“As your partner joins you,” the bombshell purrs, “focus on the connection between your bodies.”
Connection? I choke on a gasp. My hands are clammy, and I rub them over my thighs, feeling the overwhelming urge to run out of the room. I’m glued to the floor, though—frozen as the woman and her now equally naked partner entwine themselves together like some kind of spicy, tantric pretzel.
The guy settles behind her, his hands sliding down her sides as they move into a pose that looks anything but appropriate for a yoga class. My mind scrambles, trying to piece together how I went from a peaceful morning stretch tothis.
I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I don't turn off the tutorial. Instead, I lean a littlecloser, focus a littleharder.
Suddenly, working out just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting.
“Allow your partner to guide you deeper,” she murmurs breathily as his hands travel lower, lower,lower,and I swear to all that is holy, my brain short-circuits.
“Deeper where?” I cry, watching raptly as his hand glides between her spread thighs.
As if in answer, he slips his palm beneath the band of her buttery-looking shorts. Her head falls backward onto his shoulder with a deep moan and her face instantly fills with akind of bliss I can only achieve when I’m asleep—or spending the evening with my vibrator.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, swallowing thickly.
Without my permission, my body scoots a few inches closer to the screen as my eyes adjust to my new reality. The woman whimpers, rolls her hips, and my nipples pebble in response.
Well, that settles it. I’m officially watching porn.
They grind together—him behind her, her ass pressed against his cock, and all I can think is,fuck, that looks hot as hell.
I’m debating grabbing my rabbit, or plucking out my eyeballs, when the guy whispers something in the instructor’s ear that catches on her mic and echoes around my living room.
“You’re so wet, darling. Is this all for me?”
The name tugs on something inside me, except in my mind, it’s not a hippy yoga instructor with thin muscles and Gumby-like limbs, and he doesn’t saydarlinglike some sort of posh, British book boyfriend.
In my head, he’s thick, tattooed, and grumpy.
Instead of short spikes, he’s got a mess of dark brown waves that fall to his shoulders and are perpetually tucked under some sort of hat.
He’s broken in a way that calls to my own fractured pieces, and his voice is a deep, rumble that’s slightly accented, except when he’s adding a thick drawl and murmuringdarlin’in my ear just to piss me off.
His smirk is cocky, his body is insane, and he exudes so much Daddy energy, my ovaries actuallyache.
Suddenly, the sound of murmured moans and groans is a blur in the background, overshadowed by the desperate need thrumming through me. My nipples are hard, and my clit’s pulsing in time with my erratic heartbeat.
At some point, I dropped to my ass, back against my coffee table, and spread my thighs, just like the bombshell. But insteadof watching them, my head is tipped up and my fingers are sliding under my leggings.
A whimper slips free the second my finger touches my clit.
God, how long has it been since I’ve touched myself? Let myself just fall apart? Attempted to quench the ache that never seems to quite disappear after I’ve come?
How long’s it been since I got laid? Over a year, and it was over well before I was even close.
My eyes flutter closed, and my throat tightens. I try to focus on the sounds coming from the TV, and not the memories of KadefuckingArcher that are looping through my brain on repeat—but it’s impossible.
I swirl my finger around my clit again, ignoring how utterly soaked I am. It’s ridiculous. He’s hardly ever touched me, and it was platonic at best, caveman behavior at worst.
But, hell, I loved the caveman behavior. I’d never admit it out loud, but being manhandled by him turned me on more than any bland sex I’ve ever had, which is depressing and exciting all at once.
Adding a second finger, I glide down, coating myself in my wetness, and slip them inside my pussy, curving them in a desperate need to find that elusive spot.
“Oh, fuck,” I whimper, pinching my nipple through my sports bra.
My hips roll, my thumb presses down on my clit. I’m so close, and I just started. My core is literally dripping.
