Free S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel by L. Marie Adeline Page B

tongue. When I was done, he pulled
     away and placed his warm hand over my stomach.
    “Breathe,” he whispered.
    My legs relaxed over the edge of the table. No man had ever touched me like that,
     ever.
    “Are you okay?”
    I nodded. I had no words. I tried to catch my breath.
    “You must be a little thirsty.”
    I nodded again as a bottle of water appeared. I sat up to drink. He looked me over,
     seeming quite proud of himself.
    “Shower off, beautiful,” he said.
    I peeled myself off the table.
    “Who has the power?” he asked.
    “I do,” I said, smiling over my shoulder.
    I stumbled towards the bathroom and took a hot shower, and afterwards, while towel-drying
     my hair, I had a realization. I ran out to the living room.
    “Hey, I don’t even know your name!” I said, still rubbing my wet hair dry on a towel.
    But he was gone. So was the massage table and my fantasy list that he was sent to
     fetch. The place was exactly as it had been before he arrived, except for one difference:
     resting on my side table was my first gold charm. I crossed the room to get it, and
     caught a glimpse of my face in the mantel mirror. It looked flushed, my damp hair
     snaking around my neck and shoulders. I picked up the charm and dangled it in the
     candlelight. It was embossed with the word
Surrender
on one side, a Roman numeral I on the other.
    I secured it to the chain around my wrist, feeling a boldness rise in me, making me
     giddy.
I did the strangest thing! The strangest thing was done to me!
I wanted to scream,
Something happened to me. Something is happening to me. And I will never be the same
     again
.

T hey always say that the first step is the hardest. That first surrender, the first
     time you say:
Yes, I accept that I need help. I can’t do this alone
. Scott struggled with that when he gave up drinking. He hated the idea that he had
     to accept help from anything or anyone. So he fought it, whatever it was. Yet, here
     I was in full surrender. I had stopped fighting. I had accepted help from a strange
     group of women.
    Then I walked into a room bathed in candlelight, wearing only a towel. I let that
     towel drop around my ankles, and I bared myself. I trusted this process, this man,
     this S.E.C.R.E.T. group. But everything that had happened occurred in my home, in
     my living room, and though it was my body, I gave it over only temporarily to a complete
     stranger. As I recounted this a week later to a rapt Matilda, I couldn’t help but
     feel I was talking about my experience as if it had happened to another person, someone
     I knew very well but who had aspects I was only just beginning to understand.
    I told Matilda I had felt safe, that what we did was erotic, and I was beyond compelled
     to complete the fantasy. And for a one-time thing, I had to admit I had felt wanted,
     desired, which of course makes any woman feel ecstatic.
    “So, yes. I was … transformed, I guess,” I said, burying my burning red face in my
     hands, suppressing a giggle. A few weeks ago, I had had no one to talk to, unless
     you counted Will. Now, here I was sharing intimate secrets with a woman I could no
     longer call a stranger. In fact, I had to admit she was becoming my friend.

    During the weeks that followed my first fantasy, I was as busy as I had ever been.
     I even took on a couple of night shifts so Tracina and Will could go on dates. When
     I waved goodbye to them one of those nights, I couldn’t detect an ounce of jealousy
     or bitterness in my bones. Well, maybe a droplet of jealousy, but no bitterness. No
     longing. No detectable sadness. I had made a vow to be nicer to Tracina, to try to
     see what Will saw in her. Maybe we’d become friends, too, I thought, and Will could
     make another attempt to set me up with someone—after I’d completed my Steps, of course.
     At that moment, while I was thinking about double dating, Dell caught me whistling
     in the walk-in fridge. I sometimes stood in there for a few