Alani felt as if she were a voyeur, watching an intimate moment, one that wasn’t meant for anyone’s eyes, but still she enjoyed it. Ethic’s body was like a statue, sculpted by years of discipline. His strength present but not overwhelming. Had she seen any other man practicing yoga, she would have judged him. She probably would have surmised he had a bit of sugar in his tank; but the way Ethic moved fluidly from one position to the next, his muscles bulging from the intensity of it all…hmm, nothing had ever looked so masculine. He was all man. All chocolate and Alani wanted a taste of him. The Nike, football, training tights he wore proved that his manhood was not to be denied. The outline of him teased her, as she bit down into her lip. He was strong, full of stock from African kings, royal blood coursing through his veins, thick authority swinging between his legs. Alani quivered, as nature caused her southern lips to produce a sweet nectar. She was lusting, in heat, as her biological affinity for man caused her body to respond. Her nipples hardened and rubbed against the fabric of his shirt, and the scent of his cologne only heightened her desire. He was a beautiful man. Yes, beautiful, because handsome just would not suffice. She had never met a man like this. Ethic made everyone before him seem boyish, as if all other men were still swimming in the kiddie pool, and he alone was on some grown man shit. He noticed her out of the corner of his eye.

“Come. Here.” It was a command and it startled her that he knew she was in the room. She flushed in embarrassment, as she rocked on her heels, suddenly feeling like she needed to run the other way. Had he seen her gawking? Was he watching her, watch him the entire time? He didn’t look her way or stop his routine. He simply waited for her response. “You gon’ stand there and watch or you gon’ join me? It helps when your mind is at war to bring peace to your body,” he said.

“I’m nowhere near flexible,” she replied.