Midnight 01 - Luisa's Desire

struggling against its own pounding weight. He longed to press her more closely, longed to slip his ache inside her hidden warmth. Even through their clothes he could feel her softness.
     
    But this was not where his mind was supposed to go. He forced it back to the demonstration. "Do you see?" he said. "Do you feel the current flow?"
     
    She shuddered as if she, too, had to pull herself from the brink.
     
    "I see," she said, "but I don't see how."
     
    He tried to explain, in word and deed, but could not make her comprehend. Control she had in overflowing measure. She could regulate her breathing and her pulse as well as the most masterful yogin. What she could not do was change her state of mind. Nor could he feed energy into her himself. When he tried, it flowed around her aura like a stream of water around an egg. She seemed, as far as he could tell, utterly impermeable.
     
    "I'm sorry," she said. "I simply do not understand."
     
    He drew breath to try again, then let his hold fall away. Luisa stepped back as he did. They stared at each other. At once, he missed her body's warmth. As if she felt the same, she hugged her upper arms. Her breasts swelled into the neckline of her shift, beautiful in a different way now that his trance had begun to fade. His too-worldly organ pounded in complaint.
     
    "I am sorry," he said. "Perhaps my concentration was not complete."
     
    Her laugh was low and sweet. "If your concentration had been complete, I would have been insulted."
     
    He could not resist smiling back, at least for a moment. "I will consult my guide. He may have another idea."
     
    "We could try this again."
     
    Her eyes sparkled with teasing like a glacier in the sun. He knew better than to meet their temptation long. Touching her, and having her touch him—for however laudable a purpose—had strengthened her carnal tug. He knew how it felt to hold her, and he wanted that feeling again.
     
    "I should escort you to your room," he said. "Dawn is near. I know you will want to sleep."
     
    "Yes." Her gaze dropped to the floor.
     
    "Is something wrong?"
     
    She looked up, her smile wry but gentle. "No. I was debating whether to invite you to join me. I have heard that some of your monks…" Her voice trailed off at the stiffening of his shoulders. "But not you, I take it. Please forgive me for being forward."
     
    "It is nothing," he said, wanting to sound casual but knowing he did not. "The vow I wish to take would preclude me from experiencing sexual pleasures."
     
    "And in return you would gain what?" Her gaze was curious. His fell to the carmine fullness of her mouth, then slid away.
     
    "A deeper spirituality. A chance to reach nirvana." He caught the question in her eyes. "Nirvana means enlightenment, a knowledge of oneness with the universe, a freedom from the cycle of rebirth."
     
    "Like our concept of heaven?"
     
    "Something like," he said, though from what he knew of Christianity the differences were great. No harps played in a Buddhist's heaven. No one lazed about or sang in heavenly choirs. And no sinner went to hell. Hell was here. Hell was earth. If one learned one's lessons well, one could advance to a higher plane and continue one's progress there.
     
    To his surprise, a very human grin flashed across her face. "You don't want to tell me what you are thinking," she said. "You're afraid you will offend me." With a spontaneity that made his throat tighten, she squeezed his upper arm. "You must not worry. I may not be pious but my faith is firm. A matter of faith, I suppose you'd say, since—despite some people's claim that I am a creature of the devil—I have never met him, no more than I've met God. My beliefs require no proof, nor do I fear to hear others speak of theirs, even at the risk they will change my mind."
     
    Martin blinked at her. His teacher would have approved of her attitude. "In that case, I shall tell you what you wish."
     
    "Good," she said, and strode jauntily toward her folded clothes.
     
    Watching her bottom jiggle was a pleasure he could not bring himself to forgo.
     
    ***
    MARTIN and his guide stood shoulder to shoulder on the lamasery roof, gazing out toward the soft green haze of the nearest valley. Soon spring would bring herds of gowa to graze on the growing grass; herds of pilgrims, too, though not so many as trekked to the holier shrine at Kangrinpoche. He found himself glad they were not here yet. They would have been a distraction from