Invitation

by Christina Hoffman

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  That night I dreamed of Liam: We are on a beach, reclining in long, elegant deck chairs. The chairs have long armrests and thick, comfortable cushions. Our bodies feel warm and loose and sexy. The sun is perfect, heating our most sensual areas. Gentle breezes make our skin tingle. I feel the warm pleasure of it on my skin.

  Our arms stretch between the chairs and we hold hands. In the dream I am drifting off to sleep, but Liam stands and moves to my chair. He starts to smooth oil onto me, first along my arms, concentrating on that tender skin along the inside. He tucks a hand into each cup of my orange bikini and massages my breasts until the nipples are hard. He pushes the fabric down until he can take each nipple in his mouth. He licks and sucks on them. He scrapes them gently with his teeth. He bites just hard enough to make me moan.

  I want to open my eyes. I want to grab him and kiss him. But in the dream the heat from the sun, and the pleasure from Liam paralyze me. My body aches and throbs. The wait for him to find my most sensitive place is unbearable.

  His lips are suddenly on mine, and they are on fire. It is not a kiss; it is a communion with this beautiful man. We are connected and the electricity flows through us.

  He places his hand on the side of my face and pulls me closer, harder into his kiss. He is kneeling beside my chair and running his hands along my body as though I am an exquisite sculpture.

  The top of my tiny bikini is fastened in the front, and Liam undoes it slowly. Now my breasts are exposed to the wind and the sun. The arousal is escalating. My eyes are still closed, my body still and accepting. I feel no self-consciousness, no inhibitions.

  Liam places his palm flat on my stomach and gently begins tracing tiny circles. The circles increase in size, and he is soon brushing against the edge of my bikini bottoms. My hips rise up to meet his hand, but he gently pushes them down. This will be slow. He is taking his time.

  He goes to the bottom of the chaise, near my feet. He holds each ankle, and gently spreads my legs apart, exposing my inner legs. He begins to rub oil along my legs, swirling his fingers up higher and higher, until they are almost at the fabric of my bathing suit. My eyes remain closed. He pauses, and my body waits for the next touch; lips, nipples, clit, all swelling to meet his fingers, aching for his touch.

  His mouth returns to mine, and there is a hunger and an urgency to our kissing now. He sticks his fingers into my mouth and groans into my neck as I suck them. He takes his wet fingers and circles around the fabric of my bikini bottoms until I am writhing and begging to be touched. Then he slips his hand down the front of my bathing suit, sliding his wet finger into my already swollen, hot cleft. I gasp with pleasure. His groan is deep, guttural, the sound of a man trying to stay in control.

  He presses down with his whole hand, moving in small circles. The pressure is dispersed, creating new sensations as each part of my center is touched at the same time. My body can't remain still any longer. My back is arching, my hips rocking, pressing myself up into him. My hands clutch at the wooden arms of the chaise, and my head swings slowly back and forth. My lips part and I lick them. I move my hands to my breasts and grab them. Hard. I am so close I am crying for release.

  But he stops. I open my eyes then and look up at my beautiful man. In my dream he is mine. And his being mine feels even more amazing than what is happening to my body. The miraculous things happening on my skin and lips and nipples and pussy, pale in comparison to the pleasure and joy and peace that I feel in my heart.

  I reach out to pull him to me. I want to feel him pressed all along my body. I want the pressure and pleasure of his long hard cock pressing against the flimsy fabric of my bathing suit. I want him to rip it off and slam himself into me deeper and deeper. I want to wrap my whole body around him and keep him there forever.

  But he shakes his head and smiles at me when I try to pull him down. He pushes me back gently, so I am reclining against the tilt of the chair. He moves behind the chair and changes the position so that I am nearly flat.

  Then he moves to the bottom of the chair and takes my left ankle in his hands. He runs his fingers more roughly this time up my inner thigh, almost scratching them. He massages the highest part of my thigh roughly, so that the movement also moves my clitoris slightly. I am quickly back to the almost unbearable need for release. Then he takes my leg, bends it at the knee, and drapes it over the long wooden arm of the chair. The wood is old and warm and smooth.

  My leg is lifted up and my center is more exposed than ever. Liam does the same with my right leg, until I am reclined, with my legs lifted and spread. I am completely open and vulnerable and desperate for his touch.

  He sits astride the chair facing me and begins to rub both hands down my inner thighs, coming closer to my pussy each time. Finally he takes his thumbs and runs them down my cleft, just grazing my sweetest spot, and igniting pleasure everywhere he touches. He pushes his thumbs up into my entrance, and the ache for him becomes all-encompassing. Nothing but his hands exists.

  He unties the strings of my bikini bottom, and pulls the little scrap of orange fabric down. I am lost. Beyond thought. I am no longer on earth.

  He parts me with his left hand and strokes each delicate lip with his right. He slides his fingers into me, slowly, tauntingly, and moves them in wide circles, to touch each special spot. My eyes are closed, so I don't see his mouth moving towards my swollen sensitive bud, but I feel his warm breath on me and I know what's about to happen.

  As his fingers push and rub and circle, his tongue takes tiny licks of my pussy. Every muscle in my body trembles with desire, anticipating when he will land on my clitoris. My hands claw at my inner thighs, pulling them even farther apart, and my hips rise up, desperately trying to steer him to the perfect place.

  He comes right up against my sweet spot, but refuses to lick it. He teases and teases, until I am beyond myself. I am grabbing his head, my hands entwined in that beautiful thick hair, and I am pulling him onto me, slamming up against his tongue and his teeth. He is laughing deeply, a man pleased with himself, enjoying his work. I hold him exactly where I need him. Every muscle is taut. Sweat drips down my back, my thighs.

  He takes my bud in his mouth and flicks it with his tongue until I am gasping and writhing and sobbing. He places his whole mouth on me and starts to suck. I am begging him not to stop. I have no shame. I am screaming out, and slamming myself against his lips. The circles of pleasure build until they are almost excruciating, so much pressure contained in one tiny spot...

  And then they explode outward, rocking my body with spasm after spasm of complete ecstasy and release. They move through me over and over, like waves in the ocean. I ride them and ride them. I can barely breathe and I'm still whimpering. Liam pushes his hand against my pussy and I ride his hand, too. The waves go on and on.

  In my dream I want Liam more than I ever have. My body is filled with ecstasy and electricity, but there is still that one deep place begging for attention and relief. I raise my arms to grab hold of him and pull him in, but when I open my eyes . . . he is gone.

  I woke up in my bed, surrounded by the ghost of Liam. The room was cold and silent. I had never felt more alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In the morning I woke up slowly, clinging to the dream. The dream wasn’t just a visual memory. I still felt him. I smelled the suntan lotion on him. I remembered feeling that I loved him. Every part of me, every sense, remembered Liam.

  I clung to that feeling as long as I could, but eventually it faded and I was awake. I felt the loss all over again. Before the dream, some of the pain of losing Liam had faded a little. But it was back with a vengeance. My body felt like it was filled with a dark, heavy misery. My muscles and bones ached. It was like the flu, without the fever. Instead I couldn't stop shivering.

  It was the first Saturday I'd had off in a long time. I got up and made tea. I splashed water on my face and tried to wake up enough to get some studying done.

  My body
could still feel Liam's touch. I could see him and smell him. But the worst was the ache inside of missing him. In the dream I was happy. I felt safe and cared for.

  I tried to resist it, I really did. I knew that if I could keep myself awake, go for a walk, fill my brain with medical facts, the dream would dissipate and I would be free of its painful hold on me.

  But I missed him so much. The dream, the feelings were so real. I knew I was torturing myself. I knew it was healthier to block it out. But I wasn't strong enough. I crawled back into bed, and wrapped myself in my warmest blanket. I closed my eyes and drifted back into the world of Liam. I was like an addict needing one more taste.

  I didn't wake up again until the evening. The loneliness was deeper than ever. How could I have cared so much for him? How could I have misread the signs? I had been as cold and suspicious as I knew how to be, and I still thought we were both feeling the same things. How did he do those things with me, and say those wonderful things and then just turn it all off? How could it mean nothing to him? How could I mean nothing?

  I was on call again Sunday morning, so I set my alarm. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. And then I went back to bed and slept twelve hours straight.

  The next couple of days went by in a blur. I started work Sunday morning at 8am and worked straight through until Monday afternoon at 4pm. There had only been a couple of us on, so we were busy with admissions and emergencies on the ward the whole time. I hadn't screwed up anything major and, best of all, neither Dr. Olsen or Owen had been around.

  It was busy, but good. I saw a couple of interesting things in Emergency and got to talk to some great kids. I brought in muffins for the nurses on the ward and practically got a standing ovation. So I went to get coffees for everyone, and then I did get that standing ovation. Working on the weekend can really stink, but the hospital can be a different, friendlier place when the pace slows down and some of the egos are away.

  By the end of Monday afternoon, though, I was ready to stumble home, eat some noodles from a Styrofoam cup and head to bed.

  I hadn't heard anything from Liam; but I hadn't heard anything from Owen, either. I was beginning to think that I might have been imagining the sinister tone of my encounters with him. Maybe the evening at dinner hadn't been so bad?

  You know how it is, though. As soon as I let myself think I might be safe, my damn pager went off. I knew, even before anyone answered who would be calling. Sure enough, it was Owen.

  “Time for lesson number two.” He announced.

  “Owen. Thank you for thinking of me.” I was determined to be polite, but firm. “But I've been working thirty-two hours straight and I can hardly remember my name. I cannot study tonight.”

  “Your name is Madison. The Madison who will fail this rotation if she doesn't meet me in the hallway by my call room in five minutes.” He hung up. I slumped down in defeat.

  “Bad news?” Cara the charge nurse asked.

  “I have to go get 'tutored',” I put the word in brackets.

  “You poor kids. Up all night, and now you've got to go to a class, too?” She put her arm on my back and gave it a little rub. The kindness almost brought tears to my eyes. Sometimes I think that this is what people who have a mother get to experience all the time. But I know better than that, really. Plenty of people who have mothers don't get comforting pats on the back. So I pulled myself back from the brink of self-pity and just enjoyed the moment for what it was.

  “No,” I answered with a sigh. “It's sort of a private class with Dr. Humphries. Dr. Olsen's orders.”

  She looked up sharply, and I thought she looked alarmed. “That seems weird.”

  I gave a short, cold laugh. “You have no idea.” I put away the charts I was looking at and closed down the screen on the computer. “Wish me luck,” I said quietly and wandered away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I'm ashamed to say that I didn't put up any fight at all. I just went. I was so tired that everything looked sort of blurry and surreal. I told myself I would just go and pretend to listen and nod at whatever moronic thing the guy was supposedly trying to teach me. I figured just letting him blab on would be faster than arguing about it. Plus we both knew who would win anyway. I decided to conserve what little energy I had and get it over with.

  I wanted to change out of my scrubs and lab coat, but thought it would seem like more of a date if I did. So I kept those grubby things on, hoping to repel him with my wrinkled, sleep-deprived looks.

  He was leaning against the wall waiting for me. I remember thinking that it was such a shame he was a creep, because he was a nice-looking guy, with shiny blond hair, and a swimmer’s shoulders. He had a face that would have been handsome if there had ever been a genuine smile on it.

  He looked up at me. “Thought I might hear from you this weekend,” he said.

  “Was I supposed to call you?” I stopped a few feet away from him. I felt light-headed and put my hand on the wall to keep from falling over.

  He shrugged. “Well, if it was my neck on the line, I might show some initiative.”

  I opened my mouth to mention being on call and how busy we had been, but I stopped myself. It didn't matter. We weren't actually discussing reality.

  “Guess you spent your time with Mason instead.”

  Dr. Mason. Liam. God, I missed him. God, I hated him.

  I didn't bother answering Owen. It was none of his damn business, and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell this jerk that I'd been dumped. He'd probably start in with the whole, “I’m a good listener”, bullshit again and, in my nearly delirious state I would probably role my eyes and tell him to go to hell.

  “So what's so special about him?” Owen demanded. “Everybody's falling all over that guy, all the time. What is it?”

  I knew better than to answer. Was it true? Was he trying to hurt me, or stir up trouble? I didn't understand exactly what was happening, but I knew we were into some kind of messed up psychological crap here. Jesus, if only I could have done my Psych rotation first, I might have had some weapons to use on this guy.

  My stomach flipped and bile came into my mouth. The exhaustion was winning and my legs grew wobbly. When had I last eaten? Or slept? Who knew?

  Owen reached for me and pulled me into the call room. He pulled the blanket in the cot back and motioned me to get under it. I sat on the end of the bed instead and put my head between my knees, trying to get the black spots in front of my eyes to disappear. He came and crouched in front of me and started stroking my hair. I sat up quickly, almost knocking his hand away.

  “Okay,” he smiled. “I am a nice guy, you know. I can see you're too tired, so I'll let you off the hook. In fact, I'm going to drive you home.”

  “No,” I argued. “Thanks but no. I'm just going to rest here for a second and then I'll walk.”

  “No can do,” said Owen, holding my arm and lifting me up from the bed. “We need to get you home.” And home sounded like such a great place to be that I let him lead me out of the room and into the parkade.

  The drive home was short. I gave him directions and we were there quickly. At my door he stopped and turned off the car. He shifted in his seat so he could put his right hand behind me. “I can see you're really struggling.” Then he leaned forward and put his left hand on my knee. “I can help, you know. You don't have to do this all alone.”

  I tried to get up, but he moved his hand further up my thigh and dug his fingers in. “I like this hard-to-get thing. It turns me on. But it's time for you to start playing along. I'm getting impatient.” He moved his hand further up my leg, almost touching my most private place.

  My arm swung out at him before I could stop it. He grabbed it and smiled. “You're coming to my place tomorrow.”

  I stared out the windshield, unable to move, but refusing to look at him. “No. No, I am not.”

  He smiled, and then looked down at me like I was a sweet but stupid child. “As far as everyone knows, you're practically failing th
is rotation. Olsen hates you, and loves me. She listens to me and will follow my recommendations. You fail this; you can kiss any decent residency goodbye. And then how will you pay those student loans? What are you in for now, sixty thousand? A hundred? And the real beauty of a medical degree is that it is COMPLETELY USELESS unless you become a doctor. It won't get you a job anywhere else. So, seven years of university, a hundred grand in debt? Bankrupt and no future. At, like, what are you, twenty-four? Big price to pay.” He let his voice drift off.

  He put his hands back in his lap, relaxed and confident again. “So, you're going to do this little thing for me, and I'm going to do this little thing for you, and everything is going to end up being A-Okay.”

  I got out of his car and stumbled to the door of my apartment building. My hands were shaking so badly it took three attempts to get the key into the lock.

  Once I was inside, I quickly locked the door and then tried to slow my breathing down. I dumped my bag and coat on the floor.

  In the kitchen I tried to choke back some crackers, just to get my blood sugar back up. I drank some juice, but it burned my throat and churned around in my stomach.

  I needed to wash the hospital and Owen off of me. I turned the shower on hot and tried to stand up in it. I was too weak, too exhausted, so I slumped to the ground and sat under the water pounding down on me. I washed my hair and tried not to think of Liam. But every time my hand ran over my skin, every drop of water, every time bubbles slid over a sensitive place, I was back to that day: his hands massaging my breasts in the slippery soapy water, his hands between my legs, rubbing me, nearly lifting me off the ground with the pressure and strength of his touch. And the explosions of pleasure that followed when he used his tongue in my folds to lick and suck me until I sobbed and screamed.

  And how we had just lain together for hours, and the rhythm of his breathing relaxed me and made me feel less alone.