"Pilates," I repeat, like I'm testing the word. "I've always wanted to try that."
Her smile falters. Goes artificial around the edges.
"Really?" The question comes out too bright. "I don't think it's your kind of thing. Very controlled. Very precise. Lots of small movements."
"Sounds perfect," I lie. "I'll come with you."
"Alexei, you don't have to—"
"I want to." I step closer, let my voice drop into seriousness. "Unless you don't want me there?"
She hesitates. I watch her mind work behind those dark eyes, see her weighing options and calculating outcomes.
"Of course you can come," she says finally. "I just don't want you to be bored."
The way she's trying to dissuade me only makes me more determined. There's something happening at this pilates class. Something she doesn't want me to see.
Which means I absolutely need to see it.
"Give me ten minutes to change," I say. "We'll take my car."
The pilates studio is in that same block where Victoria seems to conduct most of her life. Clean lines, pale wood floors, the faint scent of eucalyptus mixing with lavender.
Victoria practically rushes through the door ahead of me, making a beeline for a woman who's setting up equipment in the main studio.
The woman is formidable. Tall, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and a particular posture that almost seems military.
"Katarina," Victoria says, voice too bright. "Alexei will be joining us for class today."
Katarina's eyes snap to me. For half a second, confusion crosses her face. Then it's gone, replaced by a smile that looks more menacing than welcoming.
"How delightful," she says, accent thick and Eastern European. "It will be my pleasure."
The emphasis onpleasuremakes it sound like a threat.
We move into the studio proper, and I see twelve machines arranged in neat rows. Contraptions of springs and platforms and straps that look more like medieval torture devices than exercise equipment.
"Just the two of you today," Katarina announces. "Private session."
Victoria shoots me a look I can't quite read. Warning? Apology? Both?
"Let's begin," Katarina says, all business now. "Alexei, you'll start on that reformer. Victoria will demonstrate first."
Victoria climbs onto one of the machines with practiced ease. Lies back, feet in straps, hands gripping bars. Then she starts moving.
And I'm fucked.
Her body moves like water. Controlled. Precise. Every muscle engaged, every line deliberate. The small shorts and crop top she's wearing cling to skin, and I can see every curve, every flex, every breath.
My pulse kicks up. Heat coils low in my spine.
I'm already half-hard just watching her, and the class hasn't even started yet.
"Your turn," Katarina says, voice cutting through my distraction.
I climb onto the reformer, trying to replicate Victoria's position. The platform slides under my feet. Springs resist my movement. Nothing feels natural or comfortable.
"Engage your core," Katarina instructs. "Push through your heels. Control the return."
