Day 22: In Which She Works Him Hard
That damn woman was working him hard. Nope, scratch that. She was working him hard.
Jack collapsed on the floor, panting so heavily he felt his lungs were about to explode. His legs had gone numb, every inch of his body was covered in sweat, he was dizzy, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even think straight!
He heard her chuckling. "We're not done yet, Jack."
"Why—" he wheezed out in pain. Fucking Christ, was he having a heart attack? Why was his vision darkening? "Are you… fine… right now?"
"I told you to watch your breathing."
He groaned, gritting his teeth and covering his face with his arms.
"Come on, get up!"
"I am never getting up again," Jack grumbled.
"Stop being dramatic. It's just Yoga."
He rolled onto his stomach so he could glare at her, and his annoyance only intensified at the sight of her propping her body up on a side plank position like it was no big deal. His arms hurt just from looking at her.
"How are you even doing that?"
"It's all about finding your center," Elsa replied as she got on her feet and stretched her arms above her head.
Her shirt rode up, and he tried hard not to stare at the strip of flesh that had been exposed. With a grunt, he dropped his face on the floor again. Goddamit, did she really have to wear a fucking tank top? "My center was not built for this..."
"Your center needs to be worked on."
Jack snorted. He propped his chin on his hands and smiled his best innocent schoolboy smile at her. "Are you offering to work on my center?"
"Are you making a lewd comment again?"
"You tell me, Elsa. You tell me..."
