Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Fuck.
She’s beautiful. Not in the polished, magazine way. Moreso, in the dangerous, I-could-kill-you-with-my-thighs way. And right now, with her body moving like liquid and that tiny strip of skin flashing every time she breathes, my brain is supplying way too many images I have no business thinking about. Her on top of me. Those strong legs wrapped around my waist. That focused expression shifting into something softer, hungrier. My hands on her hips, guiding her, feeling her move against me the same way she’s moving now.
My body reacts before my brain can shut it down. Heat rushes south, my sweatpants suddenly feeling a lot tighter. I shift my weight, trying to will it away, but it’s no fucking use. She’s right there, bending and stretching and breathing like sin, and every cell in me is paying attention.
She transitions into a standing split, one leg extended high behind her, balance perfect. The curve of her ass in those leggings should be illegal. I swallow hard, throat dry. Part of me wants to walk over there, slide my hands along her waist, feel the heat of her skin, see if she would push me away or pull me closer. The rest of me knows that’s the stupidest idea I’ve had all day, and that’s saying something after stealing a phone at a pool party.
Orchid finishes the pose and flows into child’s pose, forehead to the mat, arms stretched forward. For a second she just stays there, breathing. Then she pushes up slowly, rolling her shoulders, and turns her head.
Our eyes meet.
She freezes.
I try to look casual, like I just came downstairs and happened to glance over. But I know my face is probably giving everything away. The flush. The way I’m gripping the railing a little too tight. The obvious interest I can’t quite hide.
She straightens fully, wiping a strand of hair off her forehead. Her cheeks are flushed from the workout, lips slightly parted. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” I admit, voice rougher than I want it to be. I clear my throat and force a half-smile. “You’re… really good at that.”
She narrows her eyes, but there’s something else in her expression now. Awareness. A flicker of heat that mirrors what’s burning through me. Or maybe I’m just imagining it because my brain is still stuck on the way she looked bent over in that lunge. Fuck me. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about the woman holding me captive.
“Spying on me now?” she asks, but her tone is not as sharp as usual. There’s a hint of breathlessness underneath. From the yoga. Probably.
“Not spying. Just… appreciating the view.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I lean against the banister, trying to play it cool even though my body is still very much on board with every filthy thought I just had. “You make it look easy.”
Orchid grabs a towel from the back of the couch and wipes her neck, giving me a long, measuring look. “Most things look easy when you’ve been doing them long enough to survive.”
There it is again. That tiny crack in her armor. The reminder that she’s not just Serafina’s pretty enforcer. She has her own reasons, her own scars, her own reasons for playing this game. I want to push. I want to ask again why she’s really here, what she’s waiting for. But right now my blood’s still running hot and my brain’s not exactly in interrogation mode.
I step off the last stair and into the living room, keeping some distance so I don’t do something stupid like reach for her. “After watching that, I might need to take up yoga. Looks better for stress relief than punching walls.”
She huffs a small laugh, almost surprised. “You would hate it. Too slow for someone who likes to run headfirst into trouble.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’d like watching you demonstrate every pose.”
The words hang between us, heavier than I intended. Her eyes darken just a fraction. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, like she’s deciding whether to snap at me or play along.
Instead she tosses the towel onto the couch and crosses her arms, which only pushes her tank top tighter across her chest. Not helping.
“Careful, Poe,” she says quietly. “You’re supposed to be the prisoner here. Not the one making comments.”
I shrug, even though my pulse is still hammering. “Prisoner. Husband. Neighbor. I’m whatever gets me through the day right now. And right now I’m the guy who just watched you bend in ways that should come with a warning label.”
She shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah. But I’m also the only one here who knows how good that ass looks in downward dog.”
This time she does laugh. Short, surprised, and genuine. It lights something up in her face that makes my chest tighten for an entirely different reason.