Charitable Contributions

13: Expiration Date

Not going into how I have to jerk myself clear-headed before class.

The first time I yanked off to Mia, I dreamed she sat on my lap under different circumstances. Nothing sexual was exchanged in Abe's lot, but the feel of her body weight on me, her strong muscles under her soft skin, and her curves tucked between my arms left an imprint.

My hand wrapped a makeshift ponytail on her hair, tugging on her roots to angle her gaze up to mine. "Why are you so difficult?"

"Because..." she moaned, fingernails sinking into my shoulders as I pounded up into her. Her back arched, her wet cunt clenching and slicking me down to the base. "You like it."

"Oh fuck," I gasped at the ceiling, my chest heaving and my arms and legs starfish-spread on my bed. My heart pounded throbs into my groin, wet and sticky with equal parts sweat and humiliation. Tugging out the insane boner was a necessity, not a luxury.

Once I stopped resisting, my frustrations flowed out faster than the cum I milked out. Relieving myself became part of my pre-yoga routine to avoid any further 'Sam Pearson nuts and bolt show' incidents, as she called them. Her crazy descriptions were something else. Never thought I would miss those too.

Before class, passion wasn't a word I associated with yoga teachers. Chill nappers, yes. Through her focus and attention to detail, Mia opened my eyes to her passion. Man Bun had half her attentiveness and spirit. My shoulder responded to her suggestions, and the ease I moved through Jer's workouts evaporated my resistance concerning her inexperience into blind trust.

"Fucking unbelievable." Unable to draw in enough oxygen, I gasped so hard that my breath whistled.

Sweat beaded up around my hairline, dribbling down my forehead as if Jer had poured a cup of water over me. The sweat 'stache tickled my upper lip. My lungs burned with each labored breath. Taking a page from Mia's yoga book, I expanded my belly for a deeper breath. It rushed lightness in my head. "Impossible."

"Impossible. Ridiculous. Unbelievable," Jer said in the worst impression of me, sounding like a brooding ex-lover. "I'd ask you to change the pity party music, but you've never worked harder."

The team's workout facilities couldn't have been more different from the yoga studio. Harsh white spotlights beamed down and reflected off the silver and black machines. Loud music blasted off the walls, intermixing with grunts, curses, and pulsing beats through my skin. Sweat, BO, and metal permeated the air.

Since I wasn't half upside-down, my clothes were their usual baggy shorts and sleeveless performance shirt. Wiping the drips off my forehead was futile; only more sprung up. I drew up my shirt and groaned with the salty, soaked material that clung to the top of my nose. Jer's smugness had no place in my mind this afternoon. It was crammed full of Mia's zip code-sized equivalent.

Cold seared the skin on my shoulder where Jer pushed a water bottle. "It's okay to admit that you like her. I like her. That girl under your skin has been your best motivation this whole offseason."

My brain was in no position to untangle his spaghetti plate of bullshit. I chugged half the water and wiped the corners of my mouth. "I don't fucking know her. Besides, you saw her at the meeting."

"I saw you two eyeing each other like you were one insult away from throwing me and Mike out and sharing a telenovela moment on his desk."

Telenovela? How the fuck does he–never mind. That was not a dream scenario I needed. "Doesn't matter." Hunching over, I grounded my elbows on my knees and forced that image out of my brain. It popped back in, her body slotted under mine and radiating 'fuck-it-out-of-me' defiance. Interest tightened my groin, making me clench my stomach. "It's unprofessional. Focus on how she's unproven, a newbie in yoga."