be anybody in there.”
“You’re expected.”
I grabbed my purse and opened the car door. “What’s this place anyway?”
“Go inside and you’ll see.”
“Wait.” I closed the car door. “Am I going to like this?”
“Like it?” Noah’s voice smiled on the line. “I doubt it.”
“But—”
“Got to at least try it, princess. That’s our deal, right?”
“Right.” I clutched the purse on my lap.
“So stop dragging your feet,” he said. “Go to it. Noah out.”
* * *
Later, as I sat in a shallow pool of warm water in my bathtub, smarting a little from the feat, I considered not answering Noah’s cell when it chimed. In fact, for the first three rings, I kept my eyes on the book and read the same sentence three times. Then I reconsidered, dropped the book next to the tub and answered the cell, if only to give Noah a piece of my mind.
“Don’t say a word,” he said before I could open my mouth, his face overtaking the screen. “Before you come out with guns blazing, let me first say that I’m proud of you.”
I hesitated. “You are?”
“I heard you did great.” He smiled. “I’m very pleased with you.”
The warmth in his words soothed my rebellion. I loved it when he caressed me with his voice. It was like honey flowing over my senses, conveying happiness, appreciation and admiration I sorely needed in my life.
My celebration was short-lived.
“Let me see,” he said.
“What?” I said. “You want to see my...um...now?”
“Affirmative,” he said. “Right now. It’s as easy as tilting the cell in your hand.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Your choice,” he said. “But you’ll have to face the consequences when you come out to Avalon.”
A fine tingle prickled my skin. One thing I knew about Noah was he didn’t lie or make idle promises, or idle threats for that matter. What would he do if I defied him? I had an inkling to try, but then I remembered I had a lot riding on this and a plan of my own. Plus, I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize my weekend with Noah. Every part of my body sizzled when I thought of what might happen in his arms. It didn’t come naturally to me, but I took a deep breath and tilted the cell.
He leaned over his screen and inspected the results of his doings. “Closer, please,” he said. “You already know what to do with your legs.”
I did as he asked and gave him a close-up of my freshly lasered pussy, which, thanks to the advances of modern technology was now devoid of all hair, with the exception of the small, closely cropped little soul patch at the top of my mons. The technician had said that the patch had been requested. I was pretty sure she thought I was someone’s pampered lover or worse, someone’s private whore.
I’d been mortified at the prospect of going with the full Brazilian, completely hair free down there. Then, as I lay there and waited for the woman to do her job, smarting between jolts of heat and cold, I began to get excited. Noah was getting me ready. For him. I was indeed someone’s pampered lover. Moreover, I had to be honest with myself—I wouldn’t mind playing the private whore role if it pleased Noah, who now stared at my image on his screen with a crooked smile pasted on his face.
“Hang on.” His fingers flew over his keyboard. “I want to get a screenshot.”
“What?” I eeked and shut my legs. “Absolutely not.”
“Done.” He flashed his sexy smile and clicked on some other keys. “I’ve got a new screensaver.”
“Noah!”
“For my eyes only,” he said. “You look amazing. I always wondered what your pussy looked like under your bush.”
“Now you know.”
“I do, and there’s no doubt that you’re a masterpiece.” His smile widened. “Wait until I get ahold of that beauty.”
The mere thought had me shivering in the tub’s shallow waters.
“That new laser technology is supposed to be close to painless,” he said. “You okay?”
“I’m a little sensitive at the moment, but the woman said I’d be fine by tomorrow.”
“Prop up the cell at the foot of the bathtub, will you?” he said. “That way you don’t have to hold it.”
I did as he asked.
“That works,” he said. “Sit back. Relax. You look so fucking hot. Did you try the sauvignon blanc I sent you?”
“It’s very nice.” I reached over the ledge, retrieved the wineglass and showed it to him. On the screen, he lifted up a similar glass, before we both took a delicious sip. I stretched out on the bathtub, beginning to feel the first notes of relaxation.
“What did you think of the book?” he asked.
“I’m not done with it yet.”
“Did you get to the part where he fucks her in the stables?”
I nodded and blushed, because yes, I’d gotten to that part.
“Did you get wet when you read the scene?”
Not getting wet hadn’t been an option. “That was some scene.”
He flashed the sexy smirk that connected directly with my clit. “Too much?”
“I don’t know about that harness contraption,” I said, grinding my legs together, wishing he was right here, in this tub, with his cock firmly entrenched between my legs. “But she seemed to enjoy it.”
The smirk widened into a dazzling smile. “Did you read the part at the beginning, where she fondles herself for him?”
“Mm-hmm.” I got hot just thinking about it.
His eyes darkened. “I want you to do that for me.”
“Oh. Right now?”
“No time like the present.”
The wine, the book, the bathtub, they were foreplay. It was a guess, but I wagered he had an erection growing in his boxers. I liked the excitement that moistened his lips and the way he rubbed the stubble on his chin, a man preoccupied with the urgent matter of me. The warmth in my belly turned into a slow boil. Was this the moment I’d been waiting for?
I took a deep breath. “I’ll do it, but...”
“But what?”
“I want you to do something in return for me.”
He looked intrigued but also mildly irritated. “The terms are set, Clara.”
“A small amendment,” I said. “A tiny, wee addition.”
His fingers tapped on his desk impatiently. “What is it?”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do...”
“You already agreed to that.”
“I know, but I mean anything.” My offer felt both right and very wrong. “All I ask is that you talk to a friend of mine, a doctor who I think could maybe help us.”
“Us?”
I watched the emotions streaming in his eyes. He was annoyed, but he was also chewing on his lips, something he did when he was considering an idea. I held my breath. My heart pounded in my chest. I knew the risks. I could lose him right now. I could lose him forever.
“Come on, Noah, please?” I pouted, batting my eyelashes like a common flirt. “I ask so little. A phone call, that’s it. After that, if you don’t want to have anything to do with Dr. Dodd, that’s fine. Just speak to him...please?”
“Who the hell is Dr. Dodd?”
“He’s someone who I’ve been talking to for a while,” I said. “He could help you too. He’s working on a cutting-edge treatment for PTSD.”
“You little minx,” he said. “Are you so deluded to think you can fix me?”
I wasn’t that far gone. I had no delusions of grandeur either. I knew better. “The only one who can fix Noah is Noah.”
“Then why the hell do you want me to do this?”
Because someone had to push him out of his comfort zone and put him back into the healing zone. Someone who cared for him. Someone who knew him. Someone who had a stake in his future. And that someone was...me.
“We all have our fantasies,” I said, pouring a stream of gel on my breasts and working up the lather. “And my fantasies include you fucking me in this bathtub.”
Time came to a standstill. His eyes narrowed into a dark, smoldering stare, an irresistible combination of hunger, rage and desire. His mouth twisted into a cruel line that stole the breath out of me. My world hinged on his reply.
I worked up a lather over my breasts, straddling the line between being sexy and being lewd, tugging at my nipples, shaping the foam into white, creamy swirls over my peaks. A vicious storm played out in his eyes, a tug of war. It could go either way for me.