Chapter 5: Downward Dogging While Distracted
The world had narrowed to the heat of her skin and the slow, deliberate rhythm of her hips. Brice’s hands were splayed on the small of Willow’s back, holding her to him, every nerve ending alight. Then a sound, sharp and digital, sliced through the haze. A phone vibrating against wood with the insistence of a trapped hornet.
Willow stilled, her head lifting. “Oh, crap. No.”
“Ignore it,” Brice murmured, his voice thick, his fingers tracing the line of her spine.
She gave a breathless laugh, shifting her weight. “I can’t. That’s the class alarm.” Another buzz. And another. “It’s the ten-minute warning. Then the five. Then it’s go-time.”
With a groan of profound regret, she rolled off him, the loss of her warmth immediate and acute. Brice propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she sprang from the bed with an energy he could only envy. She snatched her phone from the nightstand, her thumbs flying across the screen.
“Okay, okay, logging in now… Hi, everyone! Sorry, just setting up…” Her voice had shifted, taking on a bright, professional cadence. She tapped her wireless earbud, activating it, and gave Brice a look that was equal parts apology and pure, unadulterated mischief.
She was still gloriously naked.
“Alright, let’s begin in a comfortable seated position, close your eyes, and bring your awareness to your breath,” she said into the void, her voice a smooth, calming wave for her unseen students. But her eyes, locked on Brice, were anything but calm.
She moved to the center of the room where her yoga mat was already unrolled, her body a study in fluid motion. She sank into a deep cross-legged pose, her back straight, hands resting on her knees. Brice just watched, mesmerized by the dichotomy. Her voice was a serene soundtrack for dozens of people, while her body, on display just for him, was a silent, potent distraction.
“Inhale deeply, filling your lungs… and as you exhale, release the tension of the night…” she instructed.
Then, with a wicked little smile, she unfolded one long leg, then the other, and gracefully swept herself into a handstand. Her body was a straight line against the sunlit windows, muscles taut, a perfect inversion. Brice’s breath hitched. She held it for a moment, the silence on her end profound, before lowering one leg slowly, bending it at the knee, and settling into a scorpion pose that made his own back ache in sympathy. It was breathtaking. And it was for him.
“Wonderful,” she breathed into her mic, her voice barely a whisper of air. “Now, slowly lower back down… and we’ll move into a deep hip opener. Pigeon pose.”
She flowed down from the handstand as if melting, one leg bending forward, the other stretching long behind her. She was facing him again, her chest low to the mat, her gaze smoldering. “This pose can bring up a lot of stored emotion,” she said, her instructor voice steady, though her eyes were dancing. “So breathe into any… sensitivity you might feel.”
She shifted her weight, a subtle, rolling motion that was pure suggestion. Brice felt a jolt of heat straight to his core. This was torture. A delicious, exquisite torture.
“Now, for those of you who want a deeper stretch,” she purred, her voice dropping an octave, “you can walk your hands forward, and really sink into it.” She demonstrated, arching her back, a soft, genuine sigh escaping her lips. It wasn’t for the microphone. It was for the ache of well-used muscles. And for him.
He was painfully hard, the sheets the only barrier. He felt like he was in some surreal, hyper-specific dream. The reclusive coder, trapped in a sunlit studio, being seduced by a yoga instructor teaching a virtual class.
She held the pose, her breathing audible even from across the room. “Feel that release,” she whispered, and he didn’t know if she was talking to her class or to him.
For twenty more minutes, he was her captive audience. She moved through her flow with a powerful, sensual grace, her voice a constant, soothing narrative for her students, while her body told him a completely different, far more explicit story. A deep lunge became a display of formidable thigh strength. A forward fold became an invitation. Every pose was a reminder of the flexibility and control she possessed, and he was utterly, completely spellbound.
Finally, she brought them to a close. “Bring your hands to your heart. Thank you for your practice. Namaste.”
She tapped her earbud, and the connection severed. The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence. She stayed on her mat for a moment, head bowed, then she rose and walked back to the bed, her nakedness no longer a performance but a simple, devastating fact.
She crawled onto the mattress, her movements slow and predatory now. The scent of her—lavender, warm skin, and sheer vitality—enveloped him.
“So,” she said, her voice back to its normal, playful timbre. “Did you enjoy the private demonstration, Minion?”
Brice reached for her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her down until she was straddling him again. The embers of the morning, carefully stoked for the last half hour, burst into flame.
“I have notes,” he managed, his voice rough with want. “Lots of them.”
Willow’s laugh was a low, happy sound as she leaned down, her hair tickling his face. “Good. You can present your full report… later.”
Then her mouth was on his, and the world outside the sunlit studio, with its buzzing phones and virtual classes, ceased to exist entirely.