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Recovery Temptations

The third morning arrived with deceptive calm. The house bathed in soft light that turned every surface warm and inviting. Matteo had survived two full days of self-imposed rest, hot showers that left his skin flushed and stinging, Tiger Balm that burned like menthol fire across every overworked muscle, Aleve that dulled the edges but couldn’t erase the deep, bone-level ache Judy had carved into him. He was finally mobile enough to shuffle downstairs for water, moving like a man three times his age, when he stopped dead in the kitchen.

Sadie was already home.

She had come home early from her pre-med grind to regain some sanity through movement. Her yoga mat was spread across the living room floor like an altar. She wore a charcoal set, low-waisted leggings that clung like liquid shadow and a matching sports bra that strained heroically against the lush, heavy swell of her breasts. The thin, sweat-wicking fabric had already begun to darken in patches from her warm-up: a faint sheen across her collarbones, a deeper dampness gathering between her breasts, tiny beads rolling down the inner curves and disappearing into shadowed cleavage. Her nipples stood stiff and prominent beneath the material, dark-rose peaks clearly defined, rising and falling with each deliberate breath. The leggings sat scandalously low on her hips, the wide waistband hugging the soft flare just above the generous heart of her ass, the center seam vanishing completely between plump, rounded cheeks.

Matteo’s mouth went dry.

He had never looked at her like this. Not really. She had always been Santiago’s tiny, bookish, off-limits. But right now, every flex and stretch displayed a flexibility that made his overworked body ache in an entirely new way.

“Those stretches actually work?” he asked, voice rough.

Sadie glanced up from between her arms, cheeks pink from exertion, doe eyes surprised but not unkind. “They’re magic for muscle tension. Deep release. You should try. You look like you need it.”

Minutes later, Matteo was on a mat beside her. Six-foot-six of wrecked rower attempting to mimic every pose the five-foot-three pre-med performed. His long, powerful legs trembled in pigeon pose. His broad shoulders screamed in warrior two. But his eyes… his eyes never left her.

She had no idea he was entranced.

None.

Sadie flowed into downward dog first, palms flat, hips lifted high, spine long and arched. The pose pushed her voluptuous ass straight back toward him, cheeks spreading just enough that the thin fabric pulled taut and outlined every soft, plump inch. A single bead of sweat formed at her nape, traced the elegant dip of her spine, and slipped beneath the waistband like a lover’s fingertip. Her full breasts hung heavy beneath her, swaying gently with each inhale; the stiff nipples dragged lightly against the inside of the bra with every breath, small, rhythmic grazes that made the damp material cling even tighter, turning nearly translucent over the peaks.

Matteo’s throat closed. His cock gave a helpless, immediate throb inside his loose shorts, thickening fast despite the lingering soreness.

She transitioned smoothly into warrior two, her front thigh deep, back leg extended, torso twisting open, arms stretched strong. The motion thrust her chest forward, breasts straining so hard against the sports bra that the undercurve of each tit peeked out beneath the hem, soft and pale and glistening. Sweat trickled down the deep valley between them, pooling briefly at her sternum before continuing its slow, torturous path. Her breathing had deepened; each inhale lifted those heavy mounds higher, each exhale sent them bouncing softly in a rhythm that looked obscene in its innocence. The powerful muscles of her thighs flexed and released, trembling just enough to make the leggings

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