Page 125 of The Yoga Teacher

“I know I want to keep dancing with you.”

Hannah looked at him for a long beat. And then, quietly said, “Or we could leave.”

He blinked. Then grinned. “Yeah. That.”

She reached for her bag. He held the door.

Just before they stepped outside, she paused. “What’s your name?”

“Tristan.” He held her gaze, then added, “Yours?”

“Hannah.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Good to meet you, Hannah.”

She didn’t say the same.

They left together—no hand-holding, no whispered promises. Just two bodies that had found each other in the dark.

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Tristan’s body was warm against hers. They were already in bed, half tangled, the silence between them soft but charged. His hand skimmed down her side, finding the curve of her hip with practiced ease. He kissed the base of her throat, and she let her eyes close, not because she was lost in it—but because she needed to be somewhere else in her head.

Not thinking. Not doubting.

Justbeing.

It was strange, letting someone touch her here—in this house, in this room, under this ceiling.

His lips moved lower. His hands were confident. Eager. Young.

And for a second, all Hannah could think of wasSienna.

Lithe, flexible, smug in that detached way only the truly self-obsessed could manage. Hannah had seen her naked. She’d seen the way she moved. Knew the kind of woman who left sweat-slick limbs on Daniel’s body. All lean lines and zero shame, Daniel’s mouth on skin ten years younger.

Did Daniel think about Sienna, even now, when he touched himself in the dark?

She almost pulled away.

Almost sat up, covered herself, ended it before the spiral took hold.

But then his hands shifted, grounding her.Hewasn’t comparing. He wasn’t thinking about her history—wasn’t charting the differences between her body and another’s. He was justhere. Touching her like she was the only story that mattered tonight.

She flipped him onto his back, her movements decisive.

She was done being measured.

The anger fueled her. Anger at what had been taken from her. At how Daniel had tarnished the confidence she had in herself, the safety she’d once felt under these sheets.

So she made a decision.

She took her pleasure. Her pace. Her body.

She told him what she wanted. Moved the waysheliked.

Her thighs, strong and solid, braced against him with control. Her arms burned with effort, but it was the kind of burn she welcomed—earned, owned. She caught his breath hitching beneath her, his eyes wide. She could feel his awe, and it wasn’t about youth or perfection.

It was power.

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