Page 140 of The Yoga Teacher

Still, Daniel didn’t stop.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice hoarse, lips brushing her navel as he kissed upward. “I never saw it properly. I never deserved to.”

She wanted to snap at him—to say this wasn’t about him, not about what he deserved or didn’t deserve—but then he was kissing her again, tongue warm and slow in her mouth. She could taste herself.

She felt it—the heat of his cock against her thigh again.

Hard again.

Hot and heavy and insistent, but no longer frantic. His body rolled over hers like he was trying to memorize every part of her.

When he pushed inside her this time, he paused. His forehead dropped to hers. Their breaths tangled.

This time, he didn’t lose control.

This time, he stayed.

He moved in long, slow strokes, grinding just right—pressure on her clit with every roll of his body over her. Hannah clung to him, one arm wrapped around his back, the other digging into his shoulder as her body trembled beneath his.

Her orgasm crept up like a storm, all heat and no warning, and when it broke, it brokehard.

She cried out—shuddering around him—and Daniel groaned against her neck, his pace faltering but not stopping.

“God,” he breathed. “You’re so—fuck—Hannah.”

She felt his rhythm stutter, the way he tried to hold back, to make it last, but she clenched around him, dragging him in deeper, pulling his name from his throat in a raw, broken sound.

And when he came—hips jerking, body curling over hers—she kept her eyes open.

She watched his face.

Every twitch of muscle, every flicker of agony and awe as he emptied himself inside her like he didn’t know where he ended and she began.

Daniel collapsed against her, trembling again. Not from weakness. From reverence.

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The room was still warm with the echo of what they’d just done.

Daniel’s breathing was still ragged against her shoulder, his arm draped across her waist like he could hold the moment in place. His chest rose and fell behind her, damp with sweat, his heart pounding against her spine.

For a beat—just one—Hannah let herself feel comfort in his body.

His weight. His warmth. The way her body still pulsed where he’d touched her, filled her.

Then she shifted.

Daniel stirred as she slipped out from under him, his hand reaching for her instinctively.

“Hannah…” His voice was low, soft. Still dazed.

She sat up, already gathering her clothes. Her bra was halfway across the room, her underwear wadded into the blanket at the edge of the bed. She found them fast. On autopilot. Efficient.

Daniel sat up slowly, the sheets falling away from his hips. He looked wrecked—hair mussed, mouth swollen, eyes glassy with something she didn’t want to name.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“Don’t read into it,” she said, fastening her bra. “This wasn’t a reunion.”

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