Wetness trickles from the corners of my eyes. With a shaky breath, I force myself to unclench my fists, sink into the mattress, and relax.
Sam continues to talk for a few minutes, until his voice falls away and gentle music is left behind. It’s soothing and rhythmic, like a heartbeat slowing, relaxing, resting…
A while later, I squint at the intrusion of a sudden brightness. Did I forget to turn off the ensuite light? Turning my head to avoid the glare, I realise I’m turning it in the wrong direction. Lifting my eyelids, I look over to see light streaming through the sheer curtains covering the window.
With a frown, I sit up. The absence of Sam’s voice in my ears makes me lift my hands to adjust my earbuds, but they’re gone. A quick search of the covers reveals they fell out… during the night.
My head snaps up, gaze locking on to the light at the window once more. It’s dawn.
I slept with Sam!
THREE
______
TRISTAN
The bus is almost full when I step on board, but there’s a vacant aisle seat near the back. The older woman in the adjacent seat glares as I approach, glancing from the enormous handbag in her lap to the space beside her, as if debating whether to fill the empty seat with its bulk. She can try it, but I’ll sit on the stupid thing—contents be damned. Taking the bus to work is irritating enough without spending the trip surfing the aisle.
My stint on public transport is regrettable, but it can’t be helped. I’m not naive enough to think one decent night’s sleep is enough to wipe out the massive debt I’ve accumulated. Until my insomnia is back under control, driving isn’t an option. Last night’s doze behind the wheel was my first and only warning. No one gets that lucky twice.
Unlocking my phone, I jab a finger at theSleep with Meicon. The welcome screen loads in a deceptive visage of pastels and hope. My gaze narrows and a soft growl rumbles in the back of my throat. The woman beside me shifts uncomfortably, putting more space between us.
I poke through the various sections of the app. The traditionalStart Herebutton is absent, but I manage to find a welcome page with information on the benefits of ‘being present with your thoughts’. With a scoffing sound, I skip to the list of meditations. Each is numbered sequentially, because apparently Sam Stephenson has no imagination. There’s a total lack of descriptions and no categories of any kind. Additional information is limited to the length of each audio file. Hardly user-friendly. It’s enough to make my brain itch.
TheAbout Mesection outlines Sam’s qualifications and professional affiliations. He’s completed several years of intensive training through an institute up the coast, as well as a variety of shorter courses. He also boasts a nine-year personal meditation practice.
Beneath the info, a single photo shows a slender man, sitting cross-legged on a wooden floor. Sam appears to be in his early twenties, only a couple of years younger than me. I let out a derisive snort. No way in hell has he been doing this shit for nine years. That would mean he’s been swanning about in the river of his own thoughts since his early teens. No freaking way.
Bringing the phone closer, I zoom in on his face. Thick, blond hair flops over his forehead. His softly rounded face is the very picture of serenity. Top the whole image off with an enigmatic smile and the manipulative bastard appears positively angelic.
This is the man I invited into my head last night. The man who seduced me into doing the unthinkable. I assume the sheer extent of my exhaustion is what made me susceptible to his siren song.
His voice.
His words.
Sam gave me the best sleep I’ve had in years. By all rights, I should be grateful. Instead, I’m pissed off about the way he made it happen. No way in hell will I allow him to do it again.
The bus brakes as it pulls into a stop and I refrain from scowling at Sam’s face long enough to look out the window. A half dozen people disembark, but it isn’t until the doors close and we’re pulling away I realise—damn it, that was my stop.
Muttering a curse, I press the button for the next one and get up to wait by the doors. A couple of hundred metres up the road, I step down onto the footpath, shoving my phone into my pocket. It’s time to put Sam Stephenson, and his voice, behind me.
I have plenty to keep me busy once I get to work. After a final read through of my proposal, I send it off to my father and then move on to checking the progress of my active clients. As a business consultant, I’m deep in the trenches with a half dozen companies who are struggling to make ends meet. Whether it’s cash flow problems, marketing, branding, or any of a hundred other issues. The businesses I work with are smaller than those handled by the more experienced consultants, but each is counting on me to help them get back on solid ground before they end up buried beneath their collapsing bottom lines. I’m determined not to let a single one of them down.
I manage to leave the office on time that afternoon, but still arrive home later than usual due to the lengthy bus trip. Dinner is some kind of pasta dish. Occasional chunks of chicken and the odd vegetable poke out from a puddle of creamy sauce. Grimacing, I shower the whole thing in a liberal coating of pepper before distracting myself with some crime show while I eat. Eventually, the clock ticks on and it’s time to get ready for bed.
A subtle flutter starts in my belly as I shed my clothes and step into the shower. I want to sleep again—desperately. But this time I’ll do it on my own terms. With that thought in mind, I take myself in hand and rub out a quick orgasm, hoping to take advantage of the hormonally induced relaxation that will follow.
Climbing into bed, I pull up the covers and settle in for a good night of solid rest. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep. As if drifting off will be the easiest thing in the world.
Two hours. That’s how long it takes me to give in.
Rolling towards the bedside table, I stuff in my earbuds and start Sam’s app on my phone with a few irate jabs of my finger. I choose the same meditation as last night before flinging myself back onto the mattress. At least this repeat use will reveal the app as the one-time wonder it is. That will be the end of it.
The chime sounds. I hold my breath. Then I hear it. Sam’s voice. My siren’s song.
I can’t control the way my body reacts. Lips parting. Cock pulsing to life. Thankfully, my earlier orgasm has taken the edge off. It’s enough. I focus on Sam’s instructions and the initial wave of arousal settles. By the time he gives me permission to put down my burden, I’m deep within his thrall.
