Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

  Hannah: See you later, soldier

  Jake: Can’t wait

  I showed up at Jake’s condo that night with my toothbrush and a bottle of wine.

  He opened the door with a wide smile. He was wearing an army T-shirt that made him look extra sexy and baggy shorts. His hair, wet from the shower, stood up in little spikes. His scruff was thicker now, almost a full beard.

  “Hey beautiful.” He pulled me in for a hot kiss, full of promise. “I made lasagna,” he said against my lips.

  “I love a man who cooks.” I flushed as the words left my mouth.

  Love.

  My heart pounded and not just from his touch.

  Love was a dangerous word.

  He grabbed the bottle of wine and plonked it on the hall table, then slid his hand up the back of my leg, under my sundress, and onto my ass.

  “I missed you,” he grumbled, toying with my panties. I’d spent a large part of the weekend with him, and seen him two mornings ago at our private lesson, but I missed him too.

  “This.” I grabbed the hem of his shirt and dragged it up his belly. “Off.”

  He whipped my panties down in one hard tug. Then pulled his shirt off. Grabbing my ass, he picked me up and backed me against the wall.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist. Slid my hands over his broad shoulders and down his triceps. God, I loved his muscles. I kissed him harder. Reveled in the feel of his beard against my soft skin.

  His back was a map of hard muscle flexing and stretching beneath my hands. The strength, the power of him radiated with heat. I loved it.

  Loved the graceful strength of him. Love the soft hair, the thickness, the maleness. I could touch him forever.

  He swept his tongue into my mouth again and again, and I loved the power of him pressing into me. Like wind bending a tree. I wanted him everywhere. I wanted to bend and open and take him as deeply as I could. I wanted to feel nothing but him. Jake’s tongue. Jake’s hands. Jake’s scruffy cheek. Jake’s hot neck. Jake’s long, smooth muscles. I wanted to close my eyes and open my body and let him press through me until I was nothing but pleasure. His pleasure. My pleasure. Indistinct. Thriving. Growing. Burning.

  He tilted his head and opened my mouth and kissed me deep. Deep like the clear pool beneath a waterfall. Falling and stillness at the same time. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on and wanted nothing but more. Nothing but him.

  Whatever I had, whatever he wanted, it was his. I held nothing back.

  He tugged his shorts down. Plunged his cock into my wetness. I threw my head back, and he bit the corner of my shoulder where it met my neck. I tilted my hips, taking him deeper and deeper, curling up to meet him. His forehead was against mine. Our breaths indistinguishable. Panting. Moaning. Rocking. Pleasure.

  I loved the sound of his breath.

  I loved his hands on my skin.

  I loved him.

  Chapter 32

  Jake

  “This lasagna is delicious,” Hannah said around a bite in her mouth. “I think it’s extra good after sex.”

  “Or before sex.”

  She looked up. “You mean there’s more?”

  “All night, honey.”

  “I better have a second piece. To keep my strength up.”

  I cut her a large slice.

  “And some cheesy bread.” She handed me her plate. “Please.”

  “More salad?” I teased.

  “One serving of veggies is enough for me.” She filled her wineglass. “How’s your training going?”

  “It’s good. Back on track. I’ll climb Longs Peak and do a solo overnight on Saturday. Then I have an appointment with my orthopedist Monday. The final checkup before my trip.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “About the doctor?” I shrugged. “I feel good. I think he’ll be happy.”

  Hannah was quiet a moment. “What if he says no? That your knee isn’t healed enough for Alaska?”

  “He won’t. I’m good.” Defeat wasn’t an option.

  “That’s the soldier talking.” She leaned forward and kissed my chest, over my heart. “What about the man? The fallible, mortal man? He’s in there somewhere.”

  “Is he? I’ve never met him.” She swatted my arm, and I grinned, swift, then it was gone. “You really helped me, Hannah.”

  She nodded, a smile on her lips. But there was sadness in her eyes.

  It was ironic. Even I could see that. The more she helped heal my knee, the more she ensured that I would leave. Leave us. Leave her.

  Something caught in my chest. Something achy and thick. Things were getting intense between, us. More intense than I’d intended. I should pull back. Stop before I fell for her.

  And, as I suspected more every day, before she fell too hard for me. But the hell of it was, I didn’t want to stop.

  I shrugged off my thoughts, planted my hand on her round ass, and focused on better things.

  But she wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. Her gaze was focused over my shoulder. I turned to look at what had caught her eye.

  She’d noticed the rocks, the ones I’d picked up at the creek and put on the table by the back window. I’d taken a marker and put my buddies’ names on them. Cody was in the front.

  Oddly, the rock thing did help. I didn’t know why. But they had this weight and strength. Like I could take them out of my nightmares and just put them there on my table along with the elk jawbone and quartz. I wasn’t a religious man, but it felt a little like an altar, like something special. A place to keep them safe.

  They were people to me again, not just this bad thing that happened. And I didn’t have to push them away. I could remember what was good. Like Wilson’s stupid laugh that sounded like a dying cow. And Dennis’s seemingly endless supply of chocolate. And Cody’s jokes.

  They were my brothers.

  Hannah crossed the kitchen, grabbed something out of her purse, and held it up. A rock. Her own rock.

  “Bob,” she said.

  “Your rock is named Bob?” My shoulders tightened.

  “No, Bob is the name of the guy, well—”

  I frowned, interrupting her. “Why are you carrying some other dude’s rock?”

  “It’s not his rock, there is no dude named Bob. It’s mine. For me. It’s my thoughts of dating in general. My fear that I can’t trust myself to weed out the good guys from the bad. That I’ll give too much and be hurt in the end.”

  Guilt flashed through me, hot and grippy.

  I brushed it off. Leaned down and kissed her on the shoulder. She was amazing, this woman. I owed her a lot. She’d done so much for me. Not just my knee, though that was a big deal, but my heart too. She made me feel alive again. And I wanted to do something to repay her before I left.

  She was a fireball in bed. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly was not complaining. I loved a girl who could go head to head with her man. But she was always trying to pleasure me. Always doing something for me. And I wanted it to just be about her. I wanted to just touch her. Let her relax and be cherished. I wanted her to trust me enough to let go and not be in control.

  “Let’s clean up dinner and go to bed.”

  Her gaze snapped to mine. Her lips parted, and she ran her hands over my beard. “Whatever you say, soldier.”

  Later that night, as the world slept around us, I slid my hand over her. She was lying on her belly, still collapsed from when I’d taken from behind. I petted her like a cat. Starting with her hair. Then I traced the shell of her ear. She wriggled, and I waited for her to pull away, but she took a deep breath and relaxed. So, I ran my hand down her neck, down the long length of her spine.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to get up.

  “Touching you,” I said, encouraging her with a gentle press to lie back down.

  She lifted her head enough to glance at me. “You want more already?”

  “Just more of you. Relax.” I ran my hand up her back, and she lay down again.


  I traced the side of her body, around the back curve of her breast, and down to the swell of her ass.

  “What’s your morning like tomorrow?” she asked, trying to make small talk. She tried to touch me back, but I brushed her hand away.

  “Shh.” She wanted to get back into her control place. I traced the bottom of her ass. God, I loved this part of her body. “I don’t want to tickle you. Tell me if you don’t like it.”

  “Okay.” Her voice sounded tight, like she was warring with herself.

  I brushed my hands down the back of her legs, flattening them over the backs of her knees so it didn’t tickle. I explored her ankles and her feet, the places between her toes. I didn’t want there to be any part of her body that I hadn’t touched.

  I didn’t know much about meditation, but if I did, this would be my practice. Feeling the texture of her skin. Paying attention to my hands. Not letting my mind drift away to other things.

  “Um, I don’t really know what to do here,” she said.

  I grinned, but her head was turned away and she didn’t see it. “There really isn’t anything to do. Does it feel okay?”

  “Kind of.”

  My hand stilled. “Does it feel bad?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m just…not used to it.”

  I kissed her back between her shoulder blades. “I want to cherish you, Hannah. And I want you to feel cherishable. Because you are.” I kissed down her spine to her lower back. “I’m not going to rush. I’m not going to push. We have all night. I don’t expect anything from you. You can get up and walk away at any moment. All right?”

  “All right.”

  I gave her all my attention. She’d bolt if my mind wandered for a nanosecond. I ran my hands up her back, then down the length of her arms, twined my fingers with hers, then turned her palms over and planted a kiss in the center of each one.

  Finally, she relaxed all the way. Pride swelled in my chest as she sank into the mattress. The lines on her forehead disappeared.

  She trusted me enough to let go.

  I got so hard. I wanted to fuck her again. But I promised myself I wouldn’t go there. This was about her, not me. And it was about touch, not sex.

  I had just doomed myself to the seventh circle of hell.

  I slid my hands up the insides of her legs, spread them open. Slid them down and kneaded my thumbs into the arches of her feet until she moaned. Then I ran my hands all the way up the side of her body: ankles, calves, thighs, hips, waist, ribs, breasts, shoulders, neck, all the way to her ears.

  She rocked her hips, restless. I ran my fingers through her hair, over her scalp, then over her forehead, her jaw, her lips.

  Her mouth opened on a sigh.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to either fuck her or stop touching her. I slowly trailed my hands off her skin and waited to see what she did. If there was a hint of an invitation for sex, I’d be all over her. But she just curled up on her side and kind of wrapped herself around me. I was a terrible judge of women’s moods, but it was almost like she was going to cry.

  “Thank you,” she said, her head pressed into my thigh.

  I lifted her hand and kissed it. “Any time, babe.” Then I went into the bathroom and took a cold shower.

  Chapter 33

  Hannah

  If Jake was trying to help me relax with that little massage, it wasn’t working.

  I lay curled up in bed, my heart hammering loud enough he could probably hear it over the sound of his shower. The cliff was giving way, and I was falling, falling, with nothing to hold on to.

  There were no more rules or lists to protect me. No more safety nets to catch me.

  Just me tumbling through the endless expanse of sun-drenched, sky-blue love.

  And no Jake to catch me at the bottom.

  I buried my head in the pillows. He would be gone soon. And I would be left with this awful ache and longing.

  I squeezed my eyes closed. Tried to recall the other morning at Bloom when I’d felt open and full and warm. When I’d touched some peace that was mine, always mine, hiding beneath the drama.

  I took a shaking inhale, let out a sharp exhale.

  I would just have to catch myself.

  Now would be a good time to start.

  I dragged myself up to sitting. I was so turned on, my skin crackled. I wanted Jake on top of me, inside me, beneath me, every way and then twice again. But I needed to go home. I needed to stop this before I fell any deeper. I couldn’t let myself march to my own heartbreak.

  I crossed the room on wobbly legs and grabbed a T-shirt from his closet. My sundress was downstairs somewhere.

  I threaded my arms into the shirt.

  Jake stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted chest. His hair slicked back, his face set in hard lines. The scars on his right leg were red and misshapen. His eyes were warm, fierce, and focused on me. My heart leapt against my ribs.

  This man was a warrior. Honed to a point, raw, elemental. Undiluted and pure and hurting.

  And at the heart of him was softness. He’d listened to my crappy advice. He’d collected rocks and put his friends’ names on them. He was doing his best to get through what life had given him.

  And he stood there before me. Like a gift.

  I dropped the T-shirt to the floor.

  I was doomed.

  “Will you do my front?” I lay on my back. Stretched out and exposed and vulnerable in his bed. Reason and logic be damned. “Will you touch me?” Heat coursed through me. I was asking for more than just sex. We’d crossed the boundary.

  His eyes raked over me. “I love touching you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. “But…it’s torture not to fuck you.”

  “We can do that too,” I purred.

  His towel went by the way of his T-shirt. Dropped. Forgotten. No concealment left.

  He stepped up to the bed and stroked my face gently with the pads of his fingers. I felt so beautiful, like something precious. Then he ran his palms down over my neck and sternum. Around my breasts. But he didn’t touch my nipples, and I arched off the bed.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I need you to understand something.” His voice was low and rough. “You’re an exceptional woman. You have fire and grit inside you, and so much softness at the same time.” He stroked me from shoulder to thigh, and I shivered. I could barely stand it. “I know you don’t see this part of yourself, so I’m going to explain it to you. You are heat. You are soft rain. You have helped me more than you can know. You are an amazing yoga teacher. You brought this crusty soldier back to life. You’re talented, and you’ll touch many lives for the better. And you don’t have to do anything but be you.”

  He traced the sides of my waist. The top and inside of my thighs. I was trembling. He was stroking me into existence. His touch helped me to feel myself. To feel my body in space. To feel my flesh as a source of pleasure, of life.

  I was shaking. Cracked open. And he was shaking too. As his hands trailed down the insides of my legs to the arches of my feet, his breath was harsh.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. I was a woman. I was the ocean and the moon and an unfurling fern frond. I was an open meadow lying under the stars.

  I was his.

  Every part of me was ready for him. I reached up, and he fell into my arms and I held him. He slid his cock into me. I received him, wide and open. I was made of pleasure. Made for pleasure. I was wild and free.

  I sought his mouth with mine.

  He was rough and hard everywhere. Thick muscle, rough scruff, hard cock.

  But his lips…his lips were pillowy soft. Smooth and silky. The center of him. The heart of it all. Velvety and moist and almost yielding.

  I kissed him there, in the softness amongst the hardness. I found the heart of him. And I loved him.

  My orgasm burst open like starlight. Like lightning. Jake tumbled after me, his eyes dark, his gaze holding min
e. And we lay together on the bed, a tangle of limbs and hands and mouths and beating hearts.

  And I did not mind the falling.

  The stars lit up the sky. It was deep into the night, but I couldn’t sleep. My world was shifting on its axis, and I was wide awake, watching it unfold. Something like hope sang in my heart. And joy. And fear.

  I had never been in love before. I stared out at the stars, Jake asleep beside me, our hands still touching.

  Whatever I’d felt in the past, it hadn’t been this. This heart-wrenching thing with wings.

  At four a.m., I gave up on sleep. I got up and made coffee and sat out on the deck and watched the world be made new again.

  I watched the birds singing in the trees. Undaunted. Falling. Flying.

  When my blanket couldn’t keep out the cold and the cool morning air settled in my bones, I came back inside. I stopped by the bowl of river rocks next to the door. I picked one up, smooth in my hand.

  Sgt. Pepper it read.

  I picked up the other rocks, one at a time, my heart hammering. They all had names written on them. Cody. Dennis. Peter. My heart cracked with something between joy and sorrow. He was upstairs, asleep. I wanted to hold him, kiss him, honor him.

  But I stopped. Beside the rocks, among the quartz and jaw bone and pinecones, sat a pile of old photos.

  Army photos.

  I glanced upstairs to where Jake was sleeping, feeling guilty for snooping, then I turned on the light. And I picked up the pile.

  They were pictures of soldiers. Everyone dressed in puffy sand colored camos, holding dangerous looking guns, or rifles, or whatever they were called. In a few pictures, they wore helmets, scary and serious expressions on their faces. In others, they were relaxed, grinning at the camera. Holding cigarettes in their mouths or wearing sunglasses with arms around each other.

  It was in one of these happier photos that I recognize Jake by his smile. He was cocky as ever. He looked so young, hardly old enough to shave. But I knew he was in his early twenties. None of the lines of tension were on his face. His eyes and mouth were soft—maybe that was why he looked young. He was free from some darkness.