Page 179 of The Yoga Teacher

Her breath caught—but she didn’t look away.

Someone yelled for a group photo. Hannah sighed and grabbed his hand. He let her tug him forward, but right before they stepped in front of the camera, he leaned close and whispered against her hair:

“I want every birthday.”

She stilled.

“I want thirty-two. And thirty-eight. And forty-seven. And sixty-four, when your back hurts and mine forgets how to work. I want them all. Every single one. If you’ll let me.”

“That’s a lot of candles to help me blow out.”

And as the camera flashed, he kissed her like a man who knew the exact value of time.

And how lucky he was to spend it with her.

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The sheets were twisted at the foot of the bed. Her skin was flushed. Sticky. Glowing.

She lay on her stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, her back arched slightly from the aftermath.

Daniel was beside her, one arm flung over her hips like he couldn't quite let her go. His breathing was slow now—less desperate, more reverent. His fingertips traced lazy patterns across the small of her back, like his body was still trying to memorize the new map of hers, even after all this time.

"You keep doing that," she murmured into the pillow, "and we’re going to be here all night.”

He chuckled. Low. Wrecked. “Is that a threat?”

She turned her head just enough to see him. He looked like a man who had walked through fire and come out worshipping the flame.

“I’m serious,” she said, voice heavier now. “One more time and I might not survive it.”

His hand stilled. But then he leaned in, mouth brushing the curve of her shoulder, his voice a whisper against her skin.

“Then let me be your last breath tonight.”

She shivered.

He shifted, pressing himself fully against her now—naked, warm, grounded. She could feel every inch of him, every intention.

“Let me have you,” he said softly.

She rolled onto her back, breath catching as he settled above her.

“You already have me,” she whispered. “And I have you.”

His mouth crashed into hers then—less patient now.

Hands urgent. Kisses messy. No script. Just heat and history and everything they hadn’t said in daylight.

This wasn’t tender.

This wasn’t careful.

This was greedy. Hungry. A man who had once lost her and now would never let her go.

And when he moved inside her again—deep, slow, reverent like worship—she met him with everything she had.

Her nails dug into his back. Her hips lifted to meet every thrust. She whispered his name like she was claiming it back.

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