Hot Yoga Surprise

April waits in her living room for Georgia, rolling out a mat for their afternoon class. A call breaks the silence—Georgia's still on the road, running late. April eyes the empty time. A spark catches. She cranks the heat, sheds her clothes, and steps onto the mat. Heat floods the room. Sweat blooms along her skin. She stretches long and loose, then settles between her thighs. Fingers trace heat. Her breath deepens. She intends to come before Georgia walks in. The door clicks. Georgia sees everything. April startles, tugs her down onto the mat, and tries to mask the moment with yoga talk. Georgia knows better. April insists it's simply hot yoga, skin on skin, and urges her teacher to strip and join. Hands slide under fabric before Georgia can answer. Fingers knead her shoulders, then claim her breasts. Georgia hesitates, mind racing, body softening. April murmurs about her stressful morning and how a little release might do her good. Flattery melts resistance. Mouths meet. Tongues slip. Whatever plan existed for class vanishes as they sink into each other, clothes forgotten, mat slick with sweat.