Chapter 4: Sun Salutations
The first thing Brice registered was warmth. A solid, welcoming warmth settled low on his abdomen, a pleasant weight that was both unfamiliar and utterly right. The second was the light, a brilliant, liquid gold that streamed through Willow’s large windows, painting everything in a haze of morning. He blinked, his glasses abandoned on the nightstand, and the world swam into soft focus.
Willow was there, straddling his hips, her back to him as she faced the sun. She was a silhouette of curves and grace, her spine long and straight, her head tilted back. She was moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a deep, hip-circular motion that was part cat-like stretch, part something else entirely. Something that made the breath catch in his throat. Her hands rested on his thighs, her fingers pressing into the muscle there, and he realized this was her morning yoga routine, seamlessly transitioning into something far more intimate. ‘Downward Facing You’ was indeed becoming their new favorite position.
He let out a soft, involuntary sound, and she stilled. She glanced over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eyes even in profile. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning,” he managed, his voice rough with sleep.
She shifted, turning her body to face him, the movement fluid and effortless. The thin strap of her silky camisole slid down her shoulder. Her gaze, now direct and focused, traveled over his bare chest, and a slow, possessive smile graced her lips. Her fingers, cool and gentle, began to trace the faint, bluish marks scattered across his skin. A roadmap of the night before. Her touch was a brand, awakening every nerve ending.
“Looks like someone claimed you,” she murmured, her voice a low, satisfied hum. Her index finger circled a particularly prominent mark just below his collarbone. “Thoroughly.”
A flush heated Brice’s neck and cheeks. He, the architect of intricate digital worlds, was now marked up like a canvas. And he found he didn’t mind it at all. He was caught in her orbit, mesmerized by the sight of her tracing her own work.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her blonde hair curtaining their faces. The scent of lavender and clean sweat filled his senses. “My minion,” she whispered, the word a soft explosion against his lips.
And just like that, every coherent thought, every shred of resistance, evaporated. He was putty. He was hers.
“What does your minion need to do today?” he asked, his hands finding their way to her hips, his thumbs stroking the dip of her waist.
Her smile widened. “Well, for starters, he needs to help me test the structural integrity of this bed frame. I’m thinking some… vigorous asanas are in order.”
Brice’s laugh was a quiet, happy thing. “As my lady commands.”
“That’s the spirit, Minion.” She dipped her head, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a promise of a day spent tangled in sheets and each other, a world away from code and isolation, here in the sun-drenched sanctuary of her apartment.