Page 36 of Anchored

“Standing or sitting?” he asks.

I don’t have an answer because looking down to see this specimen of a man between my legs is stealing every brain cell I have.

“Sitting it is.” He reaches up and pushes my hips back down to the couch, abruptly pulling me to the edge of the couch cushion. He flops my legs over his shoulders, looking down at me like Mookie looks at a treat. He dips his head, uses one hand to spread me apart, and dives in with his tongue and teeth and lips. The edges of his glasses gouge into my thighs.

I cry out, tipping my head back against the couch. I could swear I see stars on the ceiling instead of wood slats. Holt flicks my swollen clit over and over, then changes it up at the last second to lick from stem to stern, all the while his other hand is twisting my nipple. My fingers thread through his hair and I hold on tight, anchoring myself to this man, knowing he’ll safely see me through to the end. Holt’s too nice of a guy to not let me leave this nest on the floor without an orgasm or two.

A thick finger slides inside of me, right as he goes back to flicking against my clit. Tingles shoot from my legs to my nose, then back down to my pussy. Everything is trembling. I’m chanting nonsense and breathing erratically. Holy fuck, did someone light a bonfire in here?

Holt adds a second finger and that bonfire’s bright light is searing my eyeballs even with my eyes shut tight. I scream Holt’s name as the orgasm detonates and I clench my thighs around his head to try to contain it. The Fourth of July fireworks go off on the backside of my eyelids. My toes curl and I’m pretty sure I bruise his back as my heels bang against his thick muscles.

It takes years to come down from the orgasm, during which I’ve probably suffocated Holt. My eyes recover first, flipping open to see the ceiling, wood planks intact. I tilt my head down and find Holt gazing up at me, glasses askew on his handsome face. He’s grinning like I didn’t just try to murder him with my thighs.

“Oh good. You didn’t suffocate.”

Holt huffs out a laugh and lets go of my boob long enough to straighten his glasses. “Would have been my favorite way to die.”

He slides my legs off his shoulders and sits on the couch, pulling me into his arms to play with my hair. I catch my breath against his bare chest, embarrassed when I realize he still has his shorts and shoes on. He pauses.

“What, Maple? What bothered you just then? I felt you stiffen.”

I lift my head, suddenly feeling so embarrassed my cheeks go flaming red. Holt looks alarmed.

“Hey. Maple, honey? Remember what I said before? I want to know what you need. What’s got you embarrassed?” He reaches for me and smooths my hair away from my face so he can see me clearly.

I smile, but it’s hesitant. “I was just embarrassed to come all over your face and you’re still dressed.”

Holt’s face turns from worried to smug. “If I had my way, you’d come all over my face every day.”

He lets me go, standing suddenly. He kicks off his boat shoes in a flourish. They each clunk to the floor on either side of the room. Then he hooks his thumbs in his shorts and pushes them down his hips. A perfectly straight, long, thick erection bounces free. My mouth waters at the sight. He grabs ahold of the base and gives himself a slow stroke.

“The real question is how do you want this? What’s your favorite yoga position, moonbeam?”

I lift my face to his, a shocked laugh tumbling out of my mouth. “Yoga position?”

He smiles and steps toward me. “Yeah. What’s your favorite?”

I shrug, brain addled when what I want to do is drop to my knees and choke on the man’s dick. It’s like I’m front row to aMagic Mikeshow and instead of being able to touch the dancers, I’m being interviewed.

“Uh, the splits,” I finally answer, throwing out the pose I worked the hardest on when I first took up yoga in college.

Holt holds out his hand and I take it. He pulls me off the couch and points to the blankets. “Show me.”

I blink. “Show you? Like, right now?”

His smile drops and suddenly his voice hardens. “Show me right now, Maple.”

My insides quiver at his tone. Oh fuck, I kind of like it when he gives me orders. I give him a sloppy salute and saunter onto the blankets. I can feel his gaze on my backside as I move. I bend over as sultry as I can in my birthday suit and warm up my hamstrings, then I slowly lower into a front split. I flutter my lashes to Holt over my shoulder before pressing back up and attempting the much harder side split.

As soon as I get all the way down to the blankets, I feel the heat of Holt crouched behind me. His hand smooths down my spine.

“That’s sexy as hell, moonbeam,” he whispers into the back of my neck as he swipes my hair over one shoulder. “Can you lean forward and hold that position?”

I suddenly realize what he has in mind and it makes me wetter than the lake out the back door. I slowly ease my upper body forward until my forehead lies on the stack of my hands. Holt makes a strangled noise behind me.

“How are you this incredibly sexy, Maple?” His hands rub down my back, kneading my flesh all the way to the globes of my ass.

My breath hitches, heart rate sky high. Yoga always relaxes me. It’s a sacred hour where I can retreat from the world and focus on my body, turning stress into sweat that drips down onto my mat and is released forever. I met Dexter in a yoga class, even taught alongside him, and not once had I ever been so attuned to him instead of me.

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