Page 55 of Oliver
"You're up early," I managed, walking into the elevator and hoping my smile didn't look as strained as it felt.
"Darryl snores when he's been drinking." She wrinkled her nose. "Figured I might as well get up and enjoy the pre-wedding yoga I'm paying for."
The doors slid shut, and I kept my eyes fixed on the illuminated numbers rather than my cousin's knowing grin.
"Soooooo," she drawled, drawing out the word until it had at least six syllables. "How wasyournight?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Good. I slept good. Well!” I took a deep, steadying breath. “I slept well. You?"
"Mmhmm." She nodded, her gaze following mine as she tilted her head to the side. "You know, our bridal suite is directly above yours.”
“I know.”
“The walls in this place aren't exactly soundproof." She was still staring at the descending numbers, completely unfazed. “And neither are the floors.”
Oh God. I closed my eyes, drowning in a giant wave of mortification. "Parisa, please?—"
"Hey, no judgment. I’m thrilled for you." The sincerity in her voice added a sharp twist of guilt to my embarrassment. If only she knew this was all an arrangement, a contract. Except last night hadn't felt like business at all. “But if you break the bed, you’re footing the bill.”
“Parisa!”
She answered my scold with rolling laughter, getting off the elevator at the gym and spa level.
"I'll get us spots in the back," Parisa said when we entered the studio, moving toward the mats while I went to confer with the instructor about timing and the post-session refreshments.
By the time we began, most of the bridesmaids had arrived, along with a few other female wedding guests, including Auntie Maryam.
I settled onto my mat beside Parisa, catching sideways glances and knowing smiles thrown my way.
Oh, God, please no.
"I barely got a wink in last night," one bridesmaid said to another as we moved into downward dog, her wickedly amused gaze fixed on me. "Who knew the quiet ones were so vocal?"
“Everyone knows the quiet ones are always the loudest,” another bridesmaid supplied helpfully from across the room.
I forced myself to focus on my breathing, on the burn in my muscles as we transitioned from pose to pose. But it was impossible. Each stretch, each twist of my body, reminded me of last night.
"It was all the wall banging that did it for me," someone stage whispered while we were in Child's Pose.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the memory of his desperate, and his hungry eyes when he'd growled my name.
We switched to Thread and Needle, my muscles burning with the effort of holding the pose, yet all I could think about was Oliver. The defined muscles of his abdomen contracting with each thrust. The broad expanse of his shoulders as he braced himself over me. His thick fingers stroking his stiff cock as those brown eyes saw into my very soul.
"I mean, can you imagine the stamina?"
I choked, lost balance, and ended up face-planting into the mat.
Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward me, and I was begging for the ground to swallow me whole. No such luck.
"I'm fine," I said in a voice too high-pitched as I sat up.
“And so is your man,” one of the girls called out. Everyone burst into laughter, and my cheeks burned hotter.
Parisa, who had been laughing along until now, took one look at me and her features hardened.
“Enough.” She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t have to.
The shift was instant—the grins faded, someone coughed, and everyone looked away. Message received.
