by Lori Wilde
It was an intriguing fantasy and she found herself nudging the curtain open just a little bit.
She realized suddenly she’d never seen him leave the complex. His car was in his parking spot when she left for work. It was there when she returned. Hmm. Perhaps he worked from home.
Such a shame. A man who looked like that shouldn’t be cloistered from the world. He could have been a centerfold. Six-one. Dark hair. Cut too short, but still sexy. Except for the hair, he looked sort of like Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans. He had that same air about him. Serious. A warrior. Dedicated to a cause. She found his personality traits incredibly arousing. Hawkeye. She sighed dreamily.
She pretended he was over there on his side of the courtyard, staring at her, arms crossed. His dark eyes hooded with lust. Instantly, her chest tightened and she felt slightly out of breath.
Her breasts ached, her nipples hardened.
She moved to the sofa, still fantasizing that he was watching her. She peeled off her panties, lounged on the cushions and spread her legs, her fingers trailing to where her body was rapidly growing hot and wet. The room smelled of candle wax and her overheated sex. She closed her eyes and an erotic daydream claimed her.
Against the back of her eyelids, she saw Adam.
“Eva,” his throaty voice called her in a sultry, velvet-smooth croon that sent shivers rafting through her.
Her pulse quickened as she envisioned Adam in the room with her, taking off his clothes in a slow striptease. Her nipples grew even harder, straining upward for his imaginary mouth.
She could almost feel Adam’s broad hands gently stroking her skin, skimming over her breasts, moving lower, circling her navel, teasing her pitilessly.
Whimpering, Eva lightly pinched one of her tender nipples, pantomiming what she wished Adam would do to her. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and with her eyes still closed, slowly explored her body.
Ah, yes. This was good. This was what she needed; a little sexual release to end her frustration.
Greedily, she caressed the naked flesh between her thighs and all her pent-up energy slipped out on a sweet sigh of pleasure.
Adam.
How she wanted him to kiss her. Hold her. Stroke her. Sink his hard cock into her. She slid her fingertips over her achy skin, across her silky folds, skimming along the satiny moisture oozing from her swollen inner core.
“Adam,” she whispered.
She saw him leaning over her on the couch, his hand fondling the delicate bud of her feminine arousal. She felt his mouth touch her there, burning and bold. Her heart thundered and her mind spun.
Oh yes, oh yes.
In her mind’s eye it was his hand dipping between her legs, caressing and rubbing her swollen clit. He kissed small circles against her inner thigh and with his other hand he was doing exotic things to her bottom.
Her fingers moved in time to the fantasy as imagination and reality blurred sweetly. She could feel the orgasm starting deep within her.
Yes, yes.
It gathered, strengthened, built.
She stoked the vision, feeling his large penis pressing against her, tasting his lips on her tongue. The orgasm was almost there. She was so close. Only inches away.
Come.
Faster and faster her fingers strummed and she increased the pressure, in a rush now to achieve her goal. Relief. Release.
“Adam,” she whispered, and thrashed her head against the couch pillow. “Adam, Adam.”
She imagined being with him, this man she craved. She wanted to look into his eyes while he made love to her. Wanted to stare into the core of him and touch that inner strength that made her feel so welcomed, cared for and cherished.
She was on fire now, burning from the inside out. And there was Adam watching her with ravenous eyes. His desire for her evident, his penis erect. He was pushing aside her fingers, sliding into her, dilating her, taking her.
The orgasm hit, ripping through her like a lightning storm. Gale force and exhilarating.
Her legs stiffened. Her back arched. Eva cried out and shuddered as satisfaction lit up her body.
She came hard.
But in the end, it wasn’t nearly adequate enough. She lay on the couch panting for more. Her orgasm, no matter how good, was steeped in loneliness. She felt as if she was in a vortex, sucked empty. Dry.
No matter how sweet the fantasy, it couldn’t make up for what she lacked.
She wanted Adam. Needed him. Here. His body buried deep inside hers.
ACROSS THE COURTYARD, Adam stood watching and he could not believe what he was seeing. Eva engaged in self-pleasure.
Was this a wet dream? Was he asleep fantasizing that he was spying on her as she lay on her couch stroking herself? If he was, this was the best wet dream ever.
Eva St. George was the most amazing woman and he had ringside seating to her peep show. Not only was she sexy as all get out, but her spunky chutzpah aroused him, as well. He respected how she went boldly after what she needed. He liked how she threw herself into experiences the way he threw himself into his work. She showed him how to be spontaneous and flexible. He admired how easily she shrugged off setbacks and didn’t let problems get her down. Her free spirit magnetized him. She set him on fire.
He should walk away, he knew that, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to. He fisted his hands, swallowed hard, and blinked against the sweat suddenly running down his brow.
Her body glowed in the candlelight, slick with perspiration. He watched her lightly pinch her nipple with one hand while the other hand moved down, down, down.
He’d never seen a more arousing sight. Her long fingers, the short nails painted with a clear gloss, tracking over her bare skin, headed for the place he most wanted to be. His breath came in hard, quick pants. His dick was cement. His balls ached painfully.
His fingers went to his zipper. All right. He was going to do it. He was going to pleasure himself. But just for relief. Just to keep himself from slamming out the door, stalking over to her apartment and taking her right there on her sofa.
He palmed himself, curled his fingers around the head of his cock. He imagined her soft moans. Blood shot straight to his groin. He swelled, grew.
Her fingers moved rhythmically, her juices glistening. He could see the sweet little hood of her sex, jutting up pert and hungry.
He held his breath, his eye glued to the eyepiece, unable to tear his gaze away from the stunningly erotic sight. She was so moist and pink and beautiful down there.
Her fingers grew more frantic. Her back arched and she thrashed her head against the soft cushions.
His own hand was busy; matching her stroke for stroke, imagining it was her hot little fingers on his cock. Pressure gathered in his balls, pushed upward. He could feel it building in his shaft. Release was imminent.
Her soft sounds of pleasure were driving him insane.
He moved the telescope slightly so he could zero in on her face. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, a furrow creased her brow and she looked as close as he was.
Faster and faster Adam stroked himself.
And just before he came, he saw Eva’s body jerk and he swore he saw her call out his name.
THE VERY NEXT EVENING, Eva was mildly surprised (and a lot delighted) to look out at her 6:00 p.m. hatha yoga class and see Adam lurking at the back of the room with a yoga mat tucked underneath his arm. She hadn’t really expected him to ever show up, but she was glad he was here.
She’d been thinking of him a lot lately, especially after what she’d done in her living room last night. Her thoughts of him had been compounded when she’d listened to her voice mail and heard Keith’s voice begging her to call him back.
When hippopotamuses fly.
She was done with Keith. He’d caused her to be questioned by NCIS. If nothing else had come from the relationship, she’d gotten very clear on what she did not want. She’d even momentarily considered changing her cell phone number, but it seeme
d more hassle than it was worth. He’d only called her the one time in the three weeks since she’d seen him last. He’d get the hint when she didn’t call him back. Keith had his faults, but he’d been pretty astute.
Adam wore cargo shorts that in spite of their bagginess managed to show off his tanned muscular legs. Not the best yoga attire, but she suspected there’d be no way to get this man into Lycra. Not that she even wanted to try. He was far too masculine for that. In fact, he almost seemed too masculine for yoga, but she loved that he was giving the practice a chance.
Maybe he’s not here for yoga. Maybe he’s just here to see you.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought.
Adam had flirted with her at the pool. He’d made an excuse to touch her. He’d eagerly volunteered to come check her pilot light. He stopped to speak to her every time they passed in the courtyard.
Their eyes met across the room crowded with students and she felt the sweet pierce of his gaze.
It bothered her, this attraction. Mainly because she knew Sienna was right. That she too easily followed her compulsions. Like last night, when she’d done what she’d done on the couch with the curtains partially open, imagining Adam was watching her.
What if he had been watching her?
A thrill fluttered through her at the possibility. Eva dropped her gaze, went over to the controls for the sound system and turned on soft, relaxing music with the undertones of waves crashing.
In her mind’s eye, she could see the beach, smell the surf, feel the grit of white sand beneath her toes and hear the palm trees swaying in the wind. Impulsively, she wished she were on the beach with Adam, totally alone and naked.
Eva gulped, struggling to get herself under control.
Something had given way in her last night. Broken loose. Something as unfathomable and surprising as a riptide. She turned to face the class again.
“Deep breath everyone,” she called. She drew in a deep breath, pulling her navel to her spine, demonstrating the technique.
The class complied.
“Inhale,” she coached. “Hold it.” As the sound of the surf rolled out, she said, “Exhale. That’s right. Feel your body relaxing with each breath. Inhale…exhale.”
After a couple of minutes of deep breathing, the students were looser, all except, she noticed, for Adam. He stood stiff as a soldier on patrol.
And so was she.
Her muscles tensed. Her throat constricted. She’d unconsciously mirrored his posture. This wasn’t good, an uptight yoga instructor.
Concentrate. Focus.
She loved her work. Loved yoga. Loved the calm energy the practice brought into her life. It was the perfect antidote to her hopscotch thoughts, stabilizing both her body and her mind. When it came to yoga, usually nothing threw her off her game.
Adam Mancuso appeared to be an exception to the rule.
“Mountain Pose,” she called out, demonstrating the basic standing pose designed to bring the body into alignment. Right now, her own body and thoughts needed serious realignment.
“Now Salutation to the Sun. Feel the stretch. That’s it.” She cast a glance at her students. Everyone was doing well.
Except for Adam. He was off balance, teetering.
“Let your feet and calves root to the floor. Imagine you are an old oak tree, immovable, strong.”
Adam wobbled, his forehead creased in a frown.
“Now just breathe.” She paused.
Adam finally stabilized, and looked pleased with his accomplishment.
She ducked her head to hide a smile. “Okay, very good. On your mats now for Butterfly Pose.”
She got down on the floor to demonstrate the pose, sitting up straight and bringing the soles of her feet together in front of her. “Wrap your fingers around your toes and gently pull your heels in toward your groin.”
The students followed her lead, Adam included.
“Keeping your back straight, slowly lean forward from the waist as far as you can. Don’t force it. You should feel a good stretch in your pelvis. Great. Long, slow, deep breaths.”
Soon the room filled with the sound of controlled, rhythmic breathing. It was bizarre—she’d never really noticed before how erotic yoga could sound.
“This pose is also used in Kundalini yoga,” she reminded the class. Repetition was a teacher’s stock in trade. You repeated and repeated and repeated until finally, drip by drip, your students caught on. “The Butterfly Pose not only promotes flexibility, it also raises your sexual energy center. Don’t be alarmed if you have some unexpected physical reactions to this practice. Your bed partners will be delighted.”
A woman in the back row sitting beside Adam tittered and Eva had to resist rolling her eyes. Some people could be so immature about sex. It was just a bodily function. No different from any other.
“Let’s shift to Cow Pose and inhale.”
The class moved as one with Adam being the lone exception. He stayed in Butterfly Pose.
“Exhale into Cat Pose.”
They complied, but not Adam. What was the deal? Was the guy hung up on butterflies?
Eva got to her feet and moved among the students, stopping to correct postures as she went. She continued to call out instructions to the class as she got closer to Adam.
He was still in lotus position while the other students were down on all fours. Was he afraid of putting himself in a vulnerable position? She’d had male students who were and refused to do certain poses.
Eva reached the back of the room and leaned over to murmur, “Is there a problem?”
He looked sheepish. “Um…sort of.”
She glanced downward. He had his hand draped over his lap and he looked extremely self-conscious.
Immediately, she understood what must have happened. Sometimes, when men performed the Butterfly Pose they got a spontaneous erection. Usually, it only happened to experienced yogis whose sacral chakras were highly sensitized. When it happened to a novice, it was an indication that he had a lot of natural prowess and with the proper training could be aroused to great tantric heights.
Eva decided not to share this with him. It was too much personal information in a nonintimate setting.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said.
“You might think this is no big deal,” he whispered tersely, a fierce frown on his face. “But it’s damned embarrassing. I feel out of control.”
“You have to let go of control in order to experience your real strength.”
“What the hell does that mean? It doesn’t even make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense when you think about it. Until you let go of the need to control, you can never be fully in control.”
“Well, it feels very inappropriate to me. I can’t…it won’t…go down.”
Eva became aware that the class had stopped their Cow-Cat Pose rotation and had turned to see what was going on at the back of the room.
“Pose of a Child,” she commanded.
In unison, the students obeyed, going face-down, arms extended, knees tucked to their chests.
“Wow,” Adam said. “Crack that whip.”
“Give me your hand.”
“What?”
“Give me your hand,” she repeated.
“What for?” He tilted his head up at her, but kept his hands protectively sheltering his lap.
“Do you want help with your problem or not?”
“I don’t think you get how this works. The touch of a gorgeous woman is not going to alleviate things if you get my drift.”
“It will.”
“It won’t.”
She extended her palm. “Hand,” she insisted.
Adam looked as if she’d suggested he stick his finger into a live electrical socket.
“Gimme.”
Reluctantly, he shifted his arm to block her view of his groin and stuck out his left hand.
THE SECOND EVA TOUCHED him, the boner that had arisen when he’d struck the
Butterfly Pose got even stiffer, just as Adam had known it would.
For the first time in his life, he was having uncontrollable erections and it was all because of her. Even when he’d been a hormonal teen, he’d been able to douse unwanted sexual stirrings by focusing his mind on somber thoughts. But not now. Not after watching Eva do naked yoga, among other things, through the narrow opening in her living room window.
He was a voyeur. A spy. Watching in the darkness.
It wasn’t the yoga that had caused this graphic response. Rather, it had been the sight of Eva’s lithe body stretching into easy contortions, her intoxicating rump in the air. The image of how she’d looked on the sofa last night was forever branded in his brain.
He’d tried not to think about her. To focus on his breathing and all that other Kundalini stuff. But hell, she’d been sitting up there in front of him, her legs spread in butterfly position and he’d been aching for her for days.
Why had he come here? He knew he shouldn’t have come here. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to come here. But he had not been able to make himself stay away. She’d called his name in the middle of the night as she’d given herself an orgasm. He hadn’t hallucinated it. And now that he’d come here, his dick was also desperate to come.
Eva’s nimble fingers traced over his hand and then she pressed her thumb squarely in the middle of his palm and rubbed.
Hard.
Who knew the center of your palm was so damned sensitive to pressure? It felt as if every ache in his body had suddenly converged there, responsive and raw.
“Is it going away?” she murmured.
“No.”
She kneaded harder.
“That’s not helping.”
“Relax.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey,” one of the students called out. “How long are we going to stay in this pose?”
“Cobra Pose,” she called over her shoulder. Then to Adam, she whispered, “Just breathe.”
When she said it, he realized he’d been holding his breath. Who knew breathing was such a tricky thing?
She ran her thumb along his palm just below his fingers and massaged each joint individually. It wasn’t the least bit sexual, but his boner wasn’t going anywhere. He could smell her rich scent—part perspiration, part cherry scented shampoo. He could feel the heat of her body.
