Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

her in a highly suggestive position. It takes every feminist, evolved, twenty-firstcentury
corner of me not to growl and throw him against the wall.
Caveman moment conquered, I stroll in. “Good morning. Sorry I’m late.”
Frankie peers up from downward dog. “Good morning, Søren. This is
Fabrizio.”
“Fabi, you can call me.” He extends his hand. I take it and indulge in
squeezing a little harder than strictly necessary. Fabrizio doesn’t seem to feel it,
because he simply drops his hand back to Frankie’s hip once I let go and focuses
his gaze firmly on her beautiful backside.
She’s wearing black leggings with a sheer panel zigzagging all the way up to
her hip bone. Her toenails are painted black just like her fingernails, and her tank
top is black and cropped, hugging her ribs. So much golden skin, so many
muscles and perfect Frankie curves.
“Well, then,” Fabrizio says. “Søren—”
“Ren,” I correct him, strolling to the other side of the room and circling my
arms, softly twisting my torso, waking up my body.
He bends his head in apology. “Scusa. Frankie called you that, I just
assumed.”
“It’s okay. She does it to tease me.”
Frankie glances up at Fabrizio and says something to him in Italian. He
laughs and his hands slide down her thighs, grasping her kneecaps. He’s bent
and practically using her backside as his pillow.
“So, Fabrizio,” I manage between clenched teeth. “How long have you been
teaching Frankie?”
He smiles. I swear he knows he’s taunting me. As he stands, he sets a hand
low on Frankie’s back and smooths it over her spine.
“Three years,” he says on a grin. “Now, why don’t we start with something
basic to see where you are in your practice, Ren?”
Moving to the front of the room, Fabrizio starts a sun salutation. While I only
practice basic yoga with our team’s nutritionist and wellness coach, Lars, I’m
familiar enough to follow Fabrizio’s sequences, and I do them with ease.
I can feel Frankie’s eyes on me, but every time I glance her way, she’s
watching Fabrizio, chatting with him in Italian, then translating what I’m
suspicious is only part of it for me. After what feels like a bajillion chaturangas,
then warrior variations that remind me how damn tight my groin is, her
instructor straightens and eyes me up.
“Ren, you are modest, my friend.” Fabrizio turns to Frankie. “He is good.
You two do some poses together, sì?”
“Um.” Frankie glances up from child’s pose, her cheeks pink.