Dylan reaches out and grabs my hips suddenly, pulling me down onto his lap before I can protest.
“Here,” he says, his hands firm on my waist. “Mirror mine. Feel how much space I’m taking up.”
I gasp as I land on his lap, laughing at the ridiculousness of it, but then I feel him beneath me, and my laughter turns into a breathyohsound.
He’s very hard. The evidence pressing unmistakably against my ass.
“Dylan,” I manage.
“What? I’m teaching.” His voice is pure innocence, yet his hands on my hips are anything but. He spreads his legs even wider, and since mine are draped over his, they spread too.
Wide. Very wide.
Mason is standing directly in front of us, and the look on his face is absolutely predatory. His golden-brown eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and he’s staring at me spread open on Dylan’s lap like he’s mentally undressing me.
He runs a hand through his sandy-blond hair, clearly struggling with control. “I would give anything right now to see you exactly like this but with nothing on.”
I breathe heavily, my face flushing hot.
His gaze travels deliberately up my body. “You look incredible like this. All spread out. At our mercy.”
“This is supposed to be training,” I protest weakly.
“It is,” Dylan says, his breath hot against my ear. “We’re training you to be comfortable in positions of power. Taking up space. Being confident.”
“This doesn’t feel like power. This feels like…”
“Like what?” His hands slide from my hips to my thighs, spreading them even wider.
I whimper involuntarily.
“Oh, I think she likes this position,” Mason observes, stepping closer. “Look at her. All flushed and breathing hard.”
“I’m not—” I start, but Dylan shifts beneath me, his erection pressing more firmly against me, and whatever I was going to say dissolves into a moan.
“You know,” Dylan says conversationally, like he’s not currently driving me insane, “I’m starting to think this training session is working. You’re definitely taking up space now.”
I laugh, trying to squirm away.
Dylan’s hands tighten on my thighs, holding me in place. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done with this lesson.”
“I think I’ve learned enough about sitting.”
“I disagree.” Mason kneels down in front of us, bringing himself eye level with where I’m spread open on Dylan’s lap. “I think you need more practice. A lot more practice.”
“You know,” I say, trying to regain some control of this situation, “I’m starting to think this whole training session is just foreplay for you two.”
“Can’t it be both?” Mason asks innocently, but his eyes are still dark with want.
I laugh despite how turned on I am, knowing that slick is drenching my panties, and I can just imagine how strong my scent is to them. But I try hard to regain some control, despite how much I want to just give in and let them take me right here on this bench. How desperately I want Mason between my legs. “You two are the worst teachers ever.” I’m burning up.
“We’re excellent teachers,” Dylan protests. “You’re just very distracting.”
“I’m distracting? You’re the one who pulled me onto your lap!” He’s rubbing himself against my rear, which is only heightening my own arousal, a tiny moan slipping past my throat. Who have I become?
I’m still on Dylan’s lap, my legs spread wide over his, my whole body burning up. It’s not my heat—I know it’s not; it’s tooearly—but something is controlling me, taking over my body in ways I can’t fight.
I feel myself gushing between my legs, sudden and intense, and both of them must scent it.
