Hot Yoga

Every Tuesday, Shyla's yoga class meets in the park. Aidra's hamstrings are tight. Shyla spots it immediately, along with the way Aidra's shorts hug her thighs. She offers private help at her place, and Aidra accepts. Aidra's downward dog needs work, and Shyla's fingers travel the length of her spine, the small of her back, the curve of each hip, until the girl's skin flushes. Aidra realizes this isn't just adjustment. Still, she stays in the pose and breathes. Heat grows. Shyla suggests clothes come off, and aids the slow reveal of Aidra's sun-kissed body. Shyla leans in, kisses her—soft, then open. The tongue flicks past Aidra's teeth like she's tasting ripe melon. Aidra opens wider. Shyla leaves a trail down torso, nipples, flat stomach, then spreads the girl's smooth lips and settles between them. Tongue circles her clitoris, two fingers coax slick inside. Aidra shudders, young thighs clamping, and coats Shyla's mouth with warm release. They flip. Aidra kneels, face buried in the bush above Shyla's slick folds. "Suck my clit," Shyla orders. The command slips straight to her hips; she grinds against the girl's tongue. One climax ripples through her, but the tongue keeps lapping, and when Aidra adds two fingertips inside while licking, a second hits, sharper. Shyla's cries rattle the windows. Panting, they kiss, salt and skin still heavy on the air. Shyla smiles, reaches for her keys. "Next Tuesday, we'll have more to go over," she whispers, and slips out the door.