Page 86 of Merging Wright

I do as he says, but he wiggles his lower body between my legs, spreading them wide. He grips my hips and tugs my bottom half upward, lining us up. He taps forward, rocking against my covered center that nearly sizzles with steam and desire.

“This is a bridge. We might have mastered this position a time or two.” Mach is so playful in this moment, I laugh.

“And this one might be my favorite.” He scoots back, brings my knees together, and then hitches my ankles up in the air. He presses them toward my chest. “It’s called plow. Which is exactly what I want to do into you.”

Giddy and loud, I laugh again. He’s Mach-diculous but that nickname is only going to give him more ideas. “I don’t know if I’m that flexible, Mr. Wright.” Still, he has my ankles up near his shoulders, and he’s balancing over me, tapping against me.

“Can I make you come like this, Mrs. Wright? Clothing on and all?”

“You just might.” My clit pulses as if answering for me.

And Mach begins his mission. He rocks forward and rolls his hips.

With my ankles in the air, I’m helpless. The friction is amazing, but it’s not enough. I want to be skin to skin. “Mach, I need you inside me.”

Mach drops my legs and tugs down my leggings. Within seconds, he has his pants undone and down his hips. He grips my ankles once more, bringing them to his shoulders. Leaning forward, he thrusts into me and holds.

“Plow pose.” He pauses, dragging his hips upward before diving back into me. “You have excellent form, Mrs. Wright.”

Jesus. He can make everything dirty and sinful and right and pleasing. He works easily in and out of me while I’m nearly jackknifed in half, taking his time to fill me. I’m wet and seeping, and the glide of him into me is very Zen.

Our breaths mingle. The sound of us coming together fills the studio made primarily of wood floors and mirrors. I turn my head and catch a glimpse of our position. Mach tips his head to see what I’m looking at.

“God, you’re incredible,” he says to my reflection in the mirror. “You fit me in every way, baby. Our drive. Our bodies. Our heart—” He turns his head to look down at me.

Our heartbeats. I hear it in the unfinished word, and I’m overwhelmed by emotion. We aren’t making love in any traditional sense, but the mere act of being with him, like this, gives me this strange sense of belonging to someone.

The rattling of a door has us both freezing.

“What the hell was that?” Mach pauses. My legs are still in the air. He is still inside me, but the unmistakable sound of a door being forcefully jiggled echoes to the second floor.

“Fuck.” Mach quickly pulls out of me, and my legs fall to the floor. He fumbles to right his pants and stands. “I’ll go check it out.”

As the intimacy is severed, I right my leggings and struggle with my boots. I’m shaking from the nearness of an orgasm and the possibility we were almost caught in the act.

“Hey!” Mach’s sharp holler filters up to the yoga studio and I’m quick to race down the wooden stairs. As I reach the main floor, Mach passes the large riverside window, running.

I rush for the front door which is on an angle. Standing on the stoop, I twist in the direction Mach ran and see him chasing someone—barefoot.

“Mach!” What is he doing? It’s chilly tonight and the pavement is rough.

Without thinking, I follow Mach. The heaviness of my boots clomp down the street.

Mach runs around the old bait and tackle shack property, where the building has been demolished, and he disappears underneath Trophy’s back balcony.

My heart hammers. “Mach!” I can’t see who he’s chasing but everything inside me says Mach is in danger. I should have grabbed my phone. I should have called 911.

A loud splash breaks into my random thoughts.

Horror fills me as I watch Mach plunge into the river next.

“Mach!”

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Playlist: “Easy On Me” – Adele with Chris Stapleton

[Mach]