Moment

Gabby

The room smells of bergamot and sweat. Not fresh sweat — the warm, lived-in kind. Human. Honest.

Gabby is near the front, her mat the colour of rich plum, her movements slow with the certainty of someone who has been here before. Not just the class — the ache, the effort, the letting go. Her hair is braided down her back in a single long rope. The ends graze the swell of her backside as she folds forward, breath steady, eyes closed.

Pigeon pose.
Her hips are open — gloriously so. The curve of her thigh presses into the mat, bare skin dewy and golden. Her back arches, breasts heavy in her sports bra, breath lifting them slightly with each inhale.

The instructor’s voice is soft, suggestive without meaning to be. “Let the tension melt into the mat. Let gravity do the work.”

Gabby exhales through her nose, low and slow. Her lips part slightly. She always goes deeper on the second side. Her body knows where the limit is. She’s not afraid of that place — she wants to reach it.

From behind, a small bead of sweat slips down the side of her neck, trails between her breasts, disappears into the softness of her top.

She shifts. The sound of her mat stretching beneath her, the faintest creak of the floorboards under her knee. Her breath deepens again.

Eyes still closed.

She is inside herself.

Then take me

They’d stayed like that for a while — her limbs trembling, his mouth still hot with her. The bed warm beneath them, the room lit in honey stripes through the blinds. But something shifted. Aimee stretched, slow and unhurried, like a cat warming her spine. The movement drew his eyes,

Suki

The bedroom was quiet but not still — the kind of hush that hums after conversation, when someone's stepped out of the room but left the door ajar. A low lamp glowed near the bed, turning the cream walls gold, and the sheets behind her were creased and warm

Aimee

The bedroom was golden with that four-o’clock light — the kind that softened edges and slipped between the blinds like syrup. The laundry was done. The bed was made, loosely. And Aimee, with her hair pinned half-up then left to fall, sat at the edge in pale black lace. Not

Kate

The bath ran slow, as if it knew how much she needed it. The copper tub had been a gift to herself, the sort of expense she'd once asked permission for — but not anymore. It stood in the middle of her small bathroom like a sculpture, round-bellied and

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Then take me

Suki

Aimee

Kate