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He laid her on the yoga matt, relinquishing the contact with her body unwillingly. “So? What do I do?”
“You have to be careful of my ankle, okay?”
“Promise.”
She smiled softly. “Great.” She lifted her arms above her head, pressing them to the ground. “So, can you take my right leg, bend it at the knee and fold it over my left, then sort of press down a little? I’ll tell you when it’s too hard.”
His arousal strained as he ran his fingers over her calf, then lifted, doing as she’d said and pressing her bent leg across her body. When he felt as though he’d gone far enough, she urged him to press harder, to stretch her more. Her range of motion was jaw-dropping.
“I have to be flexible,” she explained, as if reading his thoughts. “It helps with the moves.”
“I think you’ve accomplished that.” He held her leg where it was, his body angled over hers, for over a minute, then she expelled a soft breath.
“Next leg.”
He did the same maneuver in reverse, but this time, there was slightly more resistance. He could feel her tense up, and eased off, but she shook her head. “No, keep pushing.”
He didn’t want to hurt her, but did as she’d said, slowly, gently, his hands cupped around her flesh in a way that definitely went beyond a clinical touch. As he eased her out of that stretch, he let his hands linger on her calves then drift to her ankle, wrapped in tape.
“No cast?”
“Not anymore. Now it’s just about building up the strength, not doing any more damage.”
Mollified by the fact it wasn’t a completely fresh injury, he let his fingers trace her ankle slowly, pushing up the elasticized fabric of her exercise pants to reveal her slender limb. “So it was a bad break?”
“A fracture.”
“Painful?”
She nodded. “Mainly, it was frustrating. Any injury for a professional athlete is a nightmare, but the timing couldn’t be much worse.”
“Why?”
“Internationals are coming up. If I win gold, I—,” She cleared her throat, the words strangled there. Explaining to him why the gold mattered so much felt like she’d be revealing more of herself than she wanted. The pain that came from that goal, the memories of blame her mother had put at her feet, the sense of obligation she felt in having the career her mother had been forced to give up. Mila wasn’t skating for one person’s success, but rather, for redemption, and in tribute. She concentrated on stretching instead. “If you bring that leg up, you can press it against my chest. Bent at the knee,” she said, lifting it slightly, to show him what she meant.
He knew he was taking advantage of the situation, so he moved slowly, waiting for her to signal her feelings. He lifted the leg slowly, moving his body over hers, pressing her thigh to her chest, so his face was level with hers, holding her there, getting ridiculously turned on by her position, proximity and the sparks that flew, undeniably, between them.
Her face shifted, contorting a little, so he eased back. “Too much?”
“No, it’s not that.”
His eyes scanned her face, looking to understand.
“It just felt good.” Her eyes darted to his, her cheeks pink. “Really good, actually.”
“Ah.” His arousal jerked, desire flooding him. “How about this?”
He moved between her legs then caught both, lifting them simultaneously and performing the same stretch, pressing her thighs to her chest, only this time, he brought his whole body down, between her legs, his face just inches from hers. He was so close to her, their bodies intwined intimately, and she shivered, a feeling that was echoed right to the center of his being.
He moved a little, just enough for her to feel his hardness at her sex and she made a soft purring noise that almost undid him completely.
“You are incredibly flexible.”
She laughed. “I thought you were going to say something else just then.”
“Oh?” He moved closer, so his lips were only an inch from yours. “You’re incredibly beautiful, too.”
He heard her breath catch in her throat, and leaned in, brushing their noses.
