Pearls of Pleasure

PEARLS OF PLEASURE

Chantilly White

A SnapDragon Press Novel

Published at Smashwords

PEARLS OF PLEASURE

Chantilly White

SnapDragon Press Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Chantilly White

Cover Design Copyright © 2012 Chantilly White

Cover Image Copyright © Igor Mojzes, via fotolia. Used with licensed permission.

Digital Edition 1.0

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be re-sold or re-licensed, nor reproduced, distributed or transmitted, in any form now known or hereafter invented, nor stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. Please don't pirate. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, other than for review purposes, please contact the author at Chantilly@ChantillyWhite.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

PEARLS OF PLEASURE

Chantilly White

Fireman David Coffey and his childhood sweetheart, Gwen, had the perfect marriage--until a deadly blaze almost cost them everything they cherished and left their small town in mourning.

Three years later, David is recovered from his injuries and back at work, trying to move on. But Gwen is falling apart. Debilitating panic attacks strike whenever they make love, driving her away from David and threatening the heart of their relationship.

Gwen's escalating fears land her on the therapist's couch at David's insistence, but as they struggle toward a solution, one question burns in their minds--will the doctor's sensual treatment plan save their once fiery passion, or will the flames of Gwen's fear devour their sex life and incinerate the bonds of their marriage?

A short novel, Pearls of Pleasure is 45,000 words, or about 145 pages, plus an excerpt of Pearls of Passion.

DEDICATION

This love story is dedicated with gratitude to the First Responders ~ Firefighters, Law Enforcement, Emergency Medical Personnel, Military and Civilian Support Teams ~ and the families, friends and loved ones who worry about and support them. You are an inspiration, a light in the darkness, a protector, a helping hand, a shoulder, a friend. Thank you.

And to my husband ~ my every hero, every single day, in every way. I love you.

Ah, my beloved, fill the cup that clears

Today of past regrets and future fears;

Tomorrow? Why, tomorrow I may be,

Myself, with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.

~Omar Khayyam

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Other Works

Excerpt: Pearls of Passion

Acknowledgements

About the Author

PEARLS OF PLEASURE

Chantilly White

PROLOGUE

Big Bear Lake, California ~ September, 2009

Gwen Coffey hugged her secret to herself like a warm, fluffy blanket. One covered in bouncing baby bunnies and sweet little kittens with drippy milk mustaches. She didn't have a fluffy, oh-so-cute blanket, though, so she hugged the sofa pillow instead, and grinned like a fool.

Tomorrow. She would tell David tomorrow, and watch his sapphire eyes light up like Christmas, New Year's and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. He'd be off-shift for a few days, and they could celebrate in style.

She'd make a special dinner—prime rib, that was his favorite—and wear something lacy and see-through and absolutely useless for anything but ripping off. And later. . .

Her belly quivered, just thinking of the hours they'd spend in their bed, enjoying a more intimate celebration. The way he would run his hands over her skin.

The pleasure they'd share.

A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted her musings, and that made her smile, too. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much, smiling nonstop for the past two days, but it was impossible to quit. It was a wonder David hadn't clued in already. Even the dragging fatigue couldn't dim her joy.

Snuggling further into the sofa pillows, she spun fantasies full of fun while the sunlight lazed across the floor in a slow-moving arc—family gatherings, shopping excursions, trips to the zoo.

That was for later, though. For now, they had so much to do, so many changes to make. So many people to tell. They could take her famous banana muffins to the firehouse and announce it to everyone. David would strut like a peacock, she had no doubt. She laughed to herself, picturing the scene.

Maybe Julie and Scott and Tony and his new girlfriend could come over for dinner next week, too, and she could start pumping Julie for tips.

She yawned again. She'd have to make some lists. Plan a few menus. . .

Drifting to sleep with a smile still curving her lips, Gwen slid warmly into dreams. Strong arms came around her and held her tight. Safe and secure in the place she most wanted to be, always, nestled in her husband's embrace. Their dream-fingers entwined lazily, and their voices, though indistinct, rumbled in comfortable murmurs. David's deeper tones blended with her lighter ones, forming their own special, familiar music. She floated through the dream, cocooned in a cloud of soft contentment.

The sirens woke her. She came out of the dream slowly, disoriented by the late nap, and sat up on the couch, pushing the heavy length of her hair out of her face. She felt fuzzy and gummy and a little nauseous.

Padding to the kitchen for a glass of water, she stood at the sink, sipping slowly to rinse the cottony coating out of her mouth. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she swayed, grabbing the edge of the counter to right herself.

Whoa, she said. That's new.

Belly rolling uneasily, she made her way out to the deck for some fresh air. The lake was still as glass in the late-afternoon light, the only ripples flowing from a family of ducks passing by the end of their dock.

Slow, deep breaths seemed to help her equilibrium. She stretched lightly, side to side, changing hands with the water glass as she moved.

Sirens sounded again, drawing her eyes to the left and over the tops of the trees toward town.

Oh, no.

Black smoke boiled into the sky in thick, curling clouds. Black and oily and heavy, smoke only a building fire could produce. It was hell smoke, shot through with deep red flames.

And David—David was working.

The back of her neck prickled and goose bumps shot across her skin, making her shiver. Sending a quick prayer heavenward for David and his fellow firefighters, she hoped they'd contain the blaze quickly, before any people or any more buildings were jeopardized.

She couldn't smell it yet, or taste the acid of it on her tongue. The breeze blew the spiraling smoke away from her for now, but it wouldn't be long before the searing brimstone of it overwhelmed the wind and swept over the lake.

Gwen tamped down the usual urge to go investigate, to hover, just as she tamped it down every time her husband worked a blaze. She'd do more good at home, preparing for his return and staying out of their way at the scene.

Later—later, she and Julie would take food to the station.

David would be tired when he got home. He'd be hungry. He'd. . . he'd—a brutal pain stabbed into her chest, making her gasp, and the dizziness swooped over her once more.

Damn it.

Shaking it off, a hand to her chest, she struggled to draw a deep breath. The pain faded slowly. She rubbed the ache over her heart and strove to regain her train of thought.

Food. She'd been thinking about food.

Her belly rolled again. Maybe something more bland than the spaghetti with meat sauce she'd originally intended.

Mentally adjusting their dinner plans, Gwen had half-turned to go back into the house when the explosion sounded. The boom of it shook the ground, the house, rattled the windows. It startled the birds from the trees and sent the ducks flapping across the lake.

The churning cloud of deep black smoke tripled in size in an instant and violent, multi-hued flames spewed into the sky like lava.

But it was the second, sharper pain arrowing into her heart that had the water glass slipping from her fingers to shatter at her feet.

And she knew.

And she began to run.

And she began to scream.

CHAPTER ONE

Big Bear Lake, California ~ June, 2012

When was the last time you achieved orgasm?

Mortification, sharp and bright, geysered through her belly in a painful rush. Jesus, nothing like getting right down to business. Why, why, why did I come here? Red-hot color followed the surge, waving up from the tips of her pink-painted toes to the tops of her ears. Great, and now I'm blotchy.

Mrs. Coffey?

Goddamn David for making me do this.

Can't you call me Gwen, for heaven's sake? Her eyes looked everywhere but at the man facing her across his large, ruthlessly organized oak desk.

Of course. If you prefer.

What the hell? Even her hands were red. She tucked them under her folded arms. Redheads should never blush.

It's awkward talking about my sex life with someone who calls me missus.

And she was used to a softer, more touchy-feely approach. Not that she'd liked that style much, either. She'd found it grating and phoney, but still. He was a bit. . . abrupt.

Well, then. Gwen. Dr. Ernest Sloan leaned back in his black-leather desk chair, his ham-sized hands steepled beneath his double chin. Your last orgasm?

I didn't mark the date on my calendar.

Ballpark.

Silence.

Gwen.

It's been a while, okay? God, I hate this.

What?

This! Being here, talking to you. Feeling this way.

What way?

Defective.

You feel defective because you can no longer orgasm?

Are you going to repeat everything I say?

The leather chair squeaked in protest as Dr. Sloan swiveled it to and fro. His bushy brown brows lowered over a slightly bulbous nose while he considered her over the tops of his fingertips. Like she was a mildly interesting display specimen.

Are you still painting? he asked.

What the hell does that have to do with anything?

School's out for the summer, but I have a few private students. She'd postponed those students indefinitely, but he didn't need to know that.

Is that all?

What else?

Painting for yourself.

Gwen jerked a shoulder.

When she didn't speak, he said, Running?

She waggled her fingers. Some.

Eating healthfully?

I guess.

At least she did when David was home, since he enjoyed cooking and surprising her with his latest creations. When he was on-shift, she gravitated toward bowls of cereal eaten while standing at the kitchen counter.

Let me ask you this, the doctor said, leaning forward now, his dark, iron-grey eyes piercing. Why are you here?

Gwen imagined those eyes wisping into her mind like smoke, searching out her every secret. She looked away. What do you mean?

Why are you sitting on that couch, glaring at my ficus and avoiding my questions, if you don't want to be here?

God. Someone could have warned her this guy was such a no-nonsense hard ass. If she'd asked anyone.

David insisted.

The summer sun beaming through the blinds covering his windows increased her already-raised body temperature. Nervous sweat tickled a weaving line down her back. What she wouldn't give to run outside and throw herself head-first into the lake for a cooling swim.

Did he hold a gun to your head?

The weapon of an ultimatum, maybe. He wouldn't really have dragged her in by the hair, but. . .

It was easier to make the damn appointment than to keep arguing with him about it, Gwen answered, more honestly than she'd intended.

You could have lied. You could have told him you made the appointment, then went out and gotten your nails done.

No.

Why not?

He'd know. He always knows. Besides, I don't lie to my husband.

How refreshing.

Is that sarcasm?

I beg your pardon, Dr. Sloan answered, for the first time appearing a touch abashed by his brusqueness. I simply meant your honesty speaks of a solid relationship.

Mm-hmm.

You're very suspicious.

I don't like shrinks. No offense.

None taken, he said, adopting an overly-soothing tone that had her grinding her teeth.

It seemed she preferred the hard ass to the shrink-tone after all.

But I'm curious, the doctor continued. Why come to me? To a shrink like me, I mean. I'm not a sexual therapist. There are specialists available.

Sex isn't my problem. Exactly.

All right. What is your problem?

I just mean it's not physical. I've had all the tests.

And hadn't that been a carnival? Gwen shuddered. She didn't want to think of all the people who'd poked and prodded her every orifice over the past six months, not to mention the blood tests.

David had insisted on those, too. Had cursed and coerced in his frustrated mix of English and Irish until she'd agreed. Wanting to make sure she was healthy, no physical abnormalities to account for her sudden freeze-up.

Always the caregiver.

Still, that was nothing, nothing compared to what David had gone through. Was still going through. She turned her mind away from those memories.

So it has to be up here, she added, tapping her temple.

At least that's what David kept saying. But he and the good doctor didn't know the truth. Being unable to orgasm was not a problem for her.

Not in the least.

Be that as it may, Dr. Sloan said, rocking his chair, sexual therapists deal with the mental and emotional aspects of a healthy sex life, as well as the physical. But you chose me.

Yes, and I'm starting to regret it.

She crossed and re-crossed her legs on the nubby green couch, scanning the various degrees hanging on the wall behind his chair.