Rowe by Jessica Gadziala

CHAPTER SEVEN

Billie

I swear the man couldn’t have looked more terrified if I told him he only had five minutes left to live.

Which was way more amusing than it should have been.

“I can stay in the car,” Rowe suggested as I pulled into the lot of the learning center.

It was a secluded dark wood cottage-style building that used to serve as an artist retreat before the previous owner passed. As such, it was surrounded by serene woods complete with its own trickling creek and a romantic gazebo half-covered in vining flowers.

They did weddings and family gatherings in addition to renting the space out to various classes. Like mine.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s hot,” I said, shaking my head as I climbed out. “Come on. I don’t want to be late,” I said, opening the sliding door of the van to grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, and waiting for Rowe who was walking like he was heading to the gallows.

“It’s beautiful here,” I said, taking a deep breath, smelling the faint traces of honeysuckle and a hint of dying lilac in the air. “Reminds me a bit of Malc’s land.”

“Mine too,” Rowe mumbled, and I was sure I misheard him.

“Hm?”

“Malc’s land. He bought a chunk of my family’s land from my old man before my old man almost lost the place entirely. Kept him at the tracks for another couple years. That was my family land that Malc is on.”

“Wait,” I said, turning, looking up at him. “You live next to Malc?”

“Not exactly close to him. It’s a big chunk of land. But, yeah, essentially. Why?” he asked, frowning at what had to be a look of shock and confusion on my face.

Because, well, Malcolm’s land had always felt like home to me, if that made any sense. When I was there, it felt right.

I wasn’t someone who brushed off those kinds of feelings. I genuinely felt like the land could speak to us. It was why some people felt called to different countries or different states, like something in their bones knows that is where they belong.

I belonged on that land.

Only, it wasn’t exactly Malcolm’s land, was it?

It was Rowe’s.

I wanted to tell myself that it meant nothing. But I couldn’t shake the idea that it could actually mean a lot. Like the land spoke to me because I was supposed to be on it. With Rowe.

Only Rowe didn’t want me.

I want to make something very clear. You and me, we are never going to be a thing. So you need to stop trying. It’s getting sad.

“You okay?” Rowe asked, and I looked up to find him watching me with concern in his dark eyes.

“Yep!” I declared, lying through my teeth as I turned away from him to hide the sudden stinging sensation in my eyes that I knew would make my eyes glisten.

It was stupid.

Stupid.

That I couldn’t just get the hell over it.

I’d never felt stuck on a guy before. And I loved men. I’d loved men in the past. But even when those situations had gone south, I never felt like this, like I was unable to move forward. Sure, I’d been sad for a little while, but I was able to let it go, move on to the next guy.

I didn’t want to admit it aloud, and I put on a good show of pretending it was the opposite, but I hadn’t spent any real time with a man in ages. Since before Rowe stomped all over my hopes. I mean, yeah, I’d hung out a little bit with an ex who was recently single. And we’d even gotten re-physical again. But there was a certain level of detachment I’d felt towards the opposite sex for a really long time.

It was probably why I felt so strange, like I was in limbo.

I was a firm believer, for those whose sexuality leaned straight, that there was an importance on the balance of feminine and masculine energy. And when you weren’t in touch with someone that balanced your scales, you felt wonky.

I’d been feeling wonky for so long.

As much as I tried to fake it, there was no fooling myself.

“Go ahead and take the couch,” I invited when we moved inside. “The class sits on floor pillows,” I added when he hesitated to move to the large modular sofa that didn’t exactly fit the rustic interior design—exposed walls and ceiling beams and scratched and dull hardwood floors—but it had these amazing wide cushions that you could separate and move back together to make a makeshift bed.

He made his way over to the couch, carefully sitting down as I grabbed the multicolored floor cushions, spreading them around the room for the couples, then lighting some incense, and finally plugging in my iPod to the speakers to put on the usual music that was slow and bluesy, sensual, but without any words.

This was the second class for all the couples. I did do single classes for anyone who just wanted a fun night out with their partner, and classes for solo women who wanted to be able to explore their sexuality without any men around. But my couples month-long classes were my most popular. Which was good since it paid best. And it also gave me the chance to really help the couples overcome their hurdles in their intimate lives.

Everyone trickled in a few minutes later, saying their hellos, then choosing their cushions. Everyone dressed in loose, comfortable clothing like I’d asked them to the week before, knowing this was the class where they would put the breath work I’d taught them about in the last week into use with their partners, which would involve them getting into certain positions.

“Okay everyone,” I said a few minutes later. “Let’s just do a couple of deep breaths to reconnect with our sexual energy, shall we?” I asked. “Now just like last week, hover one hand over your chest and hover the other over your sacral chakra,” I told them, watching as their hands went to their chests and over their groins. “Now as you breathe in, imagine the air going into the area where your hand is on your chest. And as you exhale, imagine a line going straight down your belly to your sacral chakra.”

“Good,” I said as everyone took a slow, deliberate breath. “Did you feel that tingle in your sacral chakras?” I asked, seeing some of them nod, giving me this awestruck look at the sensation. The women, seemed to get a lot out of this exercise, especially those who had a hard time ‘getting into the mood’ sometimes.

I always did the exercise—minus the hands because after a while, you didn’t need the aid—before any sort of sexual encounter, either solo or with a partner.

It never failed to amaze me how my pussy would tighten and tingle when I exhaled into the sacral chakra.

Thatwas energy work.

And it was precious and healing and I really loved sharing that with others, especially women who possibly spent a lot of their lives thinking something was wrong with them because they had a hard time enjoying sex like they thought they should.

That was the beauty of tantric sex workshops. There was never any actual sex. Well, I was sure there were some classes that did do that, but that wasn’t my classes. It was all about learning to get your and your partners energy and breath aligned.

It wasn’t uncommon, when they really were able to focus, that men and women alike had touchless orgasms during a class.

It felt so neat to be a part of them having that breakthrough with their loved one.

“Let’s do that again,” I suggested. “And again,” I said, getting sleepy smiles from the women whose bodies, if they were anything like mine, were starting to feel tingly all over and very much sensitive and alive. “Now today, gentlemen, you have two choices for positions depending on your comfort level. You can kneel and sit on your heels, or you can sit on your behinds with your legs spread. With either position, your lady is going to straddle you. But, ladies, there will be space between your pelvis and your partners’. No contact.”

I watched as several of the couples immediately started to communicate about which positions they’d prefer.

“Once you have decided how to sit, I want you each to place a hand over your partner’s chest and sacral region. Yes, Reggie?” I asked when a hand went up in the air.

I just barely managed to keep my tone pleasant and my eyes from rolling.

I didn’t usually get frustrated with clients. I understood how foreign and strange these classes could be. Especially for people who had been raised to think of sexuality as something taboo or shameful.

But Reggie had been a thorn in my side since the moment he stepped into my class. He asked me to repeat myself a lot, questioned the ‘science’ behind my claims instead of trying the exercises himself.

He was a tall, rake-thin man with pin-straight posture and these slightly off-putting green eyes.

“Who is that?” he asked, gesturing toward Rowe on the couch.

“That is a friend of mine,” I supplied, then immediately tried to move the conversation on before he could dig in his heels. Like I knew he would do. “Now, I want everyone to understand that this exercise may or may not invoke sexual feelings for you. It isn’t right or wrong either way. Some of you might just feel a deeper connection and intimacy. Trust me, the sexual sensations will come eventually. But we are early in our train… yes, Reggie?” I asked, exhaling hard.

“I don’t think I like him just sitting there staring at us.”

“He is not staring at you,” I said. And I knew he wasn’t because I could practically feel his discomfort from halfway across the room. I doubted his gaze was anywhere but on the floor or ceiling.

“How do you know? You’re not even looking at him. I didn’t think this class was for creeps to watch us. I thought it was about everyone participating.”

“Reggie, I think we are focusing on the wrong thing right now,” I said, shooting his wife Lizzie a small smile, knowing his outbursts were a source of embarrassment for her, judging by the way she studied the floor when he spoke.

I hoped I was wrong, but I sensed two years tops for their relationship. They seemed incompatible both emotionally and physically. I never wanted to bet on the end of a relationship. But a part of me thought Lizzie might actually be happier without him.

“After all, I will not be participating in couples exercises either,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not comfortable with that either. I wouldn’t trust an art teacher who couldn’t show proof of their work either,” he said, and the condescension in that nasal voice of his was making my blood pressure actually start to rise. “Right, guys? This is inappropriate,” he declared, trying to get everyone up in arms.

It could go bad fast. And then they would all request their money back. I didn’t like to have to think about finances, but it would be a big hit to have to refund all of them for a month-long class. It would hurt to even refund just a few of them.

“Okay, Reggie. We will participate as well,” I said. Because, well, what other choice did we have?

“What?” Rowe asked, voice tight.

“It’s fine,” I said in a low voice as I moved toward the couch.

“The hell it is,” he whispered back, so low that I only knew what he said by reading his lips.

“Obviously,” I said, turning back to my class, “my friend here has a pretty serious injury, so we will be modifying,” I told the class, getting head nods and small smiles from my more open-minded clients. And a distasteful glower from Reggie.

I’d never fired a client before, but he was tempting me.

The only reason I was hesitating was his poor wife. Who’d likely booked the class as a last-ditch attempt to save their relationship.

“Everyone please get into positions,” I said as I turned my back on the class to face Rowe. “Please just play along,” I asked, and I know there was silent pleading in my eyes. “I need the money from this class,” I added, seeing the spark of understanding in his gaze.

He’d completely changed his entire life plan and joined an outlaw, gun-running MC because of financial reasons.

He understood that struggle.

“You don’t have to actually do the breath work,” I added, kicking out of my shoes. “Just pretend, okay?” I asked, voice as low as possible so pain-in-the-ass Reggie didn’t overhear.

Unlike my class, I didn’t have the loose, flowy clothes that would make long periods of time in a straddling position comfortable. My jean shorts were going to bite into my thighs.

And I went ahead and tried to focus on that instead of the fact that I was going to be straddling Rowe.

I’d fantasized of this exact thing so many times. Too many times to count, really. And my body seemed to remember all the pleasure in those intimate moments between me and my hand or vibrator and the images in my mind.

My skin tingled and my breath felt stuck in my chest as the front of my legs brushed up against the soft material of the couch.

“Thank you,” I said in a soft, airless voice as I widened my stance, and brought my knees up on either side of Rowe’s thighs, lowering my weight down, but not all the way.

I swear there was a disappointed ache between my thighs at the forced distance.

“It’s fine,” Rowe said, voice tight. Uncomfortable, I guess. I couldn’t even blame him. I knew how bent out of shape Hope got when I invited her to any sort of class that had a sexual or intimate or naked aspect to it.

My things weren’t everyone’s things.

And that was okay.

“Can I?” I asked, reaching for his wrist.

“Sure,” he said, voice even tenser than before as I lifted his hand, putting it near the center of my chest. Close enough for me to feel the warmth of his skin in the cool room, but not quite touching.

I reached for his other hand, pressing it low down near my groin, then scooped my arms under his to press my hands over his body as well.

I couldn’t, though, seem to make my gaze lift.

I found myself studying his throat.

“Okay, everyone in position?” I asked, getting a chorus of agreement since I couldn’t see them all from my position on top of Rowe. “Just practice the breathing like you did for yourself. But this time, imagine breathing into the space under your partner’s hand, then exhaling down toward the other hand.”

As I said the instructions, my damn body decided to comply, so used to it. The problem was, I definitely didn’t need to be feeling tingles and tightening when I was sitting right on top of Rowe.

The breath was deep, expanding my chest so far that Rowe’s fingers brushed my skin, making little fireworks spark at the contact. My gaze shot up to his face quickly enough that I saw a flash of surprise cross his deep eyes as well.

It was right then that I remembered I was holding my breath.

On habit, I released it downward between my thighs to my sacral chakra.

And, well, let’s just say that the tingling and tightening was so acute that a shiver actually moved through me. It was a full body shiver, too. There was no way he didn’t notice.

In fact, as I watched, I was almost sure something close to heat flashed across his eyes.

Except that wasn’t possible.

“Again,” I called, but I wasn’t even sure I’d raised my voice enough to be heard by the rest of the class.

This time, though, when I pulled in a deep breath, so did Rowe. And I was close enough to watch as he felt the energy shift from his chest to his groin. There was no mistaking the heat right then. Or the surprise, the confusion.

“Again,” I called, my whole body starting to feel like it was buzzing. I couldn’t help but wonder if Rowe was feeling the same way.

It was what I liked best about breath work. You could practically get high off of it.

“Okay,” I called to the class, turning my head because I needed to break the eye contact with Rowe. “You can drop your hands now if you want, but with each inward breath, I am going to want everyone to rock their hips forward. And with each exhale, backward. Make sure not to be grinding on your partner. This is about touchless connection,” I told them.

A low grumble moved through me when my gaze found Reggie shooting me a glower, his brow raised like he was waiting for me to follow my own instructions.

“Kick him out,” Rowe suggested in a barely-there voice.

“I can’t,” I said, lifting my hips a little bit higher to prevent any accidental grinding, not fully trusting myself to follow my own damn instructions. “Inhale,” I called, sucking in a breath as my hips shifted forward while Rowe stayed stationary given his position and injury. “And exhale,” I called, shifting my hips back, my knees instinctively grabbing his hips for stability as I did so.

He seemed to move out of instinct too, his hand reaching out, grabbing the underside of my knee, holding on to make sure I didn’t fall backward.

“Again,” I called as my stomach started to flip-flop at the intensity of Rowe’s gaze on me.

I needed to remind myself that, like with massage, there was a certain physical reaction to exercises like this, that it didn’t actually mean anything, that if I was turned on, or he was turned on, it was because that was what was supposed to happen. It wasn’t personal.

But, God, it felt personal as the no-contact grinding continued, as my pussy got more and more tingly, my clit feeling like it was throbbing with need.

I knew myself too.

There was no way the desire wasn’t written all over my face. There wasn’t even a chance that he wouldn’t see it, wouldn’t know exactly what I was feeling right then.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I called, hearing the sleepy edge to my tone that always came with desire. “If you’d like to, you can experiment with non-sexual touch. You can let your partner’s hair down, run your fingers through it. You can trace your partner’s face, neck, and shoulders. But no breast or sacral stimulation, and keep working on your breath, trying to keep in time with your partner. Being connected with your partner is the whole point of this exercise. Which means your movements and breathing being in tune is the most important part.”

I took a steadying breath before turning my focus back to Rowe, finding his gaze was already fixed on me.

Then his arms were raising, reaching out behind my head, grabbing the clip I’d slipped into my hair, opening it, and working it free.

He let it fall to the couch, freeing his hands to sift into my hair, spreading it out over my shoulders. His gaze followed the motion for a long moment before it found mine again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be breathing?” he asked in a whisper-soft voice that made my stomach swirl.

Breathing.

Right.

Yes.

Inhaling, my hips moved forward out of habit even as Rowe’s fingers found my scalp, the tips moving in small circles that had my head falling back and my breathing—and therefore hips—getting faster.

My hands lifted, settling one on his upper arm, and the other on the side of his neck that wasn’t injured, my thumb moving up and down over the pulse point there, feeling my own heart speed up even faster to match his.

I’d never once regretted learning tantra, figuring out that you could literally bring yourself to a climax with breathing and hip movements alone.

But right then, as I felt the orgasm building low in my core while the man who had rejected me pretty damn brutally watching me with intense eyes.

I couldn’t come.

I just… I couldn’t.

Only, I’d never quite mastered denying myself that. To be honest, I’d never tried very hard to learn that particular skill. Why the hell would I want to deny myself that?

So as I felt my sex tightening to that point of no return, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

My fingers curled into his neck and shoulder and my ass dropped down onto his legs as the orgasm slammed through my system. I just barely managed to silence myself, letting out this strange gasping noise, lips parted, as the waves crashed through my system.

I saw the recognition in Rowe’s eyes.

But it was too late to try to hide it.

The waves just kept pulling me under.

Rowe’s hand tightened around the back of my neck, crushing into my skull as he watched me.

Then, just like that, the waves stopped crashing.

And I was left absolutely freaking horrified.

I’d gotten to an orgasm with the man who thought I was sad and pathetic.

Damnit.

Goddamnit.

I shot backward off his lap like he’d scalded me. And, in a way, he had. In many ways, he had.

But I would deal with that later.

I grabbed for my clip absentmindedly, wrapping up my hair more tightly than necessary as if I could remove the sense memory of his gentle fingertips on my scalp by pulling my hair so tight that pain shot across the skin instead.

“Remember you can always praise your partner,” I said, voice a little choked as I moved around the class. “Tell them how beautiful and handsome they are, how much you love them, how much they turn you on. While our main focus in this class is energy connection, never underestimate the power of a little praise when it comes to connection.”

I kept a damn near running monologue for the entire rest of the class, pretending that moving through the rows of students required my utmost attention.

And never, not once, letting my gaze move toward Rowe.

I needed to stay the hell away from him.

With that in mind, I made sure everyone was distracted, and found my phone, shooting off a quick text, before getting back to the class.

Twenty minutes later, it was over, and I joined the students outside, talking, answering questions.

Avoiding Rowe.

I was getting desperate before I finally saw the truck pulling into the lot.

Thank God.

“Billie…” Rowe’s voice said at my back, coming out of the learning center.

I didn’t go back in to rearrange the floor mats or even grab my iPod.

I just turned and all but ran away as Malcolm got out of his car and made his way toward Rowe.

“Billie…” Rowe tried again, but it was too late. I was jumping in my van.

And then I was getting the hell out of there.

I needed to go home.

I needed to concoct some sort of plan to stay the hell away from Rowe from that point on.

Even if my body was still humming with pleasure from connecting with him, having an orgasm with him.

All the more reason, actually, for the plan, for the distance.

I couldn’t let myself have feelings for him again.

I couldn’t hear him reject me again.

But as I got back to my apartment, a little voice whispered that it was already too late.

I was having feelings.

Hell, if I was being honest with myself, I never stopped having feelings for him.