Its such a tight fit

The fabric pulls across every curve like a second skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. You trace the seam lines with your eyes, watching how the material strains and stretches with each subtle shift of her weight.

Those yoga pants grip her hips in a way that makes your breath catch — the waistband sitting low, the fabric so taut it almost looks painted on. You feel the tension just looking at it.

She knows exactly what she's doing, standing just so, letting you take in every contour. That fit isn't accidental. Neither is your reaction to it.