Page 48 of Better When Shared
Caleb
The week passed as a fever dream of tangled limbs, hungry mouths, and laughter. I’d spent my days working at the Bindery Hotel, solidifying their new marketing plan. But Julian and Nisha had consumed every free moment I had in Portland. I was starved for them, spending my nights in their bed, my mornings at their breakfast table, like I was bingeing on their attention, afraid of what would happen when I was without it once again.
Now, I was standing outside Zenith Yoga waiting for one last chance to spend time with them both. It had surprised me how well Nisha fit with the two of us, and I tried not to wonder if maybe, all those years ago, things would have worked out differently if we’d found a woman like her instead of a string of anonymous hookups.
This was just a fling, of course. I couldn’t have more with a married couple—and Julian and Nisha were deeply in love and deeply committed to one another. But I couldn't ignore the hollow ache in my chest at the thought of leaving. So I’d agreedto one more afternoon. Just one more afternoon to memorize the way Julian's eyes crinkled when he laughed, the soft sounds Nisha made when we touched her together, the unfamiliar weight of genuine connection I'd avoided for seven long years.
I checked my watch again. They were late, which wasn't like them. Each day this week had followed the same intoxicating pattern: work during the day, then straight to their townhouse or my hotel suite, where we'd lose ourselves in each other until dawn threatened to expose our secrets. Last night, Julian had whispered against my neck that we should meet at Zenith for one last adventure before my flight. "Full circle," he'd murmured, and Nisha had smiled that knowing smile that made my cock twitch even now, just thinking about it.
The door to the studio opened, and Julian appeared alone, his glasses slightly askew in that way they always got when he was rushing.
"Where's Nisha?" I asked, my stomach sinking with irrational disappointment. I’d hoped for a little sexy fun after the class.
"Last-minute client emergency," Julian said, reaching up to adjust his glasses. "Some fabric shipment disaster. She said she'll meet us for lunch after class."
I swallowed my disappointment, focusing instead on Julian's presence—the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his joggers hugged his thighs, the curve of his lips that I now knew the taste of.
"She also said," Julian continued, dropping his voice, "that we should use this time to reconnect. Just the two of us."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Reconnect?"
Julian's lips quirked up. "Her words, not mine. But I think we both know what she meant."
Before I could respond, Carly's voice called from inside, "Five minutes to partner yoga, everyone! Find your mats and your sweethearts!"
Julian held the door open, his eyes glittering with mischief. "Ready to get bendy with me, Bancroft?"
"Fuck off," I laughed, but followed him inside, hyper-aware of his body moving ahead of mine.
The studio looked different in daylight—sunlight streaming through the massive windows, catching on the copper bowls and crystals that lined the instructor's platform. Several couples had already claimed their spaces, laying out mats in pairs, whispering and laughing together.
"As you all know, this month’s theme is couples connection," Carly announced as Julian and I settled onto adjacent mats. "Today's focus is building trust, intimacy, and playful connection through breathwork and gentle resistance."
Julian raised an eyebrow at me, and I had to stifle another laugh. After what we'd done together this week, "gentle resistance" seemed almost comically tame.
"We'll start in seated position, facing your partner," Carly instructed. "Take each other's hands, connect through the eyes, and sync your breath.”
Julian turned to face me, cross-legged, his knees touching mine. When he extended his hands, I took them, feeling ridiculous and aroused in equal measure. His palms were warm, slightly rough,familiar now after a week of exploration. Our eyes locked, and something shifted in the air between us—the playfulness giving way to something heavier, more intense.
"Breathe in together," Carly guided, her voice fading into the background as Julian's thumbs traced small circles on the backs of my hands. "And out. Finding your shared rhythm."
Julian's lips parted slightly as he exhaled, and I couldn't help but remember how those lips felt wrapped around my cock just last night, how his eyes had locked with mine as he swallowed every drop.
"Caleb," Julian whispered, his voice barely audible, "your breathing's off."
I forced myself to focus, matching my inhales to his, but it was like trying to meditate during an earthquake. Every point of contact between us—our knees, our hands, even just the shared space of air—vibrated with potential energy.
"Now, partners, help each other into a gentle forward fold," Carly's voice broke through my haze. "One partner extends forward while the other provides gentle pressure between the shoulder blades."
Julian extended forward, presenting his back to me. I placed my hands between his shoulder blades, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. As I leaned forward to apply pressure, my chest nearly touched his back, and I caught the scent of his shampoo—something citrusy and clean.
"Remember to communicate," Carly called out. "Tell your partner if you need more or less pressure."
"More," Julian murmured, and something in his tone made it clear he wasn't just talking about the stretch.
I pressed harder, my body inching closer to his, and he released a soft groan that only I could hear. Around us, other couples were engrossed in their own practices, oblivious to the current running between us, or perhaps focused on their own attractions.
"And switch," Carly instructed after thirty seconds that felt like an eternity.
