Jennifer Probst - The Tantric Principle

Her eyebrow lifted. “Now? Don’t you have an appetite for something else?” She looked down at his heavy engorged penis. “Or is it just me?” Grant laughed out loud at her cheekiness and pressed his thumb over her swollen lips. “I intend to satisfy both of us. After we eat.”

“Seems like a replay of last night.”

He kissed her hard and grabbed her hand. “Different meal. Different conversation.

Different intimacy.”

“Hope not too different,” she muttered under her breath. He laughed again as they locked up the studio and made their way back to the hotel.

Arianna lifted her martini glass and sipped, enjoying the sting of vodka as the liquid slid down her throat. Grant watched the intimate gesture from across the table, his mouth lifted in a half smile. She admitted to herself she loved teasing him, knowing soon they would be in the bedroom together. She’d never met a man with so much control, so much focus to give her pleasure before his own. The knowledge was like a drug, and she wanted to drink deeply and gulp the sensations like a greedy half-starved addict. The men she had been involved with had approached sex with the same basic drives she had—hard, fast and satisfying. They took turns pleasuring each other. Emotion was involved, but she had never met someone who filled both her body and mind. She always believed she was too complicated and searched for perfection. At least, that was what her mother always told her when she complained about no grandchildren.

They sat at the same table as the other night. The atmosphere was hushed and intimate, and the restaurant was empty. A lone piano singer sang a sad rendition of Piano Man by Billy Joel. The Boston city lights sprawled in glory underneath them as she gazed out the window.

“Tell me about your job,” Grant said. “When you first took my class you said you had burnout.”

She forked up a leafy green and thought about the question. “It’s a demanding career,” she said carefully. “The hours are shit, the deadlines are killer, and you have to be wonderful and creative for every account or someone else will step over and take your position.” He saw right through her words and nodded. “You love it.” Arianna grinned. “Hell, yes, I love it. I get up in the morning and I’m excited about what the day brings. I never know what to expect. The money is great, the pressure helps me thrive, and I’m lucky I found what I want to do. Most people don’t.” A shadow must have crossed her face because his gaze probed hers, looking for something more. “No, you’re right. Most people don’t.” He seemed to fight his own demons and then came back to her. “How did you start?”

“I come from a small town in Iowa. I moved to New York when—“

“Excuse me, did you say Iowa?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Iowa. You have a problem with that?” He held up both hands in defense. “I love Iowa. I just can’t picture you living in a small town. Your personality is a bit too, well, large.”

“My mother agrees.” She thought about those younger years and allowed him access. “I always felt out of place. We lived in a farming community where things were simple. The school, the jobs, the people. I was always. . . wanting.” He reached across the table and snagged her hand. His fingers massaged hers. Their gentle strength soothed her soul and she reached deeper to share part of who she was. “I wanted to move and do something great with my life, but my family was pretty shocked at my ambitions. They never understood who I was, so it ended up with my acting out in high school and gaining the reputation of being a slut.”

“Not very Iowalike, huh?”

She smiled. “No. I got through high school by using my reputation to anger them further.

And then I graduated and moved to New York.”

“How was the transition?”

“Tough.” She shrugged it off as the memories flitted past. “Young attractive girl hits the city with a will to set it on fire. Little money in her pocket. Things were not pleasant for a long time. But I got lucky. I found some girls who wanted to make it in acting and I roomed with them. I waitressed and worked the movie theater and learned retail. I made no money but I kept myself working and I experimented.”

“I bet you did.” His low, sexy tone raked across her ears.

“I dated creative artists and actors. I dabbled in theater and music, but something didn’t feel right. I finally got an office job with a steady income and benefits at a small advertising firm.

Receptionist. I worked hard and started snooping around. When I started dating one of the executives I began learning about working an advertising account. One evening, he was revising his pitch and I had an idea. I came up with a tagline—branding is pretty important, especially now. My idea got him the account, and before I knew it, we were working together. Of course, I was behind the scenes and never got credit, but I learned a lot.” Grant leaned over, seemingly intrigued by her life story. “What happened?” She took another sip of her martini. “I slipped him a mickey one night.” He choked, then grabbed his napkin. “You what?”

Arianna gave a wicked grin. “Put something in his drink so he got sick. Just a little. I showed up for work and took over his position on the pitch that day. Walked right into the conference room and did the presentation like I owned the place. They loved me.”

“You got his job?”

“Hell, no, the creep lied and threw me to the wolves, so they fired me. But after that I had the experience I needed. I lied on my resume and got another job at my current firm. First level assistant. But that’s all I needed. A foot in the door. I made my own luck.” Grant shook his head in admiration. “Heck of a story. What do your parents think?” She fought past the sadness and refused its entrance. “They were happy I was okay, but they’re not interested in the life I built here. They’re more interested in me getting married and having children. I think that will help them believe I’m normal. So far, I’ve been one long line of disappointments. They couldn’t have any other children so they were hoping I’d settle in Iowa, help dad run the farm and have a few kids.”

He squeezed her fingers and startled her out of her reverie. When she looked up, his gaze was dark and haunted, full of raw need and ghosts of his own past. She caught her breath at his own nakedness, and felt her heart pause, just a moment, then resume its beat.

“You know who you are.” His voice filled with urgency, as if warning her what he said was of utmost importance. “You have a gift not many people have, and if they do they refuse to listen. You took risks and you never compromised your soul for another human being. You, Arianna Devlin, are a hell of a woman.”

His words shook her to the core. Arianna struggled to keep her emotions from brimming over the cup which always held a tight lid. This man saw who she was. He watched her struggle in class through postures, had thrust into her body and made her come over and over, but was able to see a part of her she always hid—the shame she felt for never giving her parents what they wanted, for being who she needed to be. Deep down, she had always apologized for those emotions. Grant Madison made her feel powerful. She wondered if she would ever think of herself as that poor, ashamed girl again.

Her fingers trembled over the stem of her glass as she carefully set it down. She used her napkin to pat her lips, then pushed her chair politely away from the table.

“Come upstairs,” she said. “Now.”

Grant didn’t hesitate. He threw a wad of cash on the linen tablecloth and followed her out.

The door closed behind him.

Grant turned. They stared at each other from across the cheap carpet in the hotel bedroom. The lighting cast a half glow over the queen sized bed, muting the furniture and the walls and everything else that existed. The heat between them rose. Simmered. Pulled.

“Take off your clothes.” His demand was rough, controlling. She shivered. His grace and gentleness all day in the studio vanished, leaving a hungry sexual male predator who wanted all aspects of power. She recognized her physical soul mate, recognized the sheer need within her core to be the one in charge, to be the one who held the command and made her mate bend beneath her and melt to her sexual will.

Tonight, she was a creature of surrender.

Arianna felt on the edge of an ancient discovery and fought the fall. “I want to see you. I want. . . . “

He took a step forward. His voice whiplashed across the room. “I won’t ask you again.

Take off your clothes, Arianna.”

The woman a few days ago would have laughed and walked across the room, confident in her nature of dominance. That woman would pull off Grant’s shirt, massage his erection, and make sure her rules were followed.

Arianna hesitated. He watched her with a fierce command. Waited for her surrender.

She reached up and unbuttoned her green satin blouse. Unhooked her pants and let them slide down her legs. Her fingers trembled as she pulled down her red lace panties but his nod of encouragement kept her going. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, so her breasts felt heavy and ripe immediately under the heat of his gaze. She stood before him, naked, and waited.

A pleased smile curved his lips and he seemed to relax. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. His hands lifted to unhook her hair from the clip, and combed his fingers through the silky, straight strands. Murmuring low endearments as if to soothe a frisky mare, his hands began a slow exploration of her body. Using the lightest touch, he teased each nipple to a tight red bud. Stroked the flat lines of her stomach, her hips, and up and down the length of her spine.