“Keep your back straight,” he says, running his palm up my back, and I swear I almost whimper.
I do as I’m told, swallowing hard, then almost choking because he says, “Good girl,” with a tap on my hip before leaving me.
Oh fuck.
I’m wet. Like, actually wet. And I can feel my clit throb.
Perhaps I’ve even forgotten how to breathe. Which is probably why my mouth is hanging open. I figure if I just hold it open, air might fill my lungs without my participation.
Or maybe if there’s a god, I’ll pass out. Because then I’ll knock out all my teeth, and that’ll solve the problem of three guys wanting to fuck me. Because this is a problem. A huge problem for me.
I think—no, I know—I want something not meant for me. Like a kid choosing a porterhouse off a menu. This meal is too big for my stomach.
So I’m going to keep praying for toothless because it isn’t part of the male gaze. Only women fall for that; otherwise, hockey players would be the originators of the male loneliness epidemic.
Thankfully, Moon’s voice intrudes again.
“Let’s flow now into plank pose by jumping our feet out, then lowering into chaturanga dandasana before pressing into lower downward dog.”
Instinctively, I look up, because what is she talking about? What is a chaturanga? But when I lift my head, I’m hit with Brody, Brooks, and Wells all pressing their crotches into the floor as their faces rise to the sun.
Good god. Why is this happening to me?
They might as well be in slow motion with “Unholy” by Sam Smith playing because I’m catching every single goddamn movement.
The way Wells parts his lips, his arms strained under the weight of him. Brody’s jaw muscles rippling before he licks his lips. And the extra press Brooks does as he lets out a quiet groan.
I’m a goner. So fucking turned on that I feel feral.
That’s when a thought makes my eyes pop open before I face down at my pink yoga mat.
I want to fuck them. At the same time. Just like in my dream. And I want it bad.
“Hold for one second,” Moon calls out, “before you reverse back to downward dog, bringing yourself to uttanasana, and then ultimately bring that breath into our upward salute.”
I couldn’t care less about a salute because all I can think is that I could fuck them if I want to. I could.
All I can picture is the three of them surrounding me and my clothes falling off as their lips descend over my body. It’s very Harlequin grocery store novel meets porn. But my body likes it.
So much so that my eyes have to briefly close.
Thank god we’re all in the same position because it would be mortifying for anyone to see the way my backside just contracted so I could feel a little more friction between me and the ground.
“You gonna hold that all day?”
My eyes spring back open. My head lifts.
Brody’s squatting in front of me, eyes locked to mine.
Oh my god, I’m still in the fucking junk press.Shit.I give an embarrassed giggle before scurrying back onto my knees as he stands.
“I really should familiarize myself with the vocabulary,” I whisper.
Nerd.
His jaw tenses as he looks down at me, but before I can figure out why, Brooks sidles up next to him, throwing his elbow onto Brody’s shoulder.
“Fuck, Margot. Tell me this is you flirting so I can take back what I said.”
