Page 138 of The Yoga Teacher

And somehow—it made her feel beautiful.

Not just beautiful.Wanted.

Hot. Desired. Revered.

Her. Thirty-year-old, thick-thighed, chronically inflexible, terrible-at-yoga her. Not the idea of her. Not some filtered version. Buther, in sweat and silence and skin.

Was it love that undid him? Was it just raw attraction? Or was it that electric place where the two met and collided and consumed him whole?

Whatever it was—it burned through him.

It lit something in her too.

Because she’d had sex that was technically better. The gym guy with the perfect rhythm. Tristan who lasted forever between her thighs.

And still—this.

This man falling apart inside her in under five seconds.

This was what she wanted.

God, what the fuck was wrong with her.

But she didn’t let go.

She kept her arms around his back, her legs curled around his hips. She felt his thighs trembling against hers. His weight pressing her into the mattress, full and warm andknown.

And for just a second—before she could ruin it with thought—she let herself revel in it. The feel of him. The fall of him.

The absurd, undeniable truth of wanting the man who had once hurt her more than anyone ever had.

He pulled out then. Chest rising and falling, arms shaking, cock still half-hard and wet between his thighs.

This was Daniel stripped bare—not just physically, but emotionally. There was no performance left in him, no practiced charm. Just raw, unfiltered vulnerability.

He looked ashamed. Devastated. Then something shifted in his face—like resolve clicked into place behind the wreckage.

As Daniel moved above her, something caught the dim light. A thin chain around his neck now swung gently between them.

Hannah's fingers froze on his shoulder. Hanging from the delicate chain was a ring. Not just any ring.

Her wedding ring.

The one she'd deliberately left on the kitchen counter the night she walked out.

The small gold band caught the light as it swayed with his movements. Daniel followed her gaze, and she saw the moment he realized what she'd seen—his eyes widening, a flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he could hide it.

"Daniel," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why are you wearing my ring?"

He didn't answer immediately. His throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His hand moved instinctively tothe chain, fingers curling around the ring as if to hide it, protect it. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, stripped bare.

"It's the only piece of you I had left."

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy with implications she wasn't ready to face. Hannah stared at the ring—the physical embodiment of vows broken, promises shattered—now worn like a talisman against his heart.

She forced herself to look away, to breathe, to focus on sensation rather than memory. The past could wait; her body couldn't.

He reached for her again.

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