My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,62

I can to stay vulnerable and not throw up my shields of defense, though it’s hard to not fall into the lust alone.

“Mia rosa,” he whispers.

From beside us, a sigh huffs out, breaking our connection.

I cut my eyes to the left to find Emily fuming as she stares at us instead of Doug. She rolls her eyes, making fun. My returning sigh is one of frustration, not competition.

I’m going to enjoy this moment with Lorenzo, Emily be damned.

Amalya leads us into the first pose. “Yes, one partner standing in front of the other, back to front. Good,” she coaches with a slow, melodic voice. “Place your hands on the hips of the partner in front for support as they caress their hands down thighs, to the earth, and out. Hips stay raised as you find a downward-facing dog pose.” Amalya demonstrates, becoming an upside-down V with Stefan’s hands holding her hips to deepen the stretch.

Face down, ass up, I decide maybe this will be a bit more Kama Sutra foreplay, after all. The idea excites me.

I take the pose with Lorenzo standing behind me. His hands pull my hips back, and I feel his cock nestle into the cradle of my ass.

Oh, shit . . . this is definitely not like yoga at home. It’s better. A lot better.

I press my heels to the blanket and my ass into Lorenzo even harder, swaying my hips slightly to massage his thickening length.

“Abigail,” he warns gruffly, and I giggle softly. I like knowing that I can drive him wild.

But he doesn’t laugh in response. Oh, no, he smacks my ass hard and the stinging pain surprises a loud gasp past my lips.

The slapping sound has gotten the attention of all the other couples too. The women look at me with jealousy and the men look at Lorenzo with awe.

I feel like a goddess with my god claiming me for all to see. It might be pretend, it might be fantasy, but fuck, it’s hot.

I swear I hear Emily mutter ‘whore’ under the cover of a fake cough. But all I can focus on is Lorenzo. Emily’s cattiness can’t touch me when I’m under his spell.

“For our next pose,” Amalya instructs, “you have a choice based on your comfort level. For the first variation, one partner should be seated. The other partner sits in their lap, facing them with legs interlocked behind their back.” She demonstrates by sitting in Stefan’s lap, their cores pressed together. “As you begin to feel the intimacy deepen, you can allow yourself to become more vulnerable by opening your heart.” She shows us that too, laying back to the blanket with Stefan holding her hands to support her.

A few people move to mimic the pose.

Standing up, she tells us, “The second variation is similar but requires a higher degree of trust.”

Stefan holds a finger up. “And strength. She makes it sound graceful and pretty, but it does require strength.”

Amalya smiles at her boyfriend’s addition but teases, “Are you saying I’m heavy? I know you are not saying I’m heavy.”

Stefan’s eyes go dark as he shakes his head. “You are my queen, perfection in every luscious inch.”

With that, they demonstrate variation two. Amalya jumps up to wrap her legs around Stefan’s waist. He supports her weight under her ass for a moment, but then they transition to holding hands as she arches back toward the blanket. Her locked feet keep her core pressed to Stefan’s belly, and his grip on her hands and arms keeps her head from smashing into the sand.

He bounces her a couple of times to adjust their position and eyebrows raise. For all the heat they’re creating, the rest of us might as well not even be here. I think Stefan and Amalya have a rather interesting sex life.

“Whatcha thinking? You want to see if you can hold me up or hit the blanket?” I ask Lorenzo.

He doesn’t wait for me to jump, simply grabs me and hoists me up his body. I try to lock my legs around his waist like Amalya showed us, but his loose shirt makes it nearly impossible and I keep slipping down.

“Like this,” Emily advises. I look over to see her hiked up Doug’s body with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms hanging on to his neck. The smile on her face is one of smug arrogance that she’s doing something I can’t. She’s getting such sick joy out of being better than me even though