Downward Spiral

The office party was already three drinks deep when I spotted her across the conference room. Lena. My yoga teacher from the Tuesday evening class. She wore a tight black dress that hugged every curve, and when she turned to grab a glass of wine, I saw that ass again — the one I'd been staring at for three months during every downward dog.

"Fuck," I muttered, gripping my beer bottle tighter.

She caught me looking. Her lips curled into a smile that said *I know exactly what you're thinking.*

I crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it. "Lena? I didn't know you worked here."

"Marketing consultant." She tilted her head, eyes traveling down my body slowly. "And you're... Mark, right? The one who always stays late after class to stretch."

"So you noticed."

"I notice everything." She took a sip of her wine. "Especially when someone's watching my ass for ninety minutes straight."

My face went hot, but she just laughed.

"Relax. I teach yoga. I know exactly what people look at."

"I mean..." I started.

"Don't apologize." She set down her glass and stepped closer. "I teach that class because I like being watched. Why do you think I wear those leggings?"

The music shifted to something slower. Couples were forming on the makeshift dance floor.

"Show me what you've learned," she said.

"¿Aquí?"

"Why not? I'm your teacher."

She led me to the corner near the window, away from the crowd. Her hand found my chest, pressing me back against the wall.

"Breathe," she whispered, exactly like she did in class. "In through the nose. Out through the mouth."

Her body pressed against mine. I could feel every curve through that thin fabric.

"What are you doing?" My voice cracked.

"Teaching you a new pose." Her hand slid down my stomach, stopping at my belt. "It's called *the desk*. You sit on the edge, I stand between your legs."

I followed her to a nearby desk. She pushed me down onto it, then stepped between my thighs. Her dress rode up as she moved, revealing the tops of her stockings.

"See? Natural alignment."

"Lena..."

"Shh." She unzipped my pants. "No talking in class."

Her hand slipped inside my boxers. I gasped when her fingers wrapped around me.

"Good," she breathed. "You're already hard. That's the correct response."

She stroked me slowly, deliberately, her thumb tracing circles on the tip. I grabbed her hips, pulling her closer.

"Eager student," she murmured.

"Three months," I said. "Three months of watching you bend over in those fucking leggings. You knew exactly what you were doing."

"Of course I did." She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "Every time I saw you staring, I got wetter. I'd go home and touch myself thinking about how hard you must be."

"Then let me feel it."

She laughed, low and dirty. "Demanding."

She turned around, bracing her hands on the desk beside me. Her ass pressed against my cock through the thin fabric of her dress.

"This is *the chair*," she said. "You sit. I sit on you. We move together."

I didn't need instructions. I pulled her back onto me, my hands gripping her hips. She was warm through the dress, and when I pressed against her, she moaned.

"Fuck, Mark. That's it."

I slid her panties aside and guided myself inside her. She was wet. So fucking wet.

"Jesus," I hissed.

"Move," she ordered. "And don't stop."

I fucked her right there on the edge of that desk, her dress bunched around her waist, her hands gripping the wood. The party continued twenty feet away — laughter, clinking glasses, someone telling a story about a client.

All I could hear was her breathing.

All I could feel was that perfect ass pressing back against me with every thrust.

"Harder," she gasped. "Fuck me harder."

I gripped her hips tighter and drove into her, faster, deeper. The desk creaked beneath us. Her moans got louder.

—No pares. No te atrevas a parar, carajo.

I didn't. I couldn't. Three months of wanting her, three months of watching her bend and stretch and flex — it all came crashing down as I came inside her, my body shuddering, my face buried in her hair.

She climaxed a moment later, her whole body tensing, a sharp cry escaping her lips before she bit down on her own hand.

We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, sweating.

Then she turned her head and grinned at me.

"See? Yoga teaches you control."

"Control?" I laughed. "I just came in my yoga teacher at an office party. Where's the control in that?"

She kissed me, soft and quick. "The control was lasting three months. Now get dressed. I'm teaching a class tomorrow, and you're going to need to stretch."