La última savasana

The restaurant smelled of lemon cleaner and last night's wine, and I couldn't stop staring at the way Lena's yoga pants hugged her hips as she stacked chairs. Three hours ago she'd been guiding me through warrior pose, her voice low and steady, and now she was biting her lip because I'd offered to help her close up.

"You didn't have to stay," she said, not looking at me.

"I wanted to." I set down a tray of glasses. "You looked tired after class."

She laughed, a soft sound that cut through the quiet. "Tired is one word for it. My hips are killing me."

"Want me to fix that?"

The words hung between us. She turned, and I saw the flicker in her eyes—that same tension that had been building for weeks, every time my hands pressed into her lower back during adjustments, every time she caught me watching her in the mirror.

"Mark," she said, her voice dropping. "You've been looking at me like that for a month."

"Like what?"

"Like you know exactly what you want to do to me."

I crossed the room, my footsteps loud on the tile. She didn't move. I stopped close enough to smell her—sweat and lavender oil, still warm from class.

"I want to bend you over that bar," I said. "And eat you out until you forget your own name."

Her breath hitched. "Jesus."

"Then I want to fuck you from behind until you scream."

She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me into a kiss—hard, hungry, her tongue sliding against mine. Her hands went to my belt, fumbling, and I laughed against her mouth.

"Easy."

"Shut up." She got the belt open, then my jeans. Her fingers wrapped around my cock, and I hissed at the contact—she was warm, sure, stroking me slow. "You've been walking around my studio with this thing for weeks."

"You've been walking around in leggings."

She dropped to her knees. The sight of her—yoga teacher, all composure gone—made my cock twitch in her grip. She licked the tip, slow, her eyes locked on mine.

"Lena..."

"Shh." She took me deep, her throat relaxing, and I gripped the edge of the bar. Her mouth was hot, wet, perfect, and she worked me with a rhythm that had my knees shaking. I threaded my fingers through her hair, not pushing, just holding.

"Fuck," I breathed. "You're so good at that."

She pulled off with a wet sound, her lips slick. "I'm good at a lot of things."

I pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the bar. Her ass was perfect in those pants, round and full, and I peeled them down with her underwear in one motion. She was already wet—I could see it glistening.

"Look at you," I said, running a finger through her slit. She shivered. "Soaked."

"Mark, please."

«¿Por favor qué?»

"Fóllame. Ahora."

I didn't make her wait. I pushed inside her in one stroke, and she gasped, her fingers curling against the wood. I started slow, deep, letting her feel every inch, and she pushed back against me.

"God," she moaned. "Yes."

I picked up the pace, my hands on her hips, pulling her into me with each thrust. The sound of our bodies slapping together echoed in the empty restaurant. She was tight, hot, clenching around me, and I leaned forward, my chest against her back.

"You like that?" I whispered in her ear.

"Don't stop."

I didn't. I drove into her harder, and she cried out, her head dropping. I reached around and found her clit, slick and swollen, and pressed my thumb against it in circles.

"Oh, fuck—" Her voice broke. "I'm close."

"Come for me, Lena."

She did—her body convulsing around me, her moan sharp and raw. I kept thrusting through it, chasing my own release, and when I felt her tighten again, I let go, spilling inside her with a groan that came from somewhere deep.

We stood there, breathing hard, the restaurant silent around us. She straightened slowly, turned, and kissed me—soft this time, almost shy.

"That was—"

"Amazing," she finished. "But I'm starving now."

I laughed. "There's leftover risotto in the kitchen."

"Perfect." She pulled up her pants, grinning. "But you're driving me home first. I can't feel my legs."

Morning came with sunlight through her bedroom curtains and the smell of coffee. I found her in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of my shirts.

"Morning," she said, smiling over her mug.

"Morning." I took the coffee she offered. "You know, I'm going to be distracted in class tonight."

"Good." She bit her lip. "I was thinking we could practice some new poses."

CATEGORIES: [Pleaser, Yoga, Restaurant, Just the Two of Us, Morning Sex]