My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Before I even think about what I’m doing, I stick my tongue at her. Childish? Yep. Do I care? Nope.

The mood broken, I kick my leg out of Lorenzo’s grip and do a walkover to the ground. I have to slowly roll up to let the blood flow out of my head and back into my body. I’m sure my face is as red as a tomato, but that was so worth it. I’ve never been able to do that with a wall in the yoga studio at home.

Amalya pats my shoulder and Lorenzo’s at the same time. “Excellent.” To everyone else, she says, “Let’s all return to a seated position.”

Before we sit, Lorenzo pulls me in close and bends down to whisper in my ear. “That was magnificent. I want to kiss you desperately, sip your beauty from your lips, and taste the heat I see gathering at your pussy. But if I start, I fear I won’t be able to stop, and while I would like nothing better than to feel you shatter for me, I will not share that with these people. I want it greedily for myself so it must be later.”

Wow. Maybe my blood flow hasn’t quite worked itself out yet or maybe it’s just him, but I get a bit lightheaded at his words. He makes it sound like our having sex is a foregone conclusion, and though I hate to admit it and maybe even fear the consequences, I know he’s right.

I want him. Past, present, and future be damned. I’ve always been one to chase butterflies, and Lorenzo is like a whole swarm of them, flitting in and around me with buzzing, heated lust. I want to fly with them, even if only for a moment.

“Please allow one partner to lie face up on the blanket, feet spread slightly apart, and arms in a T. The other partner should carefully make their way to a plank position, hands above their partner’s shoulders and toes on the blanket between their legs.” She and Stefan demonstrate, him basically being a quintessential starfish and Amalya in a push-up position above him. “Feel the connection flowing as you shift forward and back.”

She puts more weight into her hands and then moves it back to her feet, her whole body moving up and down Stefano’s, though there is a foot of space between them.

“If you feel called to do so, you may lower to your elbows and continue the flow.” She’s now grinding her pelvis against Stefano, who smiles blissfully. “The important thing is for the lying partner to simply receive the gift of energy. This is a reminder that while some poses are give and take simultaneously, it is necessary to sometimes be only the caregiver and take nothing but the spiritual satisfaction of generosity. As it is also necessary to sometimes take what you need to gain fulfillment without apologies. All are healthy in their balance.”

The couples look from Amalya and Stefan to each other. We are all painfully aware of what that looks like and is emulating. But I guess what happens at couples’ yoga stays at couples’ yoga? Surely, there’s like a Las Vegas code for this, right?

“Give me some of that energy, Abigail.” Lorenzo is smiling like the cat that ate the canary, excited for me to rub all over him, and I vow to do the best damn energy giving of my life right here and now.

Lorenzo assumes the starfish position, and I get the sense that he’s fighting to maintain it. I think he’s not accustomed to being a passive bystander to any action, and the mere act of keeping his hands from me is a difficult task. I like that he’s doing it for me, though.

I start in the higher push-up position to drive him crazy. His eyes drift from mine, sliding down my body. They linger on my tits which are falling forward to fill the cups of my sports bra, then trace down over my bare abs to the flare of my hips.

“Cazzo a mi,” he murmurs. I have no idea what that means, but I can read the hunger in his eyes.

I push forward and then back, keeping the scant inches between us until he whispers, “Please, Abigail.” The begging hitch in his voice has me lowering until we are pressed together, chest to chest, hips to hips.

I can feel his arousal against my pussy, and I forget my flow, simply grinding against his hardness.

“Yeah, babe. Gimme more of that . . . flow,” Doug grunts out, and despite my utter lack of desire to see anything that remotely looks like Emily Jones’s sex face, I can’t help but look over. She’s on her elbows, pushing forward and back the way Amalya instructed. But instead of sexy and seductive forward and back, it looks as though she’s fighting her way through push-ups like she’s in a competition to win a car.