She slanted a suspicious glance at him. The rogue!
“… It’s only fair that you show me your secret fantasy.” He winked. “Man, oh, man, I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I don’t have any sexual fantasies,” she said primly.
“Liar.” He laughed.
“Well, maybe one. Just a little fantasy.”
“A little one? There’s such a thing as a little sexual fantasy?” He arched a brow.
“Meditating.”
He groaned.
“I knew you’d think it was silly.”
“No, no, no. I’m game.” God, she wants to have yoga sex. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try the Lone Ranger? I’d let you be Tonto.”
“And what would you be — the masked guy, or the horse?”
“Hmmm. I’m not sure.”
“Nope, no diverting me here, Rafe. This is my fantasy,” Helen insisted.
So, he built up the fire and, according to her directive, he was the one who sat cross-legged in the lotus position before the roaring flames.
“Try to find your center.”
“No problem, babe.” He peered downward, watching his “center” come to life, although it was really interfering with, rather than heightening, his inner peace.
“Concentrate,” Helen demanded for the twentieth time.
“Oh, yeah, I’m concentrating, all right. Come here, sweetie, and let me show you my concentration.”
“Behave.”
He did, for about a second, until she sat on his lap, right on top of his “center,” and blew to hell any chance he ever had of concentrating. Even so, she proceeded to give him all kinds of advice on how to let his mind float out of his body.
And she was serious, too.
“Rafe, get your hands off my tush. You’re supposed to have them on the floor, palms up, loose and relaxed. And don’t move.”
“When do we get to the good part?”
“This is the good part.”
“Oh.” Boy, does she have a lot to learn! He played along with her, though, and was amazed to find that he could sit perfectly still for a long time — five minutes — with the woman he loved impaled on his erection. It was probably a record of some kind. He’d have to check his brother Eduardo’s Penthouse Book of World Records when he got home.
But he couldn’t think about that now. Helen had moved to step two of her fantasy. Every time she ooohmed, he felt the most incredible vibrations in all his essential hot spots. Maybe her fantasies aren’t so far off base, after all. Maybe I’m the one who’s got a lot to learn. Hmmm.
Rafe’s conjectures soon proved true when, to his absolute astonishment, he learned how to control the movement of his favorite organ just by focusing. It was like driving a car with a remote control.
And Helen developed a neat trick of squeezing him from inside in something she called a Kegel excercise — Helen could use technical terms like that even in the midst of hot sex, that’s the kind of marvel she was.
Yep, Helen’s fantasy was turning out to be a surprise. Of course, he liked his own fantasies better, but he didn’t tell her that, either. He was too busy experiencing an explosive climax.
They rested then — thank God! — and ate leftover venison and raw turnips. They sat at the table, bundled in blankets, murmuring softly. The air had turned very chilly.
“I’m so damn sick of venison,” he complained. “What I wouldn’t give for chocolate chip cookies! Or a cheddar and chicken burrito. Or barbecued ribs. Or a thin-crust pizza with pepperoni and sausage and mushrooms and onions.”
She smiled and made a tsking noise. “You don’t really eat like that, do you?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Those are all empty calories.”
“Yep.” He wrinkled his nose at her. “Bootie calories.”
“Huh?”
“They go right to your butt.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. You have a very nice… butt.”
He grinned. “Thank you, honey, and likewise. I’ll let you check it out later.”
They both laughed then.
In a little while, Helen stared at him shyly, hesitating.
“What?”
“I never knew people laughed when they made love,” she confessed.
He tilted his head at her. “Sex is fun. Why would that surprise you?”