Hot & Heavy (Lightning 2)

Shit.

This was a really bad idea.

I’m supposed to be teaching yoga here, but from the moment I put Shawn’s hand on my stomach, all I can think about is jumping him right here in the middle of my regular practice room.

Then again, it’s pretty much been all I’ve been able to think about since he took off his shirt. Jesus. I felt him at the bar the other night and knew he was ripped. Hell, he couldn’t be a professional football player without all the muscles. But knowing that intellectually is way different than seeing it. And now that I am, can I just say Oh. My. God.

I mean, his body is freaking perfect. All tanned skin and rock-hard biceps, washboard abs and a sexy little happy trail leading into the waistband of his shorts. Is it wrong that I want to lick and kiss my way down it? Want to lick and kiss my way all over him? We were rushed the other night, more concerned with the destination than the journey.

Sitting here now, looking at that body and that face…Add the kindness in his eyes that even the heat sizzling between us can’t hide, and all I can think of is how much I want to take that journey. How much I want to—

“Aren’t you supposed to be showing me how to breathe?” Shawn asks, all growly and amused. “Because you haven’t inhaled in at least thirty seconds.”

The sudden tightness in my chest puts paid to his words, and I exhale in a rush the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Sorry. I was doing a breathing technique known as…”

One of those perfect dark eyebrows goes up. “Known as?”

“Known as I really want to lick you,” I admit with an uncomfortable laugh. I’ve never been very good at lying and not even the sudden need for self-preservation can change that. “But now that that’s out of the way, we can concentrate on inhaling. You need to breathe in for the count of five, concentrating on really expanding your rib cage, opening up your chest. Then, when you exhale, feel the way it all sort of collapses and your belly button sinks toward your spine.”

When he doesn’t immediately answer, I shoot him the most professional look I can manage. “Are you ready to start?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who can’t breathe now,” he says with a wicked grin. “Especially when now all I can think about is you licking me.”

“Yeah, well, thinking about it and doing it are two very different things. And right now”—I put a firm hand on his stomach, doing my best to ignore the hard warmth of him—“you need to breathe. Like this.”

I take my time counting to five as I inhale, opening up my chest as much as possible as I concentrate on the feel of the ground beneath my hips and the air filling up my lungs. Then I exhale just as slowly, in a steady stream that empties my lungs and has me really focusing on the sink of my navel into my spine.

“Now you try,” I say.

Shawn looks a little exasperated, but he does as I instruct, breathing i

n slowly and then exhaling.

“Good,” I tell him when he’s done. “Now let’s do it again.”

This time we inhale and exhale together.

“Again,” I tell him when our lungs are once again empty.

“How many times do we have to do this?” he demands after our fourth breath together.

“Until you’re completely open,” I tell him.

“I’m never completely open,” he answers me, and he’s not talking about just the breathing. I think about the scars on his back, some that obviously came from football and some that just as obviously didn’t. It’s not exactly a surprise that openness isn’t a skill he prizes.

I think about keeping him here for ten or twelve more breaths, but the clock is ticking…and I can tell he’s getting more impatient. Mastering breathing is a huge part of any yoga practice, even the therapeutic kind, but at the same time, I need to get him into some of the other poses before he loses patience completely. Breath is important, but once the other poses start to benefit his shoulder and back he might be more willing to work on the breathing, too.

“Okay, one more breath and we’re going to move into thunderbolt pose.” I welcome the chance to take my hand off his body, and to scoot back so that he’s no longer touching me, either. I feel the loss of his warmth keenly, but there’s relief as well, because I’m not used to feeling like this.

My mother and most of the other instructors at Soul Studio fall into and out of lust quickly—because they’re “in tune with their bodies and their needs,” or so they tell me. But that’s them. It’s never been me. I’m the one who overthinks everything, who rarely agrees to a second date without a pro/con list a mile long. So the fact that I’m so attracted to Shawn—that every single thing about him makes me hot—is more than strange. It’s bizarrely out of character, and I really don’t think I like it.

“Thunderbolt pose?” he says with a grin. “I think I’m going to like this one.”

When I just look at him questioningly, the smile fades to be replaced with obvious consternation. “You really don’t follow football at all, do you?” He says it like he’s afraid I’m about to admit to being a puppy murderer. Or worse.

“I don’t, no.” I’ve never felt the need to apologize for my lack of interest in sports, but something about the disappointment in his eyes makes me feel bad. “I do know that you play football. Like Hunter.”

“Wow.” The disappointment is rapidly being replaced with amused disbelief. “That’s…impressive. And do you know the name of San Diego’s football team? The team I play for?”