Ryan had never planned for this.
He wasn’t the type to cross lines, especially not this one. But with Claire, everything felt different — sharper, closer, almost dangerous.
Claire was thirty-eight, divorced for a year, and carried herself like a woman who’d stopped apologizing for wanting more out of life. Ryan, thirty-two, was her personal trainer — the guy who was supposed to keep things professional, focused, strictly about form and posture.
But he’d learned fast: sometimes, posture is the most intimate thing of all.
That Thursday evening, the gym was nearly empty. Just the soft hum of air conditioning, muted music overhead, and Claire — barefoot on the yoga mat, leaning forward into a deep stretch.
“Slow,” Ryan said, kneeling beside her, his voice low. “Breathe into it.”
Claire exhaled, a quiet sound slipping past her lips, and Ryan tried not to notice the way her shirt slid up slightly, revealing a smooth curve of skin above her waistband.
Her toes flexed, digging into the mat.
“Like this?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Ryan nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… exactly like that.”
Slow motion.
Her back straightened. Her hips tilted slightly. Her breathing deepened, long and steady, syncing with his quiet instructions. He leaned closer — just enough to adjust her arm — and caught the faint scent of coconut lotion mixed with warm skin.
Claire didn’t move away.
“Better?” he asked.
She turned her head, her eyes locking onto his — steady, unblinking, just a hint of mischief hiding there.
“You tell me,” she whispered.
Ryan froze for half a second before forcing himself to focus. Professional. Always professional.
But then Claire shifted into another position, slower this time, lowering her chest toward the mat. The motion pulled her shirt tighter across her back, revealing the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Her toes curled again, pressing hard into the mat.
Ryan felt heat climb up his neck.
“Okay,” he managed, voice rougher than intended. “Hold it right there.”
Claire obeyed, but not without glancing up at him from beneath her lashes.
“You watch everything,” she murmured.
“Form,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “I’m watching your form.”
“Mm.” Her lips curved faintly. “Right.”
Time slowed.
Ryan knelt behind her, carefully placing one hand near her hip to guide her balance. The warmth of her skin seeped through the thin fabric, and for a second, neither of them moved.
Claire’s breath hitched, just slightly.
“You feel that stretch?” he asked quietly.
She nodded without looking up, her voice soft. “I feel… a lot of things.”
That’s when he knew this wasn’t just training anymore.
Ryan shifted closer, lowering his voice. “Claire…”
She glanced back, eyes dark, searching his face like she wanted him to say something he wasn’t supposed to.
“This is crazy,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“We shouldn’t—”
“I know,” she interrupted, lips curving. “But I want to.”
Slow motion again.
She pushed up onto her hands, body unfolding slowly, deliberately, until she was kneeling on the mat facing him. Sweat dotted her collarbone, catching the soft gym light, tracing down over the gentle rise of her chest.
Ryan’s throat went dry.
Claire reached out, fingertips brushing the back of his hand — barely there, a whisper of contact, but enough to make his pulse hammer.
“You’re shaking,” she said softly.
“You’re imagining things.”
Her smile deepened. “Am I?”
The silence stretched, heavy, electric.
Ryan inhaled slowly, searching her expression for hesitation, but found none.
“Claire…” he began.
“Ryan,” she whispered back, leaning in just enough that her breath warmed his jaw. “Stop thinking.”
And when her lips brushed his — tentative, testing, a question without words — his hands finally moved to her waist, steadying her, pulling her closer without meaning to.
Her toes curled again, pressing into the mat harder this time.
Afterward, sitting side by side against the mirrored wall, their breathing uneven, Claire laughed softly under her breath.
“You know,” she murmured, head tilted back, eyes half-closed, “I haven’t felt like this in years.”
Ryan glanced at her, still catching his breath. “Like what?”
She smiled lazily, tugging the hem of her shirt down over one bare thigh.
“Like my body remembers what it wants.”