I heard you like the front view too

You can't take your eyes off the way those yoga pants cling to every curve, tracing the exact shape of what's underneath with almost criminal precision.

You feel your breath catch somewhere between your throat and your chest, your attention locked on the soft press of fabric against warm skin, the slight stretch across the hips pulling taut in ways that demand your full attention.

You already know what your hands want to do, and you let yourself sit with that want — specific, hungry, absolutely certain about exactly where it wants to land.