Brighton Bounce
"Yoga instructor Zara runs the hottest classes in Brighton. When student Michael stays late for private instruction, she shows him flexibility has many applications."
"Breathe into the stretch, Michael. Let your body release."
Michael tried to focus on his breathing. Tried not to focus on Zara's magnificent arse as she demonstrated the pose in front of him.
The Eritrean instructor was famous in Brighton for her challenging classes and her incredible body. Thick and toned, with curves that her yoga pants couldn't hide and flexibility that seemed almost supernatural.
"Stay after," she'd whispered as class ended. "I want to work on your alignment."
He stayed.
The studio was empty now, evening light streaming through the windows. Zara rolled out a mat and gestured for him to join her.
"Your hip flexors are tight. Too much sitting, probably." Her hands landed on his hips, adjusting. "Here. Feel that?"
He felt a lot of things, none of them related to hip flexors.
"I've noticed you watching me," she said, still working on his position. "Every class. Your eyes follow me around the room."
"I'm trying to learn the poses—"
"Mmhmm." Her smile was knowing. "Let me show you a pose they don't teach in regular class."
She moved into a position that should have been impossible—legs spread wide, body folded forward, looking up at him with those dark eyes.
"This one requires a partner. Want to try?"
"Zara, I—"
"I know. You're married to your job. No time for relationships. Too busy to date." She straightened, stepping close. "I'm not offering a relationship, Michael. I'm offering this body, this night, no strings."
Her hand found his chest. "Unless you're not interested?"
"I'm very interested."
"Good. Because I've been wet since you walked into my first class."
Yoga mats, Michael discovered, were very versatile.
Zara was even more flexible than he'd imagined. She wrapped around him like a pretzel, found angles he didn't know existed, moved her body in ways that made him see stars.
"Yes! Right there! Hold that position!"
She came in a full splits, shaking and crying out. Then she pushed him down and mounted him, her thick thighs gripping his sides.
"Your turn to hold still. Let me work."
She rode him slowly, rolling her hips, squeezing him with internal muscles that had clearly benefited from years of practice.
"Kegel exercises," she explained, grinning at his expression. "They're not just for women."
"Jesus, Zara."
"Not yet. We're just warming up."
They moved through positions like a particularly athletic flow—her on top, him behind, side by side, standing against the mirror. Each one showed off her flexibility and pushed his stamina to the limit.
"I can't—" he gasped after the fifth round.
"Yes you can." She dropped to her knees. "Let me help."
Her mouth brought him back to life, and then she was climbing on again.
"One more. For me."
Morning light found them tangled on scattered yoga mats, muscles aching in the best way.
"So," Zara said. "Private lessons? Every Tuesday?"
"I'll clear my calendar."
"Good." She stretched, and even exhausted, her body was a work of art. "There's so much more I want to teach you."
"Like what?"
Her smile was wicked. "Ever heard of tantric yoga?"
Michael hadn't. But he was about to learn. Brighton's best-kept fitness secret had just become his favorite class.