Page 29 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
MAGIC…RYDER?
I’m absolutely giddy as we get started.
No one has ever done something that made them so visibly uncomfortable with no other intention than to make me happy and feel cared for. And, of course , Ryder would be the first.
“Alright, class, we’re gonna get started with a simple warm-up routine. For those of you who are newer to pole fitness, don’t be afraid to ask for help, and have tons of fun!”
Everyone claps, ready to begin, even Ryder, who looks slightly less green than he had moments ago.
“Start with your right hand at the top of the pole. Now, you’re going to walk around it, and when you get to the two o’clock position, you’re going to use momentum to swing your legs up and around.
Use your tummies to grip the pole and follow through with the movement.
” She performs the movement faster this time to show us how it’ll look when it’s all put together.
“Give it a try!”
I do as she says, nearly landing on my ass the first time, but by my second try, I get it! My whole body fills with the hum of satisfaction that comes with succeeding at something new, one of my favorite parts of teaching.
“Hell yes, Lola! Just like that!” Sarah shouts encouragingly, and her praise and the thrill of trying something new and getting it right seeps warmly into my bones.
I beam over my shoulder at Ryder, who’s staring very frustratedly at the pole in front of him.
He tries, and fails , to perform the movement a handful of times before he takes a step away from the pole.
His dark brows are pinched together, and he worries his bottom lip in the cutest scowl as he observes the women.
Many who clearly know their way around a pole have taken to much more advanced movements.
He faces the shiny silver pole, peering over at me, and that annoyed expression of his morphs into a smirk.
Ryder grips the collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the ground beside him.
His tanned, rippling abdominal muscles are smooth all over, aside from a fine trail of hair from his navel that disappears under the waistband of his shorts. He tries the movement again, this time performing it perfectly.
He grins at me, clearly enjoying the way his half-naked body distracts me. “Much better, isn’t it, darlin’?” He winks at me, and Sarah’s voice, announcing it’s time to try something new, saves me from my wandering eyes.
We work our way through several movements, each one increasingly more difficult, and the entire time, I can feel Ryder’s gaze searing my skin.
Each time I allow my eyes to wander over to him, he’s already staring at me, and it makes my heart beat that much faster.
The movements are difficult, and my joints are really starting to ache. I can tell the knuckle in my right index finger, the one that’s thicker than the rest, is going to be screaming in the morning, but I couldn’t care less.
This is already such an improvement from last week, and the fact that I’m able to dance in any capacity, especially with others, is nothing short of incredible.
I think I’m ready to get started on those renovations and work toward building the life I always wanted.
We continue through the class, Ryder’s confidence growing each passing minute, and my hope for the future renewing.
“As promised, today includes a little chair work. Not to put you on the spot, but are there any volunteers to help me demonstrate to the class?” Sarah asks.
“We’ll do it!” Ryder says, his voice booming in the small studio space.
“Well, alrighty then,” Sarah says, smirking at us.
My eyes swing to Ryder’s, and he picks up his cowboy hat, placing it on his head, and grabs my hand, bringing me to the front of the class. Is he being for real right now? I’m not giving him a lap dance. Le falta un tornillo!
Sarah slides a chair out, placing it in front of us, and my stomach drops. The thought of saying no, with everyone watching, makes my skin tighten, like the room’s shrinking around me. My pulse quickens, and I can’t shake the weight of all those eyes on me.
“Okay, one of y’all take a seat,” Sarah says.
Ryder tips his chin at me. “You heard the lady. Take a seat, darlin’.”
I stare at him, my blood buzzing to life under his gaze. My mouth is open, and I’m gulping air like a fish out of water, but my legs finally decide to work, and I nearly collapse into the chair.
“This okay, darlin’?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. I meet his eyes, nodding my consent.
He gives me a reassuring smile, and suddenly, my whole world is thrown off kilter.
“Ryder, start by standing in front of Lola. Take a moment to tune into the music before you do anything. Pole dancing is about mastering specific moves and stitching them together when they click. Chair work, though, is different. It’s all about syncing with the rhythm, letting the music guide you.
Trust your instincts, and follow your partner’s lead.
Go ahead and give it a try. I’ll walk you through it. ”
He stands in front of me, a glint of mischief twinkling in his bright-blue eyes as he looks down at me. When she starts to play “ Pony” by Ginuwine, he closes his eyes for a moment, really feeling the music before moving.
God, does he.
Ryder leans forward, resting his hands on my knees, and gently pushes them together. He slides a rough, calloused hand under my jaw and trails two fingers to my chin, pulling my face up to his.
He straddles me with his thick thighs and moves that hand to the nape of my neck.
My core clenches, and a whimper almost escapes me as he rolls his chest against mine.
His bare skin is overheated with a light sheen of sweat.
It’s no match for the thin, cropped shirt I’m wearing.
His warmth seeps into me, pebbling my nipples, as I suck in a breath, desperately begging my lungs to work more efficiently.
His vanilla-and-whiskey scent wraps around me, making me dizzy, and as if that weren’t enough, he takes his hat off and puts it on my head.
My head spins as he rolls his hips over me, grabbing hold of my hands and pressing them to his chest, sliding my palms down the expanse of smooth muscle. I nearly pass out, the catcalls from the women around us the only thing reminding me to keep my wits about me.
I swear, I can feel him through those thin shorts.
Before I can investigate further, he scoots off me, rounding the back of the chair.
I faintly hear Sarah’s voice and the claps of the women in the class, as well as their amused whistling, but I can’t make any of it out through the rush of blood behind my eardrums.
His hands scrape down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. My breath gets caught in my throat as they travel down my chest, over my stiff nipples. Whether intentional or not, I’m not sure, but the effect it has on me is downright embarrassing.
My body is certainly not getting the memo: This is not fucking real, Lola!
He continues dancing, his movements not particularly smooth but sexy as sin all the same. My mouth is watering by the time the music finally stops, and my panties are absolutely soaked.
I suck in a deep breath, clenching my eyes shut for a moment to center myself as I unhinge the death grip I had on the sides of the chair.
Ryder holds his hand out, and I take it, standing on shaky limbs.
“That was excellent! Who’d have known this was y’all’s first time?” Sarah asks, and the applause-filled room settles as Ryder leads me back to our side of the studio, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“We took a little longer than I’d planned because I wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic first lesson, but all that means is you’ve all got something to practice at home! I’ll see you all next week, I hope,” she tells the class, and again, everyone claps.
My heart rate is finally starting to slow, the room clearing out as Ryder bends down for his water bottle. He straightens, gaze roaming slowly over my body. And just like that, my pulse is ratcheting up again.
Why is it so damn hard to follow the rules with this man? Boundaries exist for a reason, but it feels nearly impossible to adhere to them when he's looking at me like he wants to take a bite out of me. No , like he wants to devour every goddamn inch of my body and come back for seconds and thirds.
“You feeling okay, darlin’?” he asks, clearly trying to fight the humor worming its way into his question as he lifts his water bottle to his lips, taking a slow sip. His Adam's apple bobs, lips glistening with moisture as he screws the lid back on.
My thighs squeeze together of their own volition, and I fight back a whimper, unable to stop myself from tracking the movement as his tongue darts out, licking his full bottom lip, and it's hard not to picture what that tongue would do between my l?—
“Darlin’?” he asks, a thick, dark brow raised, and those lickable lips are quirked in a lopsided smirk.
Ay, Dios mio. I am so screwed.
“Huh? Oh, uh, sorry. Did you ask me something?” My voice is breathy as if I'd just run a half marathon and not sat in a chair while my pretend husband engaged me in foreplay in a room full of people.
His smirk only grows. “I asked if you're okay, Lols. You're lookin’ a little flushed.”
As if on cue, my chest heats, warmth spreading up my neck and over my chest. He reaches forward, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, and steps into my space, invading me with the intoxicating scent of him. It's clean, warm, and entirely him .
“Y-yeah, I'm all good.” My gaze darts around the now-empty room. I clear my throat, refusing to meet his gaze. “Looks like we should get out of here.”
“You're right, we should. You mind if I keep my shirt off? I'm feeling pretty… hot.”
I gulp down a lungful of air. I am not God's strongest soldier .
“You should probably?—”
“Does my good little wife not want anyone else to see what's hers?” he asks, and my eyes dart to his, brows climbing my forehead.