Oh crap.
“I didn’t mean—” I start, trying to grasp at the crumbling pieces of our peaceful moment. “I was just—”
“It’sfine,” he cuts in, even though it's clearly not.
He turns away, not meeting my eyes as his voice goes distant and professional. “Stretch further.”
I hurt him. I hurt him again by complimenting his mom? Why do I keep messing up?
“I really am sorry…” I tell him, but he ignores me, pretending to focus strictly on my leg, pushing my knee back for a knee-to-chest stretch.
My hands grip the edges of the mat and squeeze it in frustration. He’s doing it again—pulling back and shutting down, like I’m not worth talking it out.
He just leaves me with the guilt, like I don’t get to know what I did wrong, and I don’t deserve the chance to make it better.
It hurts, an almost physical ache that far exceeds any painful stretch he’s put me in.
Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it.
I lean into the stretch halfway before stopping.
“I can’t go any further,” I lie, badly.
“Yes, you can.” He doesn’t even look at me. “If you could only do this much, not even the tiny tots team would take you.”
“Well, I need help,” I tell him, while burning a hole into the side of his head with my eyes.
He still won’t look at me, so I continue, “I’m just so sore from riding buses and sleeping in bus stations for the last three days to find you.”
A pause, then a long, frustrated sigh.
He moves back over, kneeling beside me, with his hands firm against my leg. Professional, efficient, and coolly detached.
“Just relax and breathe into it,” he says, still not looking at me. “If you—”
“I don’t feel it,” I rudely interrupt.
His hands still, his jaw ticking with annoyance. “Patrick.”
“Seriously, it’s not enough,” I say, pushing it.
His face finally snaps toward me with a sharp glare. Good.
“Fine,” he says. His grip tightens. “If you want more—”
He pushes, hard. My breath catches, a sharp, involuntary sound leaving me as he forces my leg deeper into the stretch in a way that burns all the way down to my groin.
“—Then I’ll make you feel it.”
Ahhh.That—that is definitely something. I can really feel it, but not the way I usually do.
He leans over me, one hand braced against the floor, the other keeping my leg in place. He’s close, way too close. I can’t move at all, completely stuck beneath him as my leg starts to shake.
I swallow hard as I watch him, feeling like prey caught by a predator. My body is literally in his hands.
His hair slips forward, brushing against his cheek. His eyes are dark, focused, and controlled in a way that feels like a string being pulled tighter and tighter the more I push him.
“Is that enough, yet?” he asks, voice low. “Do you need more? Or…”
