Page 31 of In Love With a Master (Interview With a Master 2)

I saw the flared open lips of Leticia’s pussy, forced apart and filled by the slick heat of my cock.

I saw the press of her breasts against the table, the expression of her face contorted by her lust.

I saw the silhouette of us, grinding our bodies together, locked in the grips of a primal passion as old as the stars, the universe.

Leticia made a soft whimpering sound: a noise that seemed to bubble in her throat and then gradually rise and transform to become a keening wail of passion. Her eyes opened, glazed and unfocussed, and then she tossed her head so that the tangles of her hair broke like a shimmering swishing wave across her shoulders.

“I’m going to come,” she panted. “Please… can I come?”

“No,” I growled. I could feel tiny sparks of fire ignite along the length of my spine and a grip of urge deep within me like the clench of a fist. I was close – teetering on the edge of my own climax, but holding myself there by sheer force of will. I felt Leticia begin to writhe, and the sudden convulsion of her inner muscles.

“Please!” she pleaded, the words torn from her in a desperate sob. “I… I can’t… Jonah! I need to come…!”

I drew myself back until just the first few inches of my cock were nestled within Leticia’s pussy. I could feel myself beginning to pulse, and a hot burn of need along my length. I held myself there – on the very brink of releasing – for a few last desperate seconds, and then lunged forward one last frantic time.

“Now!” I roared. “Come now!”

Leticia cried out in relief and rapture.

My vision burst into pinwheels of flashing light, searing and bright behind my eyes. I felt my breath seize in my chest and then it was torn from me in a single explosive gasp. The tension in my body seemed to dissolve so that my legs became trembling and weak, and I reeled away, gasping for breath as the roar of blood in my ears and the racing beat of my heart left me spinning in sensual vertigo.

Chapter 20.

I awoke in Leticia’s bed the next morning to the muffled sound of running water.

I rolled my head to the side and saw the empty pillow where Leticia’s head had lain. I reached across the bed: the place below the sheets where she had slept was still warm from her body.

I swung my legs out of the bed and reached for my clothes. I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen.

Leticia came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped beneath her arms. Her face was scrubbed, fresh with the dewy glow of youth, and her hair was wet. She saw me in the hallway, smiled, and disappeared into the bedroom.

When she came out into the kitchen she was wearing a long loose t-shirt. Her hair had been scrubbed dry, beginning to curl again, and beneath the loose top she was naked and confident with it.

She made coffee and we sat at the dining table with a mug in front of each of us. Leticia tugged the hem of her t-shirt down, and then wrapped her hands around the mug as if to warm them.

Our eyes met across the table. Leticia made to speak but the words stilled on her lips and she returned my gaze, with a solemn enigmatic expression, and I found myself regretting my dark mood of the previous night. I lowered my eyes for an instant and saw now that under the thin fabric the shape of her breasts were clearly defined.

“I won’t be able to see you today, maybe not tonight either,” I said, lifting my eyes back to hers. My tone sounded sterner than I had wanted and I made an effort to force a brief flicker of a smile to dull the edge of my words. “I have an MRI scan this morning at the clinic,” I explained. “It’s the first one since…”

“Trigg…”

I nodded. “It’s the first scan with my new doctor,” I went on. “I don’t know how long it will take, or what the diagnosis will be afterwards. It’s best if we make plans to meet tomorrow instead.”

Leticia reached her hand out across the table towards me, fingers extended. She touched lightly at my arm. “Jonah, let me come with you to the clinic,” she offered. “I would like to be there with you for support.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said, and again I lamented the abruptness of my tone. “Leticia, this is something I would rather deal with myself.”

Leticia frowned, as though she was struggling to understand. “But Jonah, this is part of a relationship. You share the good times and the bad. You support each other in times of crisis and you celebrate in times of joy. If you are serious about wanting to experience love then this is one of those situations we can go through together.”

“No,” I said again. Suddenly I felt restrained and confined in the chair. I needed space. I got up from the table and strode across the apartment to the window. The morning was bleak and overcast, heavy cloud hung low to the ground and on the streets below pedestrians scurried to their destinations, clutching at dark coats and umbrellas. The streets were slick with rain and the sky filled with a distant rumble of thunder.

I turned slowly away from the window, stared back at where Leticia sat.

“Thank you, but no,” I said. “I understand what you’re saying, Leticia, but this is something I have dealt with on my own for many months. I deal with it in my own way – it’s not something I am ready to share with you or anybody else. I’m sorry, but I have to confront this alone.”

Leticia seemed to sense that this door was one she could not force open and her expression of dismay transformed into one of reproach as I looked at her. The pain I saw in her eyes – the rejection – was a palpable thing like a fresh wound. The words of protest died on her lips and she bowed her head, staring down intently into the mug. She became agitated, her gaze downcast, like some clairvoyant who could divine a troubled future within her coffee.

I sighed. My rising agitation evaporated suddenly, replaced by a sense of dismay that disturbed me. I realized that I had alienated Leticia and I wanted to say something gracious that might salvage the intimacy that had begun to grow between us, but words escaped me. I thrust my hands deep into my pockets. My fists were bunched with my own sense of frustration. I glanced at where Leticia sat pensively one last time, and then made for the apartment door.

Leticia looked up in sudden alarm. “Where are you going?” her voice was heavy with surprise and distress. “Are you going?”

My hand reached for the doorknob and then I paused. I stared back over my shoulder. “I am going,” I said. “I need to be at the clinic early. I think it’s best if I leave now.”

Leticia rose from the table, but then something stopped her from coming any closer. The distance between us seemed to stretch out like a deep impassable crevasse. There was a yearning look in Leticia’s eyes but a tig

ht forced restraint in the way she held her body. She nodded, and then said softly, “I will wait for you to call.”

I nodded with a curt jerk of my head. This had all gone so badly. To delay any longer – to say any more – would only make it worse.

I said nothing.

Chapter 21.

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again now – I don’t like surprises.

I have an ordered world – an ordered life – and to me an unexpected surprise means I haven’t anticipated and planned for the eventuality.

Generally most people would consider me a pessimist – I tend to expect the worst outcome. It means I am seldom disappointed.

People rarely surprise me – I believe I am a good judge of character, but there are those rare moments – those moments when life can get turned on its head by a few words or a gesture.

They are the times that confound me, and the times that I am reminded that not even Jonah Noble has all the answers or knows all that God has planned.

We call it fate.

I have always believed that a man’s life can be defined by a few rare moments: the moment he meets the love of his life, the instant the world hands him an opportunity that must be seized or lost forever… this was one of those moments.

For a long time I lay with my eyes closed, controlling my body – taking long, deep, calm breaths.

There was weak light beyond my eyes, a shaft of watery sunlight through a window, but the room felt cold and the bed felt harder than I had remembered it.

I wasn’t comfortable – but I was composed.

In control.

Prepared.

I opened my eyes. My doctor was standing beside the bed leaning over me. He had a ruddy complexion and big broad features that fate had cast in the mold of Robert De Niro. It was a face that didn’t look comfortable smiling – a face more accustomed to delivering bad news rather than good.

He tried to shape his mouth into the curve of a smile but it went awry, and after a moment he seemed to give up trying and instead he frowned down at me.

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