Page 81 of Fragile

“So how are you planning on torturing my body today?” he asks, that hint of playfulness sneaking into his voice again.

“I’d never torture you…” I smirk when he narrows his eyes. “But I do have an idea.”

“I’m all yours,” he says, echoing what he said last night, and my body responds by catching fire and feelings. All those big damn feelings rise right to the apples of my cheeks, showing him how he affects me before I get the chance to say a thing.

Watching him settle his body backward to lean on his hands, his biceps bulging from the movement. My mouth waters as I rake down the rest of his lean, toned body that I know is under his clothes. And then I quickly look away because I shouldn’t be ogling him when he needs a distraction.

I focus on the yoga pose I’d saved for us to try next week. It looks easy, but then I’ve seen couples try yoga poses online before and how easily it can fail. Or be the most hilarious thing you’ll see on the internet.

Tilting my head, I double check the pose. “Okay, so basically you need to do a reverse plank.”

He frowns at me. “Coach only makes us plank when we’re in trouble.”

“Then consider this part of your strength training.”

He huffs but complies.

Once he’s in the right position, hips facing the ceiling, not a shaky muscle in sight, I shimmy down to the ground to sit in between his open legs. Right, this is a great idea, Quinn, take the guy you’re desperately in love with and contort your bodies into various positions for fun. Why am I the way I am?

“I think you might need to get closer. Those little legs won’t reach my shoulders.”

“Little but mighty, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, I know. I watch them enough.”

As if he just turned up my personal thermostat again, I get hotter. I swear my palms are too sweaty to do this now, and I have regret, so much regret. But I can’t back out, not with himcracking jokes and being all flirty. This is what I wanted, him out of his head. “You’re distracting me.”

“Likewise,” he says, tilting his head to the side with a swipe of his tongue over his lips. Dear god, I am sweating.

Ignoring my raging hormones and their ability to control my libido, I move closer to him, planting my hands on the outsides of his legs, and without much finesse, sit on his lap for a second while his hips float, effortlessly still, in the air. “Sorry,” I mutter, trying not to wiggle, knowing how close I am to his dick.

“Don’t be.”

I walk my feet up his body, keeping my hands on the floor until I’m stretched out over him. My ankles barely make it to his pecs, and when he looks down, he chuckles, and that is the only movement his muscles make the whole time. Damn these football players.

Once we both settle in our reverse planks on top of one another, I’m very aware of how small my arms are compared to the height he has off the ground, it makes everything closer. My butt to his crotch, if we’re being specific. The diagram showed two people of similar height, and I didn’t take into account that Miles has a lot of inches on me.

“Now what do we do?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement that pulses through my body. I can feel every subtle movement of his chest as he breathes, his legs shifting slightly beneath mine.

“We…breathe. Relax,” I manage to reply, though the last thing I’m feeling is relaxed. My mind is racing, trying to keep the rising heat in my body at bay.Don’t think about sex right now. I mentally repeat the mantra, but it’s getting harder with every passing second. The closeness, the heat radiating from him, the way his hips rise slightly with each inhale—it’s all too much, too intense.

“So, to be clear,” he says, his tone dripping with playful mischief, “I shouldn’t do this?”

Before I can even process his words, he moves. His hips tilt up, and with a smooth, controlled thrust, he disarms me completely. My balance is gone in an instant, and I gasp as his strong arms wrap around my body, pulling me upright. In one fluid motion, I’m sitting in his lap, his chest flush with mine, his breath warm against my neck.

It takes me a second to find my bearings again before I look down into his eyes. “That’s one way to get a girl’s attention,” I say, breathing heavily against him.

He chuckles, and the sound rumbles through his chest. “Didn’t expect that to actually work. We could’ve both ended up on the floor.”

My hands naturally move to his shoulders and interlace behind his neck. “Risky move, considering you’ve got to catch a ball this weekend,” I remind him, trying to keep my thoughts on track.

He runs his nose along the side of mine in a gesture that sets all those lustful thoughts free again like butterflies taking flight. “Hmm,” he hums low, tempting and devious.

His hands wander along my back, rubbing small circles as he drifts over my bare skin across my middle and up until his fingertips graze the edge of my crop top, letting me almost feel his touch but not quite.

My breath catches in my throat, skin tingling under the ghost of his fingers. Pausing, his hand rests lightly just below the fabric, and I can feel the warmth of his palm radiating through the thin material. My body arches, instinctively seeking more of his touch, but he keeps his movements deliberate, slow, as if he has all the time in the world.

His other hand trails down my side, tracing the curve of my waist with the same agonizingly gentle pressure. The contrastbetween his firm grip and the soft brush of his fingertips is intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “Do you want me to stop?”

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