Page 22 of Huge Pucking Play

Tree pose. I wobble slightly, struggling to balance. My gaze drifts to Cyn again. She's perfectly poised, one leg gracefully bent against her inner thigh. Her arms stretch overhead, elongating her torso. I can't help but admire the elegant line of her neck, remembering how it tasted when I kissed it in Vegas.

Half moon. We turn to the side, extending one leg back. Cyn's leg lifts high, her muscles flexing. My mind wanders to how those legs felt wrapped around me, strong and insistent. I lose my balance, stumbling slightly.

Cobra. We lie on our stomachs, pushing up with our arms. Cyn's back arches beautifully, her chest lifting off the mat. I flash back to her writhing beneath me, her back bowing in pleasure. Sweat beads on my forehead, and it's not just from the exertion.

The instructor calls for wheel pose. I watch, mesmerized, as Cyn presses up into a full backbend. Her body forms a perfect arc, breasts thrust toward the ceiling, hips tilted upward. It's all I can do not to groan out loud as I remember gripping those hips, pulling her against me.

We move into pigeon pose. Cyn folds forward over her bent leg, her forehead touching the mat. Her shirt rides up slightly, exposing a strip of tanned skin at her lower back.

This is quite possibly the longest hour of my life.

Chapter 8

Cyn

Sweat trickles down my temples, not entirely from the effort of holding warrior pose. The heat in my cheeks isn't just exertion—it's Garrett. Three mats over. His presence a gravity I can't escape. His muscular body moves in ways I can’t unsee.

I try to focus on my own practice, but memories flood back—Vegas, our night together. A shiver races through me despite the warmth of the studio.

"Steady your breathing," instructs the yoga teacher, voice serene. My breath hitches, I can’t help it.

I glance over in his direction. Garrett transitions into a forward fold, and for a moment, our eyes meet. I quickly look away, heart pounding.

My mind drifts back to Vegas again. The way his strong hands roamed my body, igniting sparks with every touch. His lips, soft yet demanding, exploring every inch of me. The heat of his skin against mine, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memories. But they persist, vivid and intoxicating.

The low rumble of his voice as he whispered my name. The flex of his muscles as he lifted me effortlessly. The intensity in his eyes, dark with desire.

My breath quickens. I struggle to maintain my pose.

"Release and flow into downward dog," the instructor says.

As I move, I catch another glimpse of Garrett. A bead of sweat trails down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. I imagine tracing its path with my tongue.

I ache to feel his touch again, to lose myself in his embrace. To experience that earth-shattering pleasure one more time.

But I can't. I shouldn't. It was a one-time thing.

Wasn't it?

Finally, class is over. "Namaste," the class murmurs in unison, signaling the end of the session. I linger, wiping my mat slowly. I’m stalling, nerves tangling in my stomach.

"Approach him," I mentally coach myself. "Just say something—anything."

My heart thumps louder than my footsteps as I walk toward him. Garrett is rolling his mat, looking every bit the confident silver fox coach.

"Hey," I start, voice steadier than I feel.

"Hey yourself," Garrett replies, his gaze lifting to meet mine. There's a spark there, recognition of the Vegas wildness they'd left behind.

My stomach flips. “How are you?”

That’s the best you can come up with , Cyn? Seriously…

A tentative smile crosses his face. “I’m good. Surprised to see you. Work and now here. Are you following me?”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yes, followed you here all the way from Vegas.”

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