Do you like my yoga pants, babe?

You can't stop staring at those yoga pants, the fabric pulled so tight it leaves absolutely nothing to your imagination.

You feel the heat rise before you've even moved a muscle, your eyes tracing every curve, every contour mapped perfectly beneath that thin stretch of material. You already know exactly what your hands want to do next. You want to peel that fabric down slowly, savoring every inch revealed.

You've been asked a question, but your mouth has forgotten how to form words. You answer the only way your body knows how — by stepping closer, breath shallow, want written plainly across your face.