This silent retreat is killing me.
I'm sitting in a room with forty other people, all kneeling and meditating on the wooden floor. We're two days in, and during the first meditation session, there were plenty of noises as people got settled. But everyone else seems to have found their stride.
I'm no good at sitting still, and I'm definitely not the silent type. I came here because I needed a break from life, but life keeps chasing me.
And every time I fidget or yawn, this one jerk gives me a disapproving look. Which just makes me fidget more. We're supposed to keep our gazes cast down, but whenever I see him, I'm increasingly on edge.
My long curly red hair falls into my face, tickling my cheeks. I quickly twist it into a bun and catch him watching me with narrowed eyes, as if he can't meditate with all that distraction.
I cough. He glares. I'm not sure which one of us is less peaceful right now.
And to make it worse, he's hot. Disturbingly so.
Dark hair, dark brows, olive skin, startling blue eyes... I don't trust hot guys.
When he turns away, I check him out. We're supposed to dress modestly here. But even with his loose white T-shirt and pants, there's enough bronzed skin on display to give me an idea of his body — a dirty idea. He's thirty-something, like me. No wedding ring. His hands are beautiful. Of course they are.
I try to stay calm and ignore him. But during the walking meditation, I trip and lose my balance. During mealtime, I drop a dish. Each time, he shoots me a
look,
as if I'm messing up his whole day.
After lunch, I exit through the wrong door, because of course. He's rounding a clump of pine trees, probably coming back from the restroom, and I accidentally brush past him.
My bare arm presses against his with a sudden shock. My pale freckled skin makes a startling contrast to his bronzed forearm. His blue eyes open wide, and for a second, neither of us moves. Our eyes lock. Naturally, we say nothing. But the touch, the eye contact — these are all against the rules.
I'm suddenly, completely aware that my breast is nudging his arm. My nipple's so hard that it aches. My gaze drops to his loose pants, and I stare at the tent of his erection before dragging my eyes back to his flushed face.
On cue, we both jump back. He rakes a hand through his hair and gives me that look of pure annoyance. All my nerves are wide awake. On edge, I let out a giggle and get another glare. I stick my tongue out at his sexy back, and dammit, he turns and sees. Hurrying away from his disapproval, I bite down more laughter.
But underneath, I'm ruffled. Pissed off. His attitude is ruining my retreat.
Not to mention his warm body, which I imagine pressing into mine for the rest of the day. Brushing my nipples, teasing my breasts. But I want more than a tease from him. I want weight and force. I want him to
make
me be still. Pin me down, order me with those blue eyes to focus. And when I do, he rewards me by spreading my legs to discover how wet I am...
That night, I touch myself in bed. It's against the rules; we're supposed to be celibate throughout the retreat. But it's the only way I know how to calm down right now.
I feel him
on top of me, massaging my soaked pussy. He dips his head to suck my nipple into his hot mouth. Kissing me hard, invading me with his tongue, he grips my curls in his fist and sinks his cock into my tightness, fucking me deeper and deeper into the mattress until I don't break focus for an instant. It's just him, everywhere, on me and inside me. I shudder and squeeze my thighs around my hand, rubbing my sensitive clit until I come in a rush.
The next day, I'm calmer. I fidget less when we're sitting, and I don't lift my gaze to scan the room for him.
In the afternoon meditation session, I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and finally find a measure of peace. The swirling thoughts slow down. Time hangs suspended until the ping of the brass meditation bell. But when I resurface, heat washes over my left side. My eyes pop open, and as if pulled by a magnet, I turn. To look at
him.
He's staring at me, caught out in the moment, and for once he isn't glaring. There's a look of such raw longing on his face that I feel it through my whole body.
Right now, he's not some hot disapproving guy. He's naked, vulnerable. Carrying a heavy load. Something drove him here, and he doesn't know whether to escape it or deal with it.
I look away quickly, trying to return to the peace, but all I can think about is him.
That night after lights-out, I tiptoe from room to room until I see a door that's open a crack. Somehow, I know.
I push it open just far enough to see him sitting on his bed. The window's open, and moonlight illuminates his beautiful face and body. He's shirtless.
His face changes when he sees me.
"You," he whispers.
The shock of hearing someone speak for the first time in three days — of hearing
his
deep voice for the first time — tightens my body. I go to him, more boldly than I would approach a stranger out in the regular world, and put my finger to his lips.
"You're driving me crazy." He catches my hand in both of his.
"Sshhh." I cup his cheek and gasp when he licks my palm.
Pulled in by mindless attraction, I straddle this stranger and perch on his thighs. I stroke his broad back and shoulders, daring to suck on his neck. His skin is so warm. Salty. He sinks his fingers into my curls, his touch unbelievably pleasurable, then twists my hair harder and harder, encouraged by my quickening breath, until I let out a little cry.
When he kisses my lips, it's sudden and taking. Quick, rough, short kisses, hard and abrupt. I've never been kissed like that. I shiver, sinking down on his lap until I'm sitting on the large bulge in his shorts.
