Jumping off the bed, I quickly grabbed yoga pants, a bra, and a tank before stepping into the bathroom.
“Melissa?” Elaine was hot on my trail. I pushed the door closed, but she caught it in a crack.
“I just slow-danced with some guy,” I lied, coiling my hair into a knot at the top of my head. “It was nothing.”
“Just slow danced? He wears a lot of cologne, then.” Her voice rose. “Unless it was more like dirty-dancing.”
She had no idea. I turned on the shower, holding my hand under the spray to test the temperature. “Seriously, let’s just drop it,” I said. “You know I’m not interested in meeting anyone. And anyway, I’m not available.”
“Maybe not emotionally available.”
I pulled the glass shower door closed. “Not available in any way.”
Warm, oil-coated hands slid down the length of my back, pushing all the pain down and out through my torso. I lay on a crisp white sheet atop the firm massage table, entirely naked except for a second sheet draped across my bum. Water trickled softly in the desktop founta
in, creating a relaxing ambience, and soft beach noises played on a track overhead. The room was dark, and incense lightly filled the air.
I’d never been one of those people who moaned and groaned through massages, but I was on the verge today. When the female masseuse began working on my thighs, the fresh ache from last night’s unexpected workout flooded my mind with memories of Derek. I wanted to see him again. I wanted his huge fullness inside me again, stretching me and coaxing every sensitive spot. I wanted to shoot over the edge in another incredible orgasm with him. But what I’d said to Elaine was true. I was not available.
Still, he hadn’t asked me for a commitment, and from what I could tell, he wasn’t looking for anything. One week, he’d said. We could share one week of pleasure, couldn’t we? It could be our little secret. Or was I too old-school for that?
The masseuse gently helped me roll over, keeping the second sheet over my private parts. Her expert hands moved to my shoulders, pushing the stress away as her strong thumbs circled, traveling up my neck to my scalp. I remembered the sensation of Derek’s lips, his scratchy beard traveling down my neck to my breasts. Moisture was growing between my legs, and I could feel my nipples harden. Luckily the sheet was doubled thick across my chest.
The masseuse gently placed her palms flat against my shoulders.
“Rest until you’re ready to come out, Ms. Jones,” she said softly before leaving me alone in the small, dark room.
With my eyes closed, I remembered his touch. My hands were flat on the table beside me as I lay on my back. I remembered him gripping my bare buttocks, squeezing them as he rocked me against the curtain, covering my body with his. I remembered pulling off my bra and his ravenous kisses, his gentle bites. I remembered his thick fingers pushing inside me, and instinctively, my hands slipped to my now-tingling clitoris, massaging circles over the sensitive spot. With my eyes closed, I felt his enormous cock push inside me, and in that instant, my body shook with the orgasm I’d provoked. My legs trembled, and I pressed my lips together to keep from moaning loudly.
I wanted him again. Oh, god, even if I wasn’t available in any way, I wanted him again so badly.
Out by the pool, I lay back in the lounge chair, hiding behind dark sunglasses. My hair still had residual oils in it from the massage, but I hadn’t washed it. Behind the magazine I held, I casually lifted a lock and sniffed his warm cologne lingering in it.
In my head, I scolded myself. What was I doing? I had to stop this immediately. I slammed the magazine down and stripped off the terry robe I was wearing. In my red bikini, I was still mistaken for being younger than thirty. My stomach was flat, and my skin was tight. No cellulite on my thighs, and my favorite exercise, running, kept my derriere lifted. I’d always just called it good genes, although this last year of pain had taken the once-happy glow from my eyes. My former, easy smile seemed permanently a thing of the past. It was a big part of what made observers think I was younger, and now it was gone. Stolen from me.
Stepping up on the diving board, I fixed my chin. I strode across the plank and did a perfect jackknife dive into the pool, allowing the cooling water to wash away the final remnants of last night. I was not available in any way.
Twilight in the desert was a beautiful sight.
Elaine and I held glasses of wine as we watched the huge sky turn from blue to pink to dim purple, the fire-pit in the center of our circle of lounge chairs keeping us from getting chilled. As always, I was amazed how the temperature could drop from the 100s to the 70s so fast.
“Wasn’t today perfect?” my friend asked as she stretched out, covering herself with one of the complimentary Indian-designed blankets folded across the backs of each chair.
“Perfectly relaxing,” I agreed, taking another sip of my wine and forbidding my mind from drifting to the small bar situated between the two halves of the sprawling resort.
He would be there waiting, I was sure of it. And I wondered what reason he would tell himself when I never appeared. He was an amazing lay, and I knew he knew it. I’d been clearly satisfied last night. I took a deep breath and exhaled, drinking another, longer gulp of wine. I couldn’t imagine what he’d think.
“Still nothing from home?” Elaine asked, studying my profile.
A missed call had been on my phone, and I’d listened to Sloan’s message, demanding to know where I was as I fought the pain his voice now twisted in my gut. I was making a mistake, he kept saying. I was being too hasty, too judgmental. Every message was a lecture in why I shouldn’t trust my instincts. I pushed his words and their meaning behind me.
“Nothing important,” I said.
“You know, Mel, we’ve been friends for years.” She sat forward in her chair, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. “Something’s different today. Won’t you tell me what it is?”
My eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment, I considered telling her about the amazing man who’d appeared at the bar last night. Who’d only wanted me, even with all the shiny, happy options twisting and giggling on the dance floor. He’d singled me out. Crossed the bar to be with me.
With damaged me.