He’d slipped on his shorts, but following the lead of the couple of guys he’d met while changing, left his shirt off. Towel in hand, he stepped into the studio to find a dozen other participants already standing over mats.
“Over here.” Lynn and Suz waved him to the space they’d saved.
“Has yoga started yet?” Dean’s voice slid into his ear. “I know you can’t answer, but try to do it telepathically so I can feel like we’re having a conversation. The café is empty and I’m frickin’ bored. Seriously. Not a single cute girl in sight.” A pause. “When you’re in there you should flex the guns a few times, bro. Maybe you can score a date with the hot yoga instructor. She is hot, right? I just assume all yoga instructors are.”
Damn. He’d forgotten a one-way receiver meant he couldn’t tell Dean to fuck off and die. He’d have to save the beating for when he next saw the man.
The instructor at the front of the room began, removing her wrap to display an outfit that was barely legal but made sense considering the heat. And yup, she was definitely attractive, which supported Dean’s inane theory. Her arms lifted skyward, legs spread. Parker moved his mat back slightly so he could observe Lynn easier, as well as the others, ready to copy their motions the best he could.
The room temperature had to be over a hundred, the humidity high as well. Most of the guys were in shorts, the women in small exercise bras and skimpy shorts. He planned on appreciating the view without getting too distracted.
Only when the second thing they did was bend over to touch their toes, Parker nearly swallowed his tongue. Lynn’s very fine ass filled his peripheral vision. He should look away, he really should…
They moved into a “downward dog”, and the pressure in his groin only increased. He glanced to the side, and she caught his gaze, smiling encouragingly as she mouthed the words “watch me”. She stretched extra hard, pushing her head in line with her shoulders, but the position only emphasized her ass and breasts and, holy shit, he was going to self-combust before the hour was over. One motion flowed into another as the heat in the room increased and sweat broke out on his skin.
Fuck it. The room could have been icy cold, and he would still be sweating. Why the hell hadn’t anyone warned him yoga was dirtier than porn?
By the time they moved to the floor, Parker’s skin was slick with sweat, beads running down his temples and back. The couple of simple moves in a seated position allowed him to breathe, and a little of his full-on hard-on to fade.
Until they rolled to their hands and knees. To his side, Lynn was following the instructor’s directions carefully, her back arching and bowing in slow-motion timing. Parker’s cock was ready to explode as he used every last ounce of mental strength to keep from being obvious about his fixation on the thin layer of material covering her pussy and ass.
Tilt forward, tilt back.
Tilt forward, tilt back.
Jesus Christ, this was killing him. If he’d been three feet to his right, both of them naked, this move would slide his cock in and out of her in the perfect rhythm to blow both their minds.
He closed his eyes and thought of the rottenest, coldest op he’d ever been assigned, desperate to kill his erection dead before he came without a single touch.
And it was all about Lynn, which was the most frustrating part. Suz was bending and twisting through the yoga moves as well, putting as much on display. But for some reason Suz’s exuberant, sexual come-hither reminded Parker of Dean. No way he wanted to hit anything that reminded him of his buddy, no matter how sexy the woman’s curves were.
The other women in the class were attractive, but it seemed his libido had locked on to Lynn, which was fucked-up and stupid and all kinds of wrong.
“Okay, so we might be looking at a vegetarian here.” Dean’s soft remark dragged Parker back to the here and now. He finally focused on something other than the sexual hum in his veins, listening to his buddy’s update. “Just found a scathing editorial about animal cruelty on the New York Times site. Unless a different Lynn Davidson wrote it. Hold on…’kay, wait, I clicked on her bio. It’s some vegan chick from Chicago. Meat-eater’s back on the table.”
Parker tried not to roll his eyes, though he did appreciate the distraction. Getting turned on by a client was wrong. He had to nip this attraction to Lynn in the bud, now, before he made any more mistakes.
She had a boyfriend who was about to propose, for fuck’s sake, slimy as Phil seemed to be. The pressure in Parker’s dick eased when he pictured Lynn with the jerk, frustration and anger slipping in to replace the lust. She was wasted on that ass. Phil didn’t even know her favorite color, and he was planning on marrying her? Screw him sideways.