I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) (13 page)

By Sabrina Lacey

Contents

1 The Next Morning

2 At Bryant Park

3 An Hour Later

4 Lunchtime

5 Last Show of The Day

6 Seven Minutes Later

7 Epilogue

Present Day

The
Next Morning

Even
though it’s Saturday, I have to work. I’m riding the
why-is-this-so-ridiculously-crowded subway up to the zoo formerly known as
Bryant Park. I want to be in bed, but I am The Bitch’s bitch during the
organized chaos that is New York Fashion Week. Kill me now.

This is
my fourth year at the magazine and that means it’s my eighth Fashion Week
season, which means I’ve had more than enough time to get it through my thick
skull that I must take good care of myself, to survive the intensity and the
pressure. The first two years, I did not know this. I plodded through on a diet
of Red Bull, potato chips and parties, and was punished. Since then, I have
hammered it into my stubborn brain with duct tape, barbed wire, silly putty and
super glue, that if I don’t get sleep,
and
lots of it,
during Fashion Week… I will die. That’s the deal. Get sleep, or
keel over in front of all those beautiful people – preferably on a stage
where they will worship my collapse as the next best thing.

Last
night I was home by ten…on a Friday! I left Amber and Nicole at Tipplers, when
I didn’t want to go – when we were still having a great time – so
that I could be home for a beautiful night’s rest.

After all
this wonderful self-knowledge and discipline, did I sleep well?

No.

How could I?
After the shocking Mark/James, email/text, duel date-offer
conundrum, I couldn’t get my mind to shut the hell up! I tossed. I turned. I
must have peed fifty-seven times (the extra glasses of water and wine didn’t
help). I tried everything. I mean everything! I tried to read myself to sleep.
No. I tried to watch Law & Order reruns. I’ve seen them all, so they’re now
my late night lullaby. Still no. I tried meditating, but I don’t know how… so
that was a bust, too.

Then I
pulled out the big guns…the Magic Wand. Only problem was that I didn’t know who
to fantasize about!! Every time I tried to focus, David’s dumb face popped up.
“See, Jess? Two guys, huh? I told you we’re not supposed to be monogamous,”
he’d say, which is such CRAP! Imaginary David and his crap-philosophy blocked
my orgasm.

Finally
out of tear-filled frustration I cradled my Magic Wand like a teddy bear. It’s
not as gross as it sounds. I always use my vibrator through my panties, which I
clean with lavender laundry soap. Apparently that’s a jackpot combo, lavender
and sexual frustration, because I passed out a little after 4:30 a.m.

But I had
the freakiest dream
.

In it, I
was at the office - only there were a lot more employees, a lot more desks, and
no cubicles. Everyone sat quietly working at their computers, faces
expressionless, as they typed loudly away like when the world used typewriters.
James took my hand, and moving slowly and heavily, as though we were in water,
he walked me to the only empty desk, centered in the loft-style room. He lifted
me up and onto the desk, shutting down objections with a kiss. His kiss stole
my voice! When I tried to speak, only sounds came. I went quiet.

He stood
in front of me in between my legs as he pushed my knees outward and open. I
anxiously waited. What was he going to do? Looking as hot and sexy as ever, he
slid both his hands up my thighs and under my dress, in front of everyone. I
pushed my dress back down only to have him pull it up again.

“Show
yourself. Lie back,” he ordered. “Put your feet up and spread your legs wide.”
I did. “Touch yourself.” Nervously I searched the faces around us. Oblivious,
they stared ahead; their tap tap taps collecting into a sort of exotic drumbeat
soundtrack. I saw Amy among them. She didn’t look our way. She just stared
ahead like the rest, and typed… and typed…and typed. “Touch yourself for me,
Jess,” James repeated, his hands holding onto my ankles to give me moral
support.

Very
slowly, my hand slid down between my legs and I touched myself through my
panties just once before I drew my hand away, embarrassed. I looked to him,
begging him silently to not ask this of me. Disappointed in me, he pulled his
hands away. I missed the support, the way they felt, even though they almost
felt
wrong.
I saw the bulge in his
pants, and I didn’t want to let him down. Scared, I slid my fingers underneath
my panties and felt for the first time how marvelously wet I was. Was I
enjoying being on show like this? The danger of it? I tried not to look at the
faces around the room, but I looked. Amy and I locked eyes. I gasped. She still
typed with the others, but now her head was turned toward me. The look in her
eyes took me by surprise. It was eager. She wanted to watch. She wanted me to
be free. She wanted to know what that felt like vicariously, though me and my
shameless act. The room began to shrink. The desks closed in on us.

I wrapped
all of my fingers around my pussy and cradled myself, laid my head back on the
desk, my knees up and out. Underneath the lace I slid my hand into the folds of
my tender skin, sought out my pulsing clit and stroked myself with the tip of a
finger. I matched the rhythmic beat of the computer keys tapping around me.
They typed faster, feeling what I felt, breathing as I breathed, as I caressed
the slippery smooth skin tucked inside my small mound of pubic hair.

More
people reacted like Amy had. As they typed, they turned their heads one by one,
to watch. They were waking up. I could see it in their eyes. I slid two fingers
then, deep inside of myself, and their keyed drumbeat became louder. I locked
eyes with one after the other as I teased my own body with light flicks before
pushing my fingers inside again. Some people gasped and stood up. I closed my
eyes and abandoned myself to the orgasm building within me, as more people rose
and left their computers. I stroked and tormented myself, as they surrounded me
writhing on the desk with them watching me moan. I came like this in front of
them, as James held my ankles and repeated the word,
yes.

Spent and
elated, I released myself from my hand, resting my arms by laying them at my
sides. That’s when I felt James’ hot breath light me up again. He’d kneeled
down to slide his tongue up and down me gently, slowly. I moaned as loudly and
as long as I’ve always wanted to, and everyone watched us. I pushed myself into
the heat and skill of his mouth, hungry for more. I was his slave, wiggling
under his mouth as I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. Let them
watch. Let them see what it feels like to be free.

Then I
heard a man’s voice say, “You look so beautiful.”

My eyes
shot open. Mark stood there above us. I didn’t know what to do. There I was,
moved past civilized behavior, enjoying every single lapping kiss my new lover
gave the most precious part of me. Staring up at Mark, a man I barely knew, but
who had come into my life at a time when I really needed him, I searched his
face for judgment and found none. He looked at me like he knew the conflict I
was under. He touched my face to let me know it was okay. He bent and kissed me
while James slid his tongue inside me and made me cry out into Mark’s forgiving
mouth. I begged Mark with my kisses, to understand.

Then it
got weird.

I noticed
that Mark’s eyes were blue instead of brown. He was shorter, too. Confused, I
looked to James, buried in me, my panties long gone. He peeked up and his eyes
were brown! One was becoming the other, both soon indistinguishable.

 
“Switch places,” James said to Mark,
standing up and wiping his mouth proudly, like a man who knew he was good. As
they crossed paths, I heard James say, “Make her beg for it.”

“She’ll
beg for it alright,” Mark said, half to me, half to James. I felt like I should
say something too, but even if I could speak, I didn’t know what to say! I
didn’t know what I wanted. I looked to Amy and her expressionless face. Was I
like her? Was she like me?

“Shhh…”
James touched his fingers to my mouth to silence me. I hadn’t objected. Did he
expect me to? Was I supposed to? Tell me what to do! He ran those fingers from
my mouth, down my neck, and over my breasts where he popped open my bra and
fondled each, one at a time. Amy leaned to him and he to her. They began to
kiss, above me. Should I stop them? I had no claim on him, nor did I feel
jealous. Why didn’t I feel jealous?

Then all
robot eyes shot to Mark and I followed to see what they were looking at.
Standing in front of me, he pulled out a cock so enormous that I gasped. Oohs and
Ahhs came from the audience as he showed it to them and stroked it in front of
all of us, his head thrown back from the pleasure, and the exhibition that
doubled it.

I wanted
to yell,
I’m too tight for that thing
and
at the same time scream,
yes! Yes! Yes!
 
When I felt Mark’s gigantic rock-hard
cock plunge into and fill me, I cried out in ecstasy. When he pushed his slim
hips up, to get the extra inches deeply in, it felt so incredible I wanted to
cry. I turned my head away from our audience, terrified there was something
wrong with me, as delicious goosebumps overtook my body. Over and over he
hammered me, bringing me off the desk with his size, throwing off James’ hands
as I surrendered.

“Hold
onto this,” James said and pulled out his cock from his tight pants. I opened
my mouth to lick it, grabbing it longingly with my hands as well. I felt again
and again the pressure of being penetrated from Mark while James moaned above
me, loving my talent. The audience burst into crazy enthusiastic applause. Amy
jumped up and down and yelled, “Bravo! Bravissimo!”

I let go
of James and pointed for everyone to look, because tearing through the crowd,
three times her normal size, her perpetual ponytail standing on end like an
angered cobra, was
The Bitch
. “You
greedy whore! You greedy fucking slut-whore! You can’t have them both! They’re
mine! MINE!!!” she screeched as she grabbed both of my lovers, tossing them
half-naked into the air. They disappeared instantly, along with what little
clothing covered my body. Completely naked and vulnerable to her, I jumped off
the desk to stand in front of her. I was about to confront her for the first
time
ever
. Clumsily, I grabbed a blue
folder and a handful of pens to cover myself, albeit imperfectly. Then I
yelled, “I may be a whore, but at least I’m not an evil bitch!”

She
roared the words I’ve waited four years to hear: “YOU’RE FIRED!”

Then I
woke up.
What does it mean?

Now, way
too early on a Saturday morning, I ride the subway with less than four hours of
sleep. I’m holding onto a cup of coffee for dear life, because this yummy
little latte-goodness is my salvation. It alone is the answer. It promises to
build a beautiful bridge to sanity. As soon as I can drink it, without ripping
off a layer of my tongue. Hot hot hot.

I’m clutching
this future blessed happiness while standing in surf-mode as the train speeds
through the tunnels below Manhattan. I used to think Amber was a germaphobe
nutcase, because she never touched the poles in subway cars. They’re here for
people to hold onto, so why not grab on? But no, she’d do what I’m doing now-
ride hands-free, bending her knees slightly, swaying with the rocky movement as
though riding a ten-foot wave in the Atlantic. I would mock her, to her face.
During those rides, she’d tell me I should be more careful.
You should be less careful
, I’d say. And
then we’d laugh like we always did when we don’t agree on something, both
thinking
this is so US.

Why have
I adopted that which I used to mock? Because one day when Amber wasn’t with me,
I saw a crack-addict walk through, yelling his scary rehearsed speech to us,
the captive passengers. Slowly and methodically, he touched each and every
pole, until there were no more poles to grab. A horrified awareness dawned in
me. That awareness told me that yet again, my highly intelligent friend Amber,
was right. He had at least five pus-filled sores on his lips from pipe burn.
His clothes were soiled with both feces and urine. (He smelled less than
tasty.) Studying him in horror, I realized that since his pants had poo
and
pee on them, why would his hands be
saved? I yanked my hand from the pole I was holding, and I have never touched a
subway pole, since. I won’t tell Amber that, though.

As the
car slides up the tracks toward 42
^nd
St./Bryant Park, the hum
soothes my sleepy mind to a dreamlike state and I ask myself – how it is
possible that two fantastic men want to see me at the same time? And more
importantly, why aren’t I more excited? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem…hmm. The
weird thing is, I barely know either of them. James surprised me yesterday by
handling me and my freak out, with aplomb. I can gather from this that he’s
pretty good under pressure. Good to know. But what else do I know about him?
And what does he know about me? He hasn’t asked me any questions about myself.
I’m guilty of that offense, too. Until recently, what little I knew of him was
on par with what I know about everyone at the office… nothing. And now, I know
only slightly more than that. Our chemistry is strong, that’s obvious. You know
what it is that’s stopping me? I feel like he –

The train
is slowing down. Is this my stop? No. Two more to go. I’m so tired.