Page 16 of Walk of Shame
In all honesty, it’s not the most relaxing class I’ve ever taken.
We hadn’t spoken but tension, sexual and otherwise, hums like a live wire. Despite my years of practice, I kept losing my focus, getting distracted by Ashley’s fantastic body decked out in miniscule yoga clothes. Every bend and stretch, every flex reminds me of our night together. The things we’d done. The ways I’d taken her.
“Namaste,” the instructor says, raising her pressed hands to the middle of her forehead. “Thank you for joining me on this beautiful morning.”
Ashley jerks her head in my direction, glares at me, jumps up and stomps off, heading through the arches leading into the hotel.
I grab my discarded shirt and follow, jogging to catch up to her. Her stride is brisk as she walks down the corridor, and when I reach her, I grab her elbow and swing her around. “Hey, wait up.”
Her brows slam together. “No, I will not! Let me go.”
“Just wait one second.” I tighten my hold. “I want to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” She jabs her finger into my chest. “Stop following me.”
“I didn’t follow you.” I flash her my most charming, most affable smile. “It’s fate, Ashley.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not fate.” She waves her free hand toward the veranda we just vacated, where the rest of the class still sits enjoying the scenery. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you take yoga?”
I laugh. “Yeah, but that class was a little tame for me. I usually take Bikram Yoga three times a week in Lakeview.”
“You do not!”
“I’ll take you there if you don’t believe me, but be prepared to sweat.” I stroke my thumb over the tender curve on the inside of her elbow. “I’ve taken it for a couple of years, it helps with the demands of residency.” Another brush over her skin and when she shivers under me, I’m filled with satisfaction. “I also run and lift weights.”
Unable to help herself, her gaze drifts down my body, where my chest is still bare and a flush stains her cheeks. She grits her teeth and hisses, “Let me go.”
She yanks her arm and I look down at her. I’m significantly taller than her—six-two compared to her probably five-five. I’m not above using my height to remind her of all the things I can do, like pick her up and hold her against the wall while I thrust into her. Like I’d done in the closet, and again on the way home, in between two buildings, our mouths frantic and hungry.
I gaze down at her. “Are you going to run?”
“Yes.” Her attention flickers on my mouth then jerks away.
“Can you just listen to me for a minute?”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want, you can just listen to what I have to say.”
She shrugs a bare shoulder. “I can’t stop you.”
I loosen my hold, and run my fingers up and down her arm, pleased when goose bumps break across her skin. “You can run if you need to, but I’m still going to catch you.”
She shakes her head.
I’m not going to bother arguing with her. I know I’m right. There’s something here. I skim my fingers over her shoulders, the curve of her neck, and her pupils dilate, her breath quickens.
“What do you want to say?” Her voice is breathless. Needy.
I curl my hand around her nape, and our eyes lock. Sparks, flicker and ignite, and heat fills the space between us. I slide my other hand along her waist, her bare skin smooth and warm to my touch.
She lets out a little whimper.
I walk forward, tightening my hold, and taking her with me as I guide us backward into a little alcove. The second I have some semblance of privacy, my mouth covers hers, and lust explodes around us.
I press her against the wall.
Her hands climb up my chest and clutch my shoulders.