“Because you make a very large cat.” I scoot over and touch his spine with light fingers. “Now let your stomach drop to the floor…right, now back up…you got it.”
“Can you do the splits? ’Cause that’s cool—”
“Shhh,” comes from the older lady on the other side of Dillon.
“Well? Can you?” he whispers.
“Oh, Dillon, my body can do anything.”
His eyes heat; I stick my tongue out at him.
“Alright, let’s move to downward facing dog, my favorite for spicing up the bedroom. In fact, as an inversion pose, it clears your head and gives your face a glow that’s irresistible to your partner. When you’re feeling frisky, I suggest ditching your bed and trying this on the floor,” Zena says in a saucy tone.
I move into the stance, adjusting my body into an A shape, my hips in the air.
My eyes dart to him as he aligns his body and sinks his heels to the mat. He looks magnificent, his leg muscles taut, his forearms bunched and tight.
He pops an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be looking at your navel.”
“Yeah? Then why are you staring at me?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“You wish.”
He laughs as his eyes glow at me. “Champagne. Is it crazy that I love how you spar with me?”
I shrug. “What is up with you and champagne?”
“It’s your eye color, like sunshine.” He bites his lip, his face flushing. “I kind of, um, well…”
“What?” I cock my head.
His face grows redder, embarrassment growing. “I may have thought about popping a cork and pouring it on you, you know, um, when we, um, make out some time in the future. Maybe.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t get anything right with you. Kill me now.”
Oh. He’s getting it right. He’s part smooth charmer, part uncertain college boy, and it ticks all my boxes. Help.
“Move to the happy baby position, class,” Zena says. “We all know what a baby looks like when they lie down and hold their feet.”
“These are the weirdest exercises I’ve ever done,” Dillon says as he rolls to his back and puts his legs in the air.
“Lie on your back and bring those knees to your belly, good. Now, open your knees slightly wider than your torso. Show the ceiling your feet and wrap two fingers around your big toe…” Zena calls, her voice low and soothing. “This is a deep hip relaxer, related to the Kama Sutra. It opens your sacral chakra, your pleasure center…that’s right, you got it…breathe deeply…think about your orgasm…”
He attempts it but loses his balance and rolls over on his side.
I shake, biting my lip.
“I know I’m making a fool of myself, but I had to see you.”
“You could have called.”
“I almost did, about a hundred times.”
So why didn’t he?
Zena darkens the room even more and lowers the music. “Alright, class, let’s cool down with a friend for the back-to-back partner twist.”
“Be my friend?” Dillon asks.
“Sure,” I say, preparing myself for the torture of being near Dillon’s body.
He edges over to my mat. His hair is messy from exertion, one side of it sticking out. “We get to touch each other,” he whispers in my ear.
Yeah. My heart pounds at the thought. He hasn’t really touched me since he tended to my feet.
I clear my throat. “See the people in front of us…do that. Sit cross-legged with your back to mine.”
With an eager expression on his face, he flips around and does as instructed. I inhale a deep breath at the feel of his powerful body against me. Vane was fit, but lean and wiry. Dillon, though, his muscles are firm and hard, a work of art I’d like to—
“What’s next?” he asks.
“We get as close as possible.”
“Yeah, we’re doing that.” His voice is gruff. “You feel good.”
“So do you.”
“Knew it.”
“Hush. Okay, now, as you exhale, put your right hand on the inside of my left knee.”
“Like this…” His hand lands on my knee, fingers on my inner thigh. My breath hitches and I shiver as heat pools in my body. It’s just yoga, I repeat in my head.
“Mmm, yeah. I’ll do the same to you on your right knee.” I move my hand to the muscles in his inner thigh.
“Finally,” he breathes out.
Same.
I say, “Now, we twist our shoulders in opposite directions to feel the stretch. We’re supposed to trust each other to hold us steady as we deepen the twist—”
“Deepen?”
“You are going to die when this is over,” I say on a laugh as I clench my hand around his leg.
He groans and I freeze, moving my hand back to his knee. “Sorry,” I say softly, grimacing. I’m not the only one who’s built up a little lust.
A long exhalation comes from him. “Not complaining.”
My senses are on overload as I feel the ripple of his back, the tautness of his muscles. I picture his magnificent body on top of me, sliding inside me…
“Good class,” Zena says a few minutes later, her voice low and subdued. “If you’d like meditation time, I’ll leave the music on and you can leave when you’re ready. Please disinfect your mats before you go. Refreshments are in the kitchen if you need water or tea. See you next week.”
We disentangle ourselves and I lie back on my mat, willing my heart to slow down—and it isn’t from the exercise. He seems to be doing the same.
“Who’s the musician?” His question comes as a surprise, and I glance over at him as he reclines, his hands behind his head as he peers up at the ceiling. “I looked at your socials. You really don’t post a lot, but I saw someone who’d commented on a picture of you with your sister.” He turns and catches my gaze. “Vane Winchester was the profile it led me to, the lead singer of Four Dragons. Then, I recalled you wearing their shirt, and then, ‘Sweet Serena’.” He pauses. “Did you date a rock star?”
Oh, well, here we go. I exhale. “I married him, then divorced him.”
His eyes flare.
I chew on my lips. “Yeah. Crazy. Did you know it only takes sixty days to get an uncontested divorce in Mississippi? You don’t need a real lawyer or even have to see your spouse. Just go to the courthouse, file the papers, and wait for the judge to sign them.”
He eases up and props his head on his hand. Dimly, I’m aware of the last person in class leaving the room, the door clicking shut, leaving us.
“What happened?”
My throat feels tight as I push out the words. “I was pregnant and we’d been together a long time. I was ready to raise my baby on my own, but he convinced me to…” I stop and let out a long breath. “Anyway, we got married at City Hall and he left for his tour a week later.”
“You have a kid?” He toys with the end of the mat.
“I miscarried at twelve weeks.” My breath hitches.
“I’m sorry, Serena.” He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. He studies my face. “I can’t imagine…wow. That must have been tough.”
It was the worst time of my life other than when my parents died. I remember the day I missed my period, the anxiousness that ran through me at the idea of having a baby. Vane and I were up and down at the time, him traveling further and further away from Magnolia for gigs, ones I couldn’t go to. We argued over the phone when I saw pics of him online, cozying up to groupies. He promised me nothing was going on, that it was just part of being a musician. Right.
I wait for the stinging betrayal that comes with those memories, and it’s there, just waiting, but I take a breath and set them aside. “I was terrified to be pregnant. We barely saw each other, I still hadn’t finished school, and I had Romy at home with Nana. I didn’t even realize how much I wanted the baby until…” I stop, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I will them to not fall. “Forgive
me. I’ve always wanted kids, and it felt too soon, it did, but I was excited. Romy was over the moon. Nana had doubts, but she was knitting booties. Julian, well, he was pissed. He never approved of Vane. Ugh, I shouldn’t tell you this.”
“Hey. It’s okay. Some people are just easy to talk to. Catharsis is good. The verbal expression of past painful emotions helps smooth over bad memories. It’s like the brain merges the original painful memory with the new less painful version of sharing the memory.”
“You’re full of facts.” I give him a wan smile as I sit up on my mat. He does the same, and we face each other.
“Psych major. Tell me anything. I joke a lot, but I’m a good listener.”
“Vane, well, I was beginning to suspect that we wouldn’t last, and I figured he was cheating on the road, but when you’re in the middle of something, it’s hard to see what’s ahead. I pretended like everything was fine. I wanted it to be fine, so I ignored the warning signs. Maybe I compartmentalized? I don’t know. He had a lot of fame thrown at him. We were young.”
“You still care about him.”
“He was the center of my world for a long time.”
“Come here,” he says softly.
I do, inching forward until our knees touch. He smells divine, vanilla mixed with virile male. Something electric zings between us as we look at each other.
“Je promets d’être bon avec toi,” he murmurs, holding my gaze.
My heart skips at his soft words. “I caught I promise, but what does the rest of it mean?”
“I promise I’ll be good to you.” He tilts my chin up and leans in and—
I pull away and maneuver up to standing.
“Serena, wait—”
No. I’m already walking into the small kitchen that’s to the left of the yoga space. I don’t believe in promises from guys anymore. F that. Dillon is trouble with a capital T. I should run out of this room and go straight home.
I hear him following me. Swallowing down my anxiousness, I open the fridge and reach for one of the waters Zena keeps for us. His hands land on my shoulders. He’s right there, the heat from his bare chest against my back. Tension crackles in the air around us.
“Serena.” He pauses, uncertainty in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I came on too strong. The truth is, I met you my freshman year at the bonfire party.” A small huff comes from him. “I kissed you. Twice. I said some douchey stuff about who I was and you ran off.” His hands stroke over the straps of my halter top, touching my skin with the barest touch. He drifts down to my hips, and I lean back against him.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
Oh, Dillon.
“I remember.”
The silence builds in the room as we stand there, my hand tightening on the handle of the fridge. He turns me around and looks down at me intently, his eyes searching mine. “When?”
I can feel my face warming. “I had an inkling at the Oreo encounter, but I knew for sure when you came in my apartment. I didn’t admit to it because I thought it would inflate your ego.” I dip my head. “You looked different then.”
“I wore bleached out dreadlocks in my hair. I also grew two inches that year.”
“And you’ve bulked up more.”
A dawning hits his eyes. “It’s more than that though. Did you feel guilty about the kiss? It was his band that night. Were you married then?”
“I wasn’t married, but yeah, I felt guilty. I told him what happened after his set was finished.” A scoff comes from me. “He just laughed. I guess he was just that confident that I loved him—which I did. I adored him. You kind of came out of nowhere and took me by surprise.”
Dillon exhales. “I would have been livid.” He pauses. “I’ve thought about that night…” He bites his bottom lip. “A lot.”
“Yeah?”
“We need a new kiss to replace it. I’m going to call in that promise you owe me, Serena.”
My eyes dart to his mouth as nerves fly at me. Just do it, Serena! “Then take it.”
His head lowers and his lips land on mine, hesitant at first, our tongues tangling as he moves his hands to my face, cradling my cheeks. It’s as if I’ve been waiting forever for this moment, his touch, and I sink into the pleasure, the pressure of our mouths increasing. His hand slides up to my hair, and he cups my nape, pulling me closer.
It’s my first kiss in eighteen months, and passion roars. Our mouths fit together instinctively, knowing how to play and tease then delve in deeper. My hands skate up his chest, trailing over the defined muscles, mapping out the hills and valleys. Sparks pop and heat spears me. We part to breathe, and my hands tug on his hair, bringing his mouth back to mine. “Again.”
“Serena…” He presses me against the fridge, his hips against my pelvis. His lips own me, sucking at my bottom lip, then going right back to slanting his mouth over mine. The tent in his shorts aims for my center, and my legs part, inviting him in. His hands find mine, his thumbs teasing over the rapid pulse in my wrists. The gesture is romantic, as if he’s counting the beats of my pulse.
“So good with you…” he whispers as he moves across my cheek and down my neck, his teeth scraping down my throat, his tongue lapping at my skin.
My need grows, and I feel hot, like the small room is a furnace. “Yes…” I murmur as my hand drifts over his gym shorts to caress him, and he groans, his lashes fluttering.
“Serena…”
“Touch me.” Please. It’s been so long.
His lips take mine, and this time his hands are everywhere, cupping my breasts and palming me. My nipples push through the material, hard and erect. He eases the straps down, pushing at the shirt, and gazes down at me, a flush on his cheekbones.
His pupils are blown as his mouth latches onto a breast, his tongue darting around the dusky pink areola like I’m a feast. My head bangs against the fridge as he devours me, switching from one breast to the other. My leg hooks around his waist as I meet his cock through his shorts and roll my hips.
“Crazy…” He breathes against my skin. “You’ve got no idea how long…”
His fingers ease under the waistband of my leggings, sliding around to squeeze my ass.
This, this is the point where I should call a halt, but I don’t. I touch him, the strong column of his throat, the top of his broad shoulders, the tattoos on his chest. I want to inhale him, every single masculine piece.
His hands move as he slides aside my thong and puts a finger inside me, and I’m drenched. A primal sound erupts from his throat. His forehead presses against mine. “Too much?” is pulled from him.
“No,” I gasp out. “More.”
“Serena…” Another finger joins the first. He parts the top of my mound, his thumb finding my clit and rotating.
I’m awash in sensation, my breath coming in pants. I’m going to fly apart any moment. Electricity sizzles in my body as tingles build at the base of my spine.
He bites my earlobe, his breathing as erratic as mine. “I want to fuck you, Serena,” he says in a guttural voice and just that one dirty word that sounds as if it came from the depths of his lungs, pushes me over the edge. My nails dig into his shoulders as I ride his hand and go over the edge, my world shattering, a rush of fireworks bursting into sparkling lights as I call out.
I press my face into his chest, shuddering against him, my body undulating. He pulls back, his chest heaving as he sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them slowly, his eyes heavy on me. I whimper at the open eroticism on his face.
The sound of a door opening pierces the haze of my muddled senses. Dillon stiffens, using his body to cover me as he looks over his shoulder. “Someone’s here.”
“What?” I will my heart to slow, trying to focus. I see a cleaning crew through the window to the yoga room. My hands tremble as I work to pull my clothes together.
“You okay?” I ask, nodding at his shorts.
He grimaces as he adjusts himself. “Yeah.”
I put some d
istance between us, walking over to the sink and throwing water on my face. I pat my face with a paper towel, and when I turn around, he’s behind me.
His eyes lower to half-mast. “Come back to my place—”
My eyes shut briefly. Part of me wants that, but common sense is sneaking back in. I lick my lips. “Not a good idea.”
His brow furrows. “Things are hot between us. I want you; you want me. What am I missing?”
I swallow thickly. “This was fun, but…” You are dangerous to my heart.
He scrubs his face, then stares at the floor for a few moments as if searching for words. He’s about to speak when a clang of metal comes from the yoga room.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He takes my elbow and steers me out the door, past the two women who are sweeping. We walk down the hall, making our way to the center meeting area. “I’ll walk you to your car and we can talk,” he says.
“You’re messing around with two other girls, Dillon. I won’t be the third. I’ve been down that road.”
He pulls me to a stop, staring down at me with turbulent eyes as frustration flashes on his face. “Let’s get this straight. I’m not having sex with them. I’ve never been with them, ever. You…this…has nothing to do with them. I tend to rush, I do, but we can go slow, Serena. Based on what you’ve told me, it feels like you need that. Just tell me how—”
“Dillon!” comes a high, shrill voice, interrupting us. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere!”
My hands clench as I turn to look at her.
It’s Ashley, hands on her hips as she stands at the fountain in front of the pizzeria, flanked by Bambi and Sawyer. She’s wearing a cream linen sheath dress that complements her pale coloring and red hair. Bambi looks more casual with skinny jeans and a cropped Tigers jersey.
Ashley’s lips curl as she makes a beeline for Dillon. I keep my face expressionless as I step away from him.
“You ditched us,” she says to him. “Where did you go?”
“Yoga.”
She looks at me. “With her?” She says it like I’m a serial killer.
He frowns. “Yeah. Get over it.”
“Oh, good grief, Ashley! The man has a life. Look who he found,” Bambi says as she rushes forward and wraps me up in a hug. She’s a touchy kind of girl, I think as she leans in and straightens my hair, a twinkle in her eye. “It must have been an invigorating class—why look how flushed you both are! Was it that sex one? I saw you at the game on Saturday, but the crowd was so thick I couldn’t get to you. Chantal says she called you and you guys are planning a girls’ night.” A wistful expression crosses her face. “If you want a third…”
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