Hot & Heavy (Lightning 2)

I wrack my brain, but all I can come up with is “The Padres?”

He cracks up. “No, sweetheart, that’s baseball. I play for the Lightning. Hence the whole Thunderbolt thing. I was just—”

“Making a joke. I get it now.” I duck my head to hide my hot cheeks. It’s not embarrassment that I didn’t know the name of San Diego’s football team that has me blushing, though. It’s that he called me sweetheart.

I like it, way more than I should considering I have no intention of hopping back into bed with Shawn, no matter how good he made me feel the first time. And no matter how much I want to.

“Hey.” He reaches out, rests a finger underneath my chin and presses up—gently—until I have no choice but to meet his gaze. Even that small touch sends shivers down my spine. Or maybe it’s the look in those dark, dark eyes of his, like he wants to coddle me and eat me up all at the same time. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t.”

“You sure about that? Because if your cheeks get any redder—”

“I’m sure.” I gesture to the mats at our feet. “Ready to try thunderbolt?”

He grins. “Just tell me where and how you want me.”

I am soooooo not touching that one. Instead, I push up to my knees, keeping my back straight as I sink down so that my butt rests on my heels, then wait for Shawn to do the same.

Once he does, I tell him, “Okay. Now you’re going to put your left hand on your lower back. Don’t fist it. Just rest it there, open, with your palm facing out.”

As he does that, I continue, “We’re going to lean forward from the hips. As we do, you’re going to sweep your right arm to the side and behind your back, so that your hands link up. You’re going to turn your face to the left and rest your cheek on the mat, but make sure you keep most of your weight on your legs. Does that make sense?”

When I glance at Shawn to see if he got all the instructions, he’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Too fast?” I ask.

“No, I got what you said. I just…how exactly am I supposed to keep from falling on my face when I do this?”

“That’s what your core is for.” My gaze drifts, without my permission, down to the eight-pack he’s sporting. “I’m pretty sure you can handle it.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Here, let me show you.” I do exactly what I told him, sucking my stomach in as I lean forward to help me control how slowly I go down. Once my cheek is pressed against the mat, I say, “Once in this position you’re going to hold it for at least two minutes before lifting back up and then switching arms before repeating.”

I return to standing knee position and put my right hand behind my back. Then sweep my left one around as I bend forward until my right cheek is on the mat. I hold the position for several seconds before returning to home.

“Okay, think you can try it?” I ask as I turn back to look at Shawn. And nearly gasp at the heat—the intensity—in his eyes as they rake over me.

For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything. And neither do I. Instead, we just stare at each other as tension builds, hot and overwhelming, between us. My breathing grows shallow, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and every nerve ending I have starts to scream—starts to plead—for his touch. For the pleasure he brought me so easily, so completely, just a few nights ago.

Favor to Emerson be damned, I tell myself as my panties—and what’s underneath them—nearly combust on the spot. Self-preservation trumps friendship and right now every instinct I have is telling me to flee. And also to throw myself at him and to hell with the consequences.

I don’t appreciate the competing messages—or the confusion they bring.

It’s that confusion, and the way it makes me feel all topsy-turvy inside, that gives me the strength to pull my gaze from his. To put a little more distance between us. To say, “Your turn.”

“Sage.” It’s more growl than word when he says it like that, and every muscle in my body tightens with desire.

I force a smile I’m far from feeling, gesture to the mat in front of him. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”

He doesn’t move for long seconds, and I can’t help wondering if he’s going to push the issue, going to push this bizarre attraction that neither one of us is very good at hiding…or ignoring. But in the end he just nods and straightens into a standing kneel, right hand behind his back.

As I suspected, he’s got total control of his core as he leans forward easily and places his cheek on the mat. But he only rests there a few seconds before starting to come up and instinctively I lean forward, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on the small of his back to hold him in place.

“You need to hold the pose for two minutes,” I tell him, pushing down with only a little bit of pressure.

He tenses—though I’m not sure if it’s my touch or my instructions that have his muscles going so tight. Either way, it’s the opposite of what he should be doing so I quickly take my hands away. And ignore the way they’re tingling, just from rubbing over his skin.