Chapter 11 #2
“For our next pose,” Amalya instructs, “you have a choice based on your comfort level. For the first variation, one partner should be seated. The other partner sits in their lap, facing them with legs interlocked behind their back.” She demonstrates by sitting in Stefan’s lap, their cores pressed together.
“As you begin to feel the intimacy deepen, you can allow yourself to become more vulnerable by opening your heart.” She shows us that too, laying back to the blanket with Stefan holding her hands to support her.
A few people move to mimic the pose.
Standing up, she tells us, “The second variation is similar but requires a higher degree of trust.”
Stefan holds a finger up. “And strength. She makes it sound graceful and pretty, but it does require strength.”
Amalya smiles at her boyfriend’s addition but teases, “Are you saying I’m heavy? I know you are not saying I’m heavy.”
Stefan’s eyes go dark as he shakes his head. “You are my queen, perfection in every luscious inch.”
With that, they demonstrate variation two.
Amalya jumps up to wrap her legs around Stefan’s waist. He supports her weight under her ass for a moment, but then they transition to holding hands as she arches back toward the blanket.
Her locked feet keep her core pressed to Stefan’s belly, and his grip on her hands and arms keeps her head from smashing into the sand.
He bounces her a couple of times to adjust their position and eyebrows raise. For all the heat they’re creating, the rest of us might as well not even be here. I think Stefan and Amalya have a rather interesting sex life.
“Whatcha thinking? You want to see if you can hold me up or hit the blanket?” I ask Lorenzo.
He doesn’t wait for me to jump, simply grabs me and hoists me up his body. I try to lock my legs around his waist like Amalya showed us, but his loose shirt makes it nearly impossible and I keep slipping down.
“Like this,” Emily advises. I look over to see her hiked up Doug’s body with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms hanging on to his neck.
The smile on her face is one of smug arrogance that she’s doing something I can’t.
She’s getting such sick joy out of being better than me even though Doug looks like he’s one heartbeat away from bursting an aneurysm.
“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 to 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.
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 Stefan’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 Stefan, 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.
Who can do the most? Winner takes home this brand-new Buick!
“Like this, Abi. Did you forget how?” I can’t decide if she’s teasing me about my lack of sex or that I’m stupid. I decide it must be the latter since she thinks I’m on my honeymoon getting sexed up non-stop. “Or are you just worn out from showboating with that backbend?”
“Come back to me, Abigail. I need you,” Lorenzo groans, and any competition, real or imagined, with Emily floats away when I meet his eyes.
I push forward into my shoulders, and my clit rubs along his length, drawing a hiss from Lorenzo.
A surge of power rushes through me. I’m in control of his pleasure, his pain, his everything right now, and he has to lie there and take it from me as he begs for more.
I’m not usually dominant in bed. I prefer a more equal sporting event if I’m honest, but this excites me.
I glide down his body, enjoying the way the head of his cock bumps over my clit and down my slit. I’m giving him pleasure as I take some of my own. Amalya might’ve said this was a give or take position, but I’m finding it to be quite give and take.
I find a rhythm and pace that I can maintain, and the flow up and down Lorenzo’s length is driving us both mad. My breath is panting, my brow sweaty, and my eyes are locked on his as we reach higher and higher.
Around us, the intrusive sound of grunts tells me we’re not the only ones, but I focus solely on Lorenzo now.
He groans deeply, and then, despite the rules of the pose, his hands slap down on my ass, stilling me fiercely. In his grip, I can’t move an inch, can only feel the pulsing throb of his cock against my clit. I raise my brows and he shakes his head slowly. “Not here. Not our first time.”
Sweet. Sexy. Man.
Oh, shit . . . he said first time! Did Emily hear that? That’ll ruin everything. I pale and look over, half expecting to see her evil smile of ‘gotcha’ at discovering our charade, but I find her shuddering on top of Doug, who seems pretty pulled together and clear-eyed.
Did she? Did he? Oh, my God. Seriously?
Wait, don’t answer that, universe. I do not want to know.
As if the universe is actually granting wishes, Amalya calmly advises, “Last but not least, please find your way into any comfortable position that has you and your partner connected. This could be spooning, on your backs holding hands, on top of one another, et cetera. The connection is the important thing.”
Lorenzo and I lie on our sides facing one another with our hands and legs interwoven between us.
Eyes locked on one another, I try to read what lurks in his.
Hunger and lust are easy to see. But could there be more?
Do I even want more? I certainly don’t have time for it beyond this week.
Hell, I don’t even have time for more this week!
But I let that go and simply stare into his eyes as Amalya leads us through a guided meditation of connection and hope for our future as couples. It’s lovely, though I couldn’t tell you a thing she says because I’m too caught up in what Lorenzo’s eyes might be saying.