My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“I can’t grip you through the shirt. I keep sliding,” I tell Lorenzo. Resigned, I start to sit down, thinking he’ll do the same and we can go with variation one.

Instead, he rips the shirt over his head. “Get up here, Abigail. I want those thighs squeezing me like a damn boa constrictor.”

Uhm . . . well, alrighty then. Let’s try this again.

I face Lorenzo and let my eyes trace over his tattoos. I can’t help myself and lean forward to kiss the filigree linework over his chest. I’m rewarded with a vibration under my lips from the purring growl he barely holds inside.

His hands go down to my ass and he lifts me once again. This time, without the shirt in the way, I grip him tightly with my thighs and it works much better. We carefully switch to holding hands, and I squeeze him even tighter so I don’t fall.

“You got me?” I ask.

“Always.”

I want to believe that so much, but it’ll have to be enough that he has me for this moment in time.

I lean back as far as I can with our eyes locked. When both our arms are outstretched, he nods, and I discover that I do trust him with my safety. I arch my back to let my head hang closer to the blanket, and he holds me easily.

I can feel the stretch through my thighs as they clamp down for purchase. I can feel my chest opening and my arms lengthening, but surprisingly, I feel like my body is capable of more. At least with Lorenzo’s support.

“Let my right hand go,” I tell Lorenzo.

“What?” he questions even as he does what I’ve asked.

I move my hand to the blanket beneath my head. “Left too.”

And then I’m in an upside-down handstand with my legs still wrapped around Lorenzo’s waist. His hands have moved back my hips, keeping me in place. “Cazzo.” Though his fingers are wrapped over my hips, his thumbs stroke at the very edge of where my inner thigh becomes my pussy. I must be obscenely on display for his eyes. I worry whether I’ve soaked through my cute purple shorts and consider getting down so he can’t see the proof of what he does to me.

“Ahh, excellent!” Amalya cheers with a small clap. “Variation three, if you would like to try it.”

“Hell, no,” one of the women tells her husband. “I’d bust my head open.”

Another couple simply laughs boisterously from their position on the blanket in variation one.

“Harrumph.” Emily pouts, mad that I’m out-yoga-ing her now.

It’s not a battle, though. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in yoga class, it’s that it really is a journey, a practice. There are sometimes the tiniest, wimpiest looking women in there who are able to do strength poses the most muscled-up guys on the weight floor couldn’t hope to do. Everyone has their own path and this is not your grandma’s yoga, anyway.

Amalya suddenly appears right side up next to me. From her bent-over perch, she asks, “Would you allow me to assist in a progression?”

“Uh, sure.” I have no idea what she’s about to do to me, or with me, but I’m open to deepening my flow. Especially with Lorenzo pressed to my body because I can feel his strength and steadiness surging through me.

“Hold her hips with power. Let her know that you have her,” she tells Lorenzo, and I feel his grip tighten. “Good. Now . . .”

She pauses, waiting for me, and I fill in for her, “Abi. And Lorenzo.”

“Abi, keep your legs tight but unlock your feet, allowing Lorenzo to take your weight.” I do as she instructs, but Lorenzo grunts when my heels dig into the muscles of his lower back. “It’s okay,” Amalya coaches patiently. “Abi, move your right leg around to Lorenzo’s front, straightening it to lie up to his shoulder. And then the left as well.”

I blink and try to visualize what she’s telling me to do. When I realize that it’s a true handstand with my calves on Lorenzo’s shoulders and him holding my hips, I’m able to make the adjustments to get there. I’ve done this with a wall as my support, but Lorenzo feels even sturdier somehow.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Stefan is excited now too. “Hold her hips, Lorenzo,” he advises.

“Can you arch your back in this posture?” Amalya asks me from an upside-down vantage again.

“Uh—” Not sure myself, I try to curve my back. I’m so focused on my spine that I’m surprised when what actually happens is that my core presses to Lorenzo’s abdomen in a whole new way. Instinctively, his forearms come to wrap around my thighs, holding me there as he grinds against me. “Oh!” I call out, shocked . . . in a really good way.

“So, other than watching the sexcapades show, what should the rest of us be doing?” Emily snips out. Carefully, so as not to mess up my balance, I turn my head to see her standing with her arms crossed and one hip popped out as she taps her bare toes.