Searching for Always - Jennifer Probst Page 0,58

Her many years of practice and study under his tutelage came roaring back. Once, he’d made her feel as if she was the most important thing in his world. Now he only reminded her of how little she meant to him in the bigger picture.

Arilyn checked the lock on the door inside her heart.

Still tight.

“Arilyn.” His voice lilted, carried, stroked, like poetry whispered in a lover’s ear. “I wanted to come sooner, but I realize how angry you must be. I thought a bit of time would be better for us to talk.”

He’d come before, of course. Twice. The first time he cheated, he fell to his knees and cried. Begged her forgiveness. Spoke of man’s weakness and his mockery of monogamy. Said if she demanded it, she was worth the sacrifice of giving up other women. She forgave him and took him back.

The second time was more delicate. He waited two full days after the righteous, horrid anger passed and she fell into grief mode. He admitted his fault and spoke for hours about how scared he was of being close with her. How she filled him up in ways his meditation and spiritual practices never could. He wanted a chance to show her they could be more together, because he was no longer afraid. Long into the night, they discussed their dreams and ambitions. She laid down the law. No more cheating. She wanted to move forward into the light with a real relationship. She wanted him to tell the students.

He promised it all, and slowly Arilyn believed they’d make it.

Now she looked at the man she’d given five years to and wondered why. Why him? What did he truly give her other than the mirage of communication and connectedness? Even their lovemaking was a lesson in spirituality. He made her study tantric sex in all its forms but never seemed to give himself completely over to her on an emotional level. It was more like the practice itself turned him on rather than her. The idea of giving himself over was better than the actual process.

Arilyn wondered if he’d been lying to himself, too. He seemed more satisfied banging his student without any higher emotional connection than he ever did with her.

“There’s nothing more to discuss,” she said evenly. “We’ve done this scene before. Twice. We both need to move on.”

Confusion flicked over his features. “You’re the one I love. I know I’ve hurt you, but I think we need to discuss our relationship. Close the cycle.”

Ah, yes. Cycles. Jacob was big into honoring the beginning and ending of any type of relationship. Once, she’d thought it was beautiful. Now she had sunk to such a level, she only wanted to bash him in the face.

The hurt and humiliation simmered. Her heart, though, remained beating and whole. “With all the hours we talked and dissected our relationship, I think we’ve done enough. You need to go. Back to your studio, and your spiritual path, and your many, many female students.”

“Please.” His voice reached out and begged. “Tracey and I had been spending late nights discussing her path. She’d graduated to the intermediate student pool and felt pressured. She came to me, needful, and I was weak, Arilyn. It’s the fault I’m consistently struggling with. My body was weak, but I swear, you’re the one I live for. The woman I love. Please give me a chance to talk.”

Still holding the laundry basket, Arilyn wondered what would happen if she let him in. Every woman had a certain weakness, and Jacob was hers. He represented a sense of authority and knowledge that always turned her on and played on her mind and emotions like a conductor at the symphony. He’d been her guide on the path of yoga, opening her body and soul to the ancient practice. Textbook stuff. The symbol of the teacher-client relationship and schoolgirl crush.

And he always came back to her.

Arilyn knew that, in his own way, he did love her. But it wasn’t the way she could live with anymore, and it wasn’t the type of love she wanted. She ached for so much more.

If she let him in to talk, she might forgive him. Be happy for a while. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. When they worked together well, she equated it to being high on drugs twenty-four/seven. He made her feel like the most important woman in the world, the keeper of his heart and happiness, and she drowned herself in

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