Page 8 of After Care

“Mouth, now,” he demanded.

“No,” I said, my voice weak. I might have misunderstood, because his lips crushed mine, commanding I open for him. I faltered in surprise as I stroked, but he squeezed my smaller fingers within his large ones, forcing me to continue jerking him. My thumb caressed the slit on his tip, and moisture seeped outward, lubricating the pad of my finger. I used it to increase the beating, the stroking, the rhythm. All the while, his mouth moved over mine, a haphazard pattern of kissing and nipping.

I worried I was doing it wrong, taking too long, but pressed on his chest, guiding him to turn and lean on the wall. His stance relaxed, and his legs spread. His back held him upward as his head fell to the plaster behind him. His hand continued to work with mine, and I snuck a peek at what we were collectively doing. That unfamiliar flutter rekindled, filling my lower belly as I stared at what I considered a scandalously delicious vision. I was helping him get off while he was working on himself. Oh my.

My heart beat as rapidly as my arm moved.

“Right there, beautiful,” he hissed. “So close.”

With strength I didn’t know I had, I increased the pressure, the speed, the dexterity of my grip, and warm liquid spurted from his tip. My fist was covered in hot stickiness, slipping through my fingers and coating our collective palms.

“Enough,” he whispered, stilling my fingers. His eyes closed, and he tapped his head against the wall. His clean hand pressed against his face and rubbed downward. Something was wrong. Shaking my hand free of any residue, I stepped back from him.

“Darlin’?” he questioned, his eyes suddenly on mine. My heart plummeted to my stomach. I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I…I had to get out of there. So, I did what any self-respecting women who just fulfilled a fantasy with a sexy strange man in an empty ballroom on a long-overdue vacation did—I ran. Wayward thoughts raced through my mind as the click of my own heels matched the thudding in my chest.

When leaving the hospital, aftercare was always part of the experience. What you did after—the procedure, the treatment, the incision that cut deep. However, nothing could have prepared me for how I’d take care of myself after Tommy Carrigan. There was no list, no instruction manual online at patient dot com for matters of the heart. No checklist. Nope, the aftercare sheet was a blank page. How did you treat tingling lips, skin rough from scruff-burn, and an ache so fierce your heart felt like it might burst?

3

Morning Delight

Shame washed over me at how I ran from Tommy Carrigan, a man ridiculously sexy for over forty. It wasn’t fair. And neither was how I treated him. Running had never been my thing. I was committed to the core—to my children, to my marriage, to my job. Then my marriage failed, and I got breast cancer. It put things in perspective for me. Life was short, and I was only forty-three.

This led me to a yoga class the next morning with Ivy and Masie. I still didn’t understand the young rock star wife’s obsession with me, but she was sweet, and she’d included my eighteen-year old, Masie, in the invitation.

“A girls’ morning,” she cheerfully said as she texted me. “Breakfast afterward.”

I allowed myself another torturous indulgence. Seeing Ivy would remind me of my previous night’s escapade in a vacant ballroom with the band manager of Collision. His life was rock stars. Mine was pearls and cardigans. We were polar opposites, and yet, for a few heated moments, we lived on the same planet.

“Isn’t Ivy da bomb, Mom?” Masie asked as we walked to the north side of the resort. A grassy area was shadowed by the towering building and provided a serene space for morning yoga.

“Yes, da bomb,” I replied, wondering what that meant. I chuckled to myself. Kids and their euphemisms, I couldn’t keep up.

“Her life seems so awesome. Gage Everly as a husband, and her two girls are so sweet.” Masie couldn’t stop sharing humorous stories of her babysitting adventure the night before. At one point, the fourth band member visited the Everlys’ penthouse condo, and Masie had more misadventures to share with me. I was worried she was a little star-struck by the whole aura of Collision, particularly their youngest member, Weston Reid. I didn’t need her having a vacation fling with someone she’d never see again.

The thought stopped me.

Wasn’t that exactly what I’d done? Although allowing someone to finger me couldn’t actually be labelled a fling. It was more like a one-night stand, of sorts, kind of, maybe…Actually, it hadn’t been any of those things. It had been mind-blowing, and my thighs still hummed from the heat. A pulse beat at my core with the memory. Of course, I couldn’t sleep after I returned to my small rented condo. Thank goodness, the kids had their own room. I tossed and turned, my thighs clenching, my fingers twitching, yearning for a repeat of what Tommy had done to me. But I cursed those thoughts repeatedly, putting myself in my place with reminders that he was affiliated with a famous band, and I was just…me.

Mother of two. Breast cancer survivor. Professional assistant.

“Edie.” Ivy’s voice echoed across the lawn as people gathered for yoga. A walking path was at the edge of the property, connecting resorts and allowing visitors access to the ocean side scenery. My boss had covered part of this vacation to Hawaii, calling it a bonus. Despite the previous days off for medical leave, he told me I deserved a break with my family, and as the Christmas holiday was a slow time, ten days of vacation were allotted to me.

A scarf covered my hair again, although admittedly it was warm in the early heat of the day. I didn’t have the typical skinny girl yoga pants, or a cute work-out shirt, but wore a spandex skort and a tank top, possibly a size too small as it was Masie’s. Ivy’s eyes fell to my chest before smiling and lifting to mine.

“You look sexy for a workout,” she teased, and I blushed, glancing down at the swell of cleavage peeking over the red shirt.

“She always looks good,” Masie added, a touch of support in her proud daughter voice. She’d been so reassuring when my hair fell out in clumps and my body bloated. You’re still you, Mom, she told me over and over again. It was too much for a teenage girl to witness. It wasn’t fair, I often screamed, as she was my sole supporter when it should have been David, my ex.

“Ready for this?” Ivy teased, spreading out the mandatory beach towel over the grass.

“Ready as I’m going to be.” I’d never done yoga, but I had started working out regularly. It was a way to combat the swelling of my body and improve my mindset. I had to do something. The routine stuck long after the treatments ended. I reminded myself that no one was looking specifically at me. Women come in all shapes and sizes, and despite the public place, this was nothing.

We sat as instructed, legs crossed and minds emptied, only mine refused to go blank. I continued to see Tommy’s dark eyes, inky and concerned as he spoke to me. I had to chuckle when I thought of his surprise at seeing my underwear and the ridiculous struggle that took place before the shock of him entering me with his fingers. The mere thought made me wet, and my core clenched. Sitting cross-legged was not a good position for the images in my brain.

We stood and followed a series of stretching and twisting and balancing, until finally, we leaned forward, bracing palms flat on the ground, shoulder width apart, while our feet separated, forming an equilibrium of arms and legs, with backsides in the air. The downward dog position. My head lowered to center between my elbows and I had a perfect view of the walking path behind me when I should have been concentrating on my form.

A man in dark shorts and a sweat-laden white T-shirt walked slowly on the wooden path, one hand on his hips, his barrel chest rising and falling with exertion, as if he was winding down a long run. With earbuds in his ears, his fingers scrolled over a phone. He paced a step or two before stopping and facing our direction. I became acutely aware that my ass was in the air, pointed at him. I couldn’t see far enough to know if he saw me, but heat rose up my chest. My arms shook, and my hamstrings ached as the instructor told us to press backward. I noticed the man begin to walk forward toward our yoga haven.