Chapter 33
Daniel
Me and my babe breeze into that yoga studio, strolling hand in hand like we own the place. Thankfully, today I’m wearing the t-shirt and sweats I showed up in on the first day since they were able to dry fully overnight. So, I don’t look like a doofus when we make our grand entrance.
All the couples from yesterday are still here. They’re milling about, helping themselves to breakfast from the hippie buffet laid out in the corner of the room.
Serenity and Isla freeze, looking at us with surprised expressions on their faces.
“Good morning, ladies.” I throw them a wink.
“Well, good morning to you!” Serenity eyes us, analyzing our body language. Seeming pleased with her observations, she gives a brief nod and wanders away, with her wreath of dead flowers in her waist-length hair.
Isla gestures at the table behind her. “Help yourselves to breakfast, guys. Get some food down before we start.” She offers me a tall mason jar filled with a goopy, brown liquid that looks like it was scraped off the bottom of a commercial dishwasher filter. She claims that it’s a detox smoothie.
I politely decline because I’ve got a notoriously sensitive stomach. I take Grace’s hand as we stroll out of earshot. “I may not be the most romantic person but I don't think that spending the rest of the day hauling buckets of brown water out of the toilet bowl while you plunge the clogged drain is what you had in mind when you said we need to do something dramatic to save our marriage.”
She chuckles. “The couple that plunges together, stays together?” She bumps her shoulder into mine.
Squeezing her hand, I laugh under my breath. “I don't think so.”
We share a plate of fruits instead. Eventually, it’s time to begin the day’s tantric session. Each student takes a seat on his or her yoga mat. Isla informs us that today’s exercises will be all about worshipping our partner and making them feel like the divine gift that they are.
I glance over at my wife’s lovely body and I know that today’s class won’t be a challenge at all. Don’t think that I haven’t noticed the accentuated sway of her hips, the new heft of her breasts. That cooking channel is doing exquisite things for her frame. Her figure is curvier and more tempting than ever, and I have no problem showing her just how much I appreciate it.
The yoga instructor asks us to sit facing each other. We close our eyes and lean our foreheads together. Isla guides us in a few breathing exercises until it almost feels like the whole room is floating.
"Take your time. Go slowly,” she coaches us on how to touch each other. “You want to gradually heighten each of your partner's senses building slowly to that beautiful, pleasurable peak. Here, we are practicing patience and understanding. We are learning to respond instinctively to the call of our partner's body. Allow the sensations to build slowly, slowly."
I can barely hear what she’s saying after a while. I’m so in tune with my wife that nothing else even matters. All I hear is her breathing. I feel her warm, sweet energy all around me. I feel so completely overwhelmed by her presence. I’m weak for this woman.
Isla’s voice breaks through my thoughts as she asks us to open our eyes. Grace’s lips curve upward when her eyes blink open and she sees me. There’s so much love there that it sucks the breath out of my lungs.
“Now rise to your feet,” Isla says. “We’ll start with the men. Is there a part of your partner’s body that she doesn’t like?”
I see Grace’s expression flip immediately. Her open and willing smile disappears and she closes up on my like a Venus flytrap. Her shoulders hunch forward and she stumbles a half-step back.
Isla carries on. “I want you to touch that body part. Tell her that you love it, despite her insecurities.”
My eyes stay on my wife and I silently beg her to trust me. I’m done hurting her. My mission in life is to make her feel loved and safe and happy. My fingers smooth up her sides and slowly crawl under the fabric of her t-shirt. My fingers flit over her C-Section scar. Her eyes press shut and she cringes visibly. I lower my lips to her ears. “I love you, Grace. I don’t care about that scar and I don’t care about what it represents. I just love you. I want you.”
She flops into my arms and I hold her to me, whispering comforting words into her hair. I’ve got my girl back and I’m never letting her go.