Page 54 of Outcast’s Vow

The truth is... I can’t face the fact that Sylvie owns my ass. That, with every moment we spend together, I lose more and more power to her.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

21

SYLVIE

“Perfect form, my love. You truly are a natural.”

“Thank you, Joao.”

My personal yoga instructor observes me closely – a little too closely – not lifting his dark eyes off my body.

“Now, breathe with me, beloved. Mirror my chest as I move. Relax.”

Joao’s Brazilian accent is thick and smooth. He would be perfect for narrating audiobooks to fall asleep to.

We’re stretched out on yoga mats by the tall windows of the chalet, the white snow drifting like a picture-perfect postcard in the morning air outside the glass. Joao is a yoga instructor recommended by the chalet resort, available for private lessons for the rich and famous who lodge here. I used to do yoga a lot as a teenager, but I have very noticeably fallen out of the habit when it comes to my stretching in the last few years. Today is a fresh start, and it’s clear why the resort has endorsed Joao. He is a calm, patient, attentive teacher. If he is a little too handsy. With his short shorts and noticeable lack of shirt, I can see why he might be a hit with some of the trophy wives who stay here.

I’m wearing form-fitting leggings, and I am suddenly regretting how tight they are. The longer I spend with my instructor, the more I realize his services extend beyond a simple yoga lesson.

“You are very tense, my love,” he purrs. “Let me show you how to release that pent-up, nasty energy. Stay in this pose.”

His hands touch my body. He goes straight for my arms, adjusting them further upward. My throat closes. My stomach lurches.

Admittedly, a sly, handsome Brazilian instructor with a honeyed voice and a curated six-pack on display was a delightful fantasy when I first met him at the chalet’s front door, but now that the fantasy has decidedly become very real, it’s a completely different story.

“Joao...”

I try to protest, but the man continues to speak into my ear.

“Breathe, meu amor.”

His scent is all-natural, with nothing added. His hands are calloused and wild.

“I see you are a spirit who is very powerful in her life,” he murmurs as his hands drift up my arms, guiding my body deeper into the pose and seemingly loosening every knot in me. “You are a strong woman who makes deals, who speaks to many people, who fights her way every day. But this place, with me, is about forgetting all that energy and restoring your connection to your free, uninhibited body. To your true self. Surrender yourself to me, my love.”

He rolls the word surrender in his mouth with great relish. He is skilled in working his brand of magic. It may work on the usual rich, sexually frustrated clients, but it doesn’t work on me.

“I think I’ve had enough.”

I place my right hand on his, trying to pull it away from my left arm, but he ignores my protest.

“Stop resisting me, beloved. Let me show you how to let go.”

I try to reach for his hands again, but he’s solid. Unflinching. He’s after something, and he’s determined to get it.

“Oops, Joao, that’s not what...”

His fingers move fast. He’s now at my inner thighs.

“I don’t want this. Stop it.”

But he’s moving up. Toward my most private of areas.

Where he has no right to be.

“You’re a very pretty woman, Sylvie. Do you like strong men?”