Love, Only Better, page 21
Mmmm!
Should I be doing something for him?
Am I being selfish?
She reached her arms back for his head, but it was useless; out of reach.
She returned her arms to the headboard, letting him probe and tickle away. He caressed her thighs, then moved his arms up her belly to her breasts, squeezing lightly, pinching her nipples, again, and again and again…
Quick as lightning, tingles radiated outward from her core, up her face and down her arms to her fingertips.
“Oh my God!” Rebecca yelled. Jerking backward, she windmilled her arms before reverse-somersaulting over Kyle, falling off the bed completely.
“Ouch!” she said.
“What was that?” Kyle asked, sitting up, laughing. He wiped his glistening mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” Rebecca struggled out of her tangled landing position. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. Quite the opposite,” Rebecca said, standing to rub her rump where a bruise was mobilizing. “I told you I was bad at this.”
Kyle rested his hands on Rebecca’s hips and flopped her back down on the bed.
“Well, I don’t want to brag, but I usually have that effect on the ladies.”
“Lucky me,” she said with a smile.
Rebecca wasn’t keen on kissing him after oral, but he had no reservations. She could taste her own saltiness, but having just emerged from the bath before he arrived, that was the extent of it. She would have to remember this bathing before sex thing. It made post-oral kissing much better.
They kissed some more, and this time he let her hand wander and stay on his hardness. Hot and firm, with a smooth tip. A few drops of semen escaped from the tip. Rebecca slid her finger through the wetness and around his helmet before firmly grasping his shaft and working her hand a bit. He let out a deep growl then gently removed her hand, lifted her by the waist, and was about to fit her on him when she slid sideways.
“Shouldn’t we put?”
“Sorry, got carried away. Do you have any?”
“Condoms? I don’t.”
Close call. Condoms were the only thing she could depend on Ethan for.
“I can go get some.”
“No. We should stop.”
“For real?”
“It’s best,” Rebecca replied.
“That’s not the word I’d use. We’re right in the middle here…”
“It’s a sign. By the time you get back, the mood will be gone.”
“That can be rectified,” he said, motor purring.
“Kyle.”
“I may have some in my apartment?”
Rebecca made a pained face.
Kyle raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s not.”
Kyle exhaled loudly and rolled on his side, flashing a crooked smile of futility. “You do realize you’re giving me a serious case of blue balls?”
“Not having balls, I wouldn’t risk making a diagnosis.”
“It’s not good. Trust me.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“I don’t understand. But I’ll respect your decision.”
“Thanks.”
Kyle smothered his face in a pillow. Rebecca lifted it off and kissed him tenderly, no tongues.
“Mind if I have a shower?”
“Help yourself.”
Kyle scampered out of bed, scratching his head with both hands. He paused at the doorway, “You definitely keep things interesting.”
He entered the bathroom and closed the door. Rebecca heard the water turn on and the shower curtain slide closed.
“I hope I’m worth it.”
Chapter 29
It was there, and then it was gone. The blood coursing through Rebecca’s ears began to subside. Her pounding heartbeat slowed. She swallowed hard. The Magic Wand wasn’t so magic after all. It was just an odd-looking and useless piece of plastic and wire. She released it through her fingers, its cord slipping until it hit her bedroom floor with a dull thud.
She rolled on her side, gathering the sheets over her naked form in a messy pile.
“What a waste. What an awful, awful waste,” she whispered into the darkness.
She was a dysfunctional, sexual mess. No guy wants that. And as much as Kyle was worlds apart from her ex, he was still a guy. A sexual being who wants a partner of equal caliber. She played a good game, but she was an impostor. A fraud. He’d learn it soon enough and be gone. Like all the others.
A sob escaped, but she curled the pillow around her head and squeezed tight with both palms. Her chest heaved, then bitter acid burped up her throat.
“Arrhhgh!” Rebecca said, tossing the pillow aside.
Her feet stomped across the carpet to the bathroom. She turned on the cold water, cupping her hand under the stream of water to drink.
She gulped, water dripping in sheets down her chin and neck, before dribbling between her breasts and splattering on the tile floor.
Rebecca dabbed her body dry with a towel and stuffed it back into place. The puddle would dry.
She dropped on the edge of her bed, pulling the quilt around her. The room was dark, but the windowpanes cast parallel bars on the ceiling.
“I’m in a fucking prison. A prison that I can’t escape no matter what I do.”
A taxi passed, bleaching the shadows with halogen blueness, before retreating down the street. She shuffled to the window, quilt dragging like a robe. Kyle’s parking spot was still empty.
Her bed was empty.
Her life was empty.
She walked to the living room and lifted the remote. But put it down.
Rebecca sat on the sofa, pulling the quilt tight.
What now?
Everything around her represented the carcass of the life her parents built together. A married life. A happy life. But it was theirs.
She deserved a life too. Her own. With a mate. To build something lasting. To have adventures; maybe one day have children.
I deserve to be happy.
I deserve to be whole.
Rebecca reached for her laptop on the coffee table. Lifting the lid, the machine woke out of sleep mode. Her eyes blinked to adjust.
In the browser she typed “Heidi Quinn,” then clicked on the recently visited web page that populated first.
“So, Heidi, do you have a section for losers?”
Her eyes scanned the navigation menu.
“Holy shit.”
A header said: Private Lessons.
How could she have missed it?
She clicked it and the page loaded.
“I have created a series of books and videos to help each client independently reach her own sexual fulfillment. However, should you decide you require individualized attention, I offer a very limited number of personal one-on-one coaching sessions for individuals and couples. Please call the reservation number for more information.”
She looked up, then back. Blinking, clearing her eyes. Putting the open computer on the coffee table, Rebecca tossed off her quilt and strode to the kitchen. Opening the junk drawer, she shifted napkins, menus, and takeout soy sauce packets around until she found a pen. She returned and wrote Heidi’s number on a notepad retrieved from her briefcase and underlined it twice. No way she was going to forget the number at home when she went to work the next day. Capping the pen, she lay down on the sofa, steepling her fingers.
Personalized coaching? Tailored to her? Could it really be that simple? The rational part of her brain said that she should be able to handle this masturbation crap like everyone else: alone in a dark room. She looked around her. She was alone in a dark room, yet had been powerless to break down whatever mental barrier was standing in the way of her having an orgasm. She was obviously doing something wrong. But what?
Heidi would know. She’d done it before—it was the only way.
Goose bumps formed on her skin, so she drew the quilt over her shoulders. A beam of light from an adjacent apartment illuminated her face.
Dr. Costa popped to mind. Him and her chair in the spotlight. She’d jumped through so many hoops to achieve something so simple. So, human. What a mess it all was. She should have avoided fooling around with Kyle: it was too complicated. Confusing. Emotional. She wasn’t ready. Their exception for her had been misplaced, as was their desire to peek in her bedroom. If anything, her romp with Kyle proved she wasn’t ready.
Whatever happened felt fantastic, but was fast. Very fast. And very scary. It took her breath away, blew her mind, and incited panic, all at once. It was intense, but there were no crashing waves. No waves at all. No building and release. It happened in an instant. Her body responded to Kyle, but not fully. There was an important piece still missing.
But what is it?
She tapped her fingers.
Rebecca was a toddler driving a semi and had no business operating it unsupervised. An expert was needed to put it all together. Show her the ropes. What to do, what not to do. Answer questions. Sex was not a solitary activity. How was she supposed to learn how to do this on her own? The simple answer was she couldn’t. It was impossible. She was lost without a map, compass, Sherpa, or GPS. Heidi would show her the way.
If all went well, tomorrow would mark the beginning of the end. The end of her brokenness, her isolation. Then, anything would be possible.
Chapter 30
Plumes of hot dog steam wafted over from the corner vendor’s cart, triggering a tummy roll. Rebecca turned away, plugging her ear to muffle the traffic noise. Heidi Quinn’s number rang and rang.
Voice mail triggered, so she hung up.
“This is not happening.”
Rebecca approached the food cart.
“One hot dog, please.”
Without looking up, the bearded man palmed a bun prewrapped in a paper napkin. Using tongs, he opened the stainless lid of the hot dog compartment, fished out a Sabrett, and popped it in a bun.
“Mustard, onions, sauerkraut, relish?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yes, bald.”
He shook his head and handed it over. She paid two dollars and walked away.
Even street vendors were judging her.
Her first bite popped the crisp casing. Salty, garlicky goodness followed, putting her tummy grumbles to rest. She headed for the concrete planter in front of her office building and sat down, chewing while she redialed Heidi Quinn.
Whitney saw her and approached, but Rebecca waved her off.
Ring.
Ring.
“Heidi Quinn’s office. This is Brad. Can I help you?”
“Oh, I do hope so!”
Brad laughed. “You don’t know the half of it, sweetheart. What can we do for you?”
“I was hoping for an appointment with Ms. Quinn?”
“I’m sorry, but she has a lot of irons in the fire right now and is not taking any appointments.”
“None?”
“Not a one.”
“But, I was just on the site last night?”
“I’m a little behind updating the website. Thanks for reminding me, but we do have a wide selection of her videos.”
“I’ve tried the videos. They didn’t help.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Is there no chance of me seeing her?”
“Unfortunately, no. Heid’s taking a break.”
“A break? Well, that’s great. When is she coming back?”
“That’s the thing. She isn’t. She’s moving on to some new challenges and has a book in the works—”
“Brad, you don’t understand. I’m desperate!” Rebecca yelled a little too loudly. Two amused businessmen walking by chuckled at her expense. She stuck her tongue out at their backs.
“Look, love. I hear you. I’ve worked for Heidi for years and know why women come here. But Heidi has made the difficult decision to follow another path.”
“I’m in a really difficult situation here, is there any way that Heidi could make one final exception? One orgasm for the road?”
“As tempting as that sounds,” Brad teased.
“Come on.”
“Do you think I want to be here on the phone breaking hearts? Of course not. But she’s my boss. What Heidi says goes, and Heidi is no longer taking private appointments.”
“Maybe if I could talk to her?”
“That’s out of the question.”
Rebecca exhaled, “Is there nothing I can do?”
“I recommend trying again with the videos.”
Back at her desk, Heidi Quinn stared out from Rebecca’s computer screen. She had no events listed. No address. There was nowhere to show up and beg for mercy. Only Brad’s insufferable “no.”
Rebecca searched for past addresses and schools. Heidi Quinn graduated from Columbia University and got her PhD at Case Western, but beyond that, there were only articles. Article after article touting her miraculous track record helping the helpless. Women who had no other place to turn before they found her. Now where are those women supposed to go? Where was Rebecca supposed to go?
“Who’s that?” Darcy asked.
Rebecca spun in her chair, blocking the screen with her torso.
“It’s nothing.”
“Be sure it is.” Darcy stared down her nose. “Have you finished the print negotiations for Hollis Hotels?”
“Just about. I’m waiting to hear back from the last three magazines.”
“What’s the hold up?”
“Well, the preliminary estimates put us in a good position to afford a full-year campaign, but Home Digest is a big ticket ‘must have,’ so a lot will depend on their rate. Candlelight Publishing, after all.”
Darcy winced.
“Exactly.”
Candlelight Publishing was a bear to negotiate with, making everyone pay published rates. They only discounted based on the number of ads you bought, unlike other magazines who were open to haggling.
“I’ve asked to bundle other titles when estimating the frequency, add pages from Fashionista, HomeBuzz, and Pantry to get us a better rate. They said no, but I connected the client with the Candlelight events team, and the client is willing to offer them discounted room rates for their out-of-town company visitors to help stretch the budget a bit further. It’s a long shot, but was worth a try.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Bartering. That could save thousands.”
“Potentially, yes.” Rebecca smiled.
Darcy lifted her chin. “Very creative thinking.”
“Thanks.”
“Keep me in the loop.”
“Of course.”
Darcy wandered off toward her office, eyeglass arm clicking against her teeth.
Swiveling back, Heidi Quinn beamed from the screen. Confident, rebellious, defiant.
Then it clicked. Time for more creative thinking.
Chapter 31
Exiting the train at Broadway and West Seventy-Second Street, Rebecca scanned the masses around her. The Upper West Side masses. Tailored Brooks Brothers’ suits and a stream of uber-casual twenty-somethings sporting head-to-toe ensembles with eye-popping price tags.
How can Barbara stand living up here?
She ran across the wide avenue to make the light, passing the Gray’s Papaya on the corner. Totally out of place among streets lined with outdoor cafes and sparkling shop windows displaying overpriced everything. From clothes, eyeglasses, and shoes, to children’s toys and pet gear, everything an affluent person could want. Rebecca paused outside a pet supply store. Stuffed dogs surfed, surrounded by the latest in sand toys for dogs.
Unbelievable.
She resumed walking. Even the air was fresher up here. Or maybe it was the proximity to Central Park. Greenery flooded the horizon as Rebecca turned the corner of West Seventy-Fourth Street and Columbus, heading toward Central Park West. Barbara’s block.
It was a street lost in time: ruddy three-floor stone buildings lined both sides of the street, formidable stone stairs jutting out at regular intervals. Narrow strips of pavement lay between the bottom step and the 3x3 foot patches of earth hugging the curb. Each patch contained a frail maple tree, staked on both sides, and doing its darnedest to thrive amidst the concrete. Rebecca could picture the tree trembling as it shot out of the ground wondering, “How in the hell did I get here?” Even the pink impatiens ringing each trunk knew the trees had an uphill struggle; their own fate wasn’t much better.
Pansies, begonias, or geraniums overflowed window boxes and planters. Black metal gates surrounded the stairs and front patios for some buildings, presumably to deter vagrants and provide a measure of added security. Other residents were creative with their small pieces of property. A few furnishing spaces with decorative floor tiles and potted plants, while others added planting beds, trees, and fountains. The opposite end of décor sported trash cans. Luckily, Barbara’s landlord was on the floral end of the spectrum.
Barbara had not yet arrived, so Rebecca took a seat on her stone steps to wait and soak up the calm. Across the street, an older man in an undershirt and worn navy slacks belted around his protruding middle hosed down the pavement. He did his best to spray every speck of foreign matter off the sidewalk and down the nearby sewer grate. A few birds splashed and preened in the fountain next door.
“Aiden!”
A toddler scampered by, followed by a young mother navigating an overloaded stroller, doing her best to keep up.
Muffled avenue traffic was pierced by blue jay caws echoing off the buildings.
“…that is so not true…” a young woman said, eyes on the ground, hand in her boyfriend’s back pocket. His hand slinked around her lanky frame and hung from her belt loop. Their steps were completely out of sync; one rising as the other fell. They were a total cloud of chaos and disharmony.
“Doesn’t that look uncomfortable?” Barbara said, sneaking up on Rebecca while her attention was diverted.
“That’s probably the root of their problem. Neither is secure enough to admit they should probably hold hands,” Rebecca said, gathering her stuff and following Barbara up the steps.
