It’s too easy!
I stumbled to the bathroom yesterday morning to go for a piss and caught the end of the routine. I might have been bleary-eyed at first, but I was very quickly wide awake. Appreciating how every single one of his muscles was on show, extended and bulging, as he held the position. He was beautiful. His eyes were closed and his breathing was controlled, his face relaxed and blissful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way he looked. I didn’t know whether I wanted to fuck him or be him.
I’d even made an early morning snack. What did he want me to do, throw it away?
‘Whatever,’ he grumbles, and proceeds to start his routine by sitting cross-legged and closing his eyes. He then rolls his neck and shoulders and moves fluidly into a full-body ritual that makes him seem like he’s on elastic or made of water. I don’t know how to describe it except that it’s an experience to see him be so completely centred, so relaxed, and so incredibly hot at the same time.
I actually start to feel like a voyeur, watching something deeply personal or private. His ass looks amazing, strong and muscular with hollows in the cheeks as he clenches.
Especially when he bends over into what I believe is called a sun solution.
‘That’s right, worship me.’
He chuckles, before quickly rearranging his face into a scowl, turning away from me completely.
Not that I’m complaining because it only gives me another perfect view of his perky ass, hugged by the thinnest layer of Lycra. If I didn’t know Kian, I’d think he was doing it to tease me.
But I do and I know there’s probably a reason he’s wearing these shorts. Most likely for breathability or so he can move with more ease.
I don’t care what the reason is, I’m just grateful he decided to pull them on this morning.
I want to bend him over the coffee table and then take him from behind. The compulsion becomes so strong that I’ve forgotten my hot drink and the toast in my hand. Completely lost in the way his body moves. Until it’s over and he finishes up with some breathing.
He lies on his front, his palms flat on the mat and then pushes up so his spine is curved and his head is thrown back. I watch his pulse throb in a vein in his neck and think what an absolute killing he could make selling videos of himself doing this on OnlyFans.
I’m also starting to consider giving yoga a go – how hard could it be?
My mouth feels dry.
I’m not even sure why I’m doing this anymore – notthis; it’s obvious why I’m still doingthis. I mean, winding him up. Pissing him off. Trying to get a reaction out of him. When I set the alarm last night I was chuckling with glee at how mad he was going to be, but, sitting here now, the only one who’s being tortured is me.
Kian’s gone out of his way to make it clear that the kiss was a mistake. I can take a hint, and since he exits every room I walk into, well I’ve taken the hint massively. To the point it’s starting to make me mad.
Right now, though, I’d do anything to convince him to kiss me again. I want to feel the drag of his lips over mine, his fingers digging into the skin of my hips, my stomach, my thighs. I am dying for any kind of touch from him. Just one touch, one time. I need something to take the edge off.
Except I know it wouldn’t be enough. Once will never be enough with him.
I know this as clearly as I know my own name.
And that’s the problem in a nutshell.
I’m a lone wolf, not a pack animal. No one has ever believed in me the way I believe in myself. I was always told I’d never amount to anything. I was always abandoned, left behind, tossed away like rubbish in a skip. The only person I can count on is me. Even Johannes – the one person I trusted with my whole life –is barely around anymore. I know he’s found someone else, and at first it felt like the sky was falling down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t see. So I drank until I didn’t care anymore.
And then I called Kian.
But I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to start to depend on someone, to need someone, to love them.
It would be the end of me.
That was what I needed to remember to stop myself doing anything stupid.
Wanting someone more than once would never work. Not for me. Not ever.
I sneak out whilst he’s scrunched up in some kind of contortionist shape on the mat. The fun’s over.
I’m still straining in my pyjamas, though, so I need to go and take care of that.
I can’t have him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get off to the image of him being so perfectly elongated in a sun-salutation pose.
