I go on, voice low. “I couldn’t sleep. Too wired. Too many thoughts.” I pause, let that hang between us like a dare. “So I touched myself.”
It’s partly true. While I didn’t actually touch myself, I had so many naughty thoughts running through my head about Sam that my panties stood no chance.
His jaw tightens, just slightly. His eyes flick to my mouth again before returning to mine, darker now. Hungry.
“Were you thinking about me?” he asks, almost in a whisper.
I smile, slow and sure. “What do you think?”
He exhales, but it sounds more like a growl, like he’s trying to rein something in and barely managing it.
“Jesus, Charlie.”
“You said it was my turn,” I remind him, eyes dancing.
He steps forward again. His body brushes against mine, chest to chest, heat to heat. My back presses against the edge of the stall door, heart pounding. And I can feel just how much he wants me.
“Keep talkin’ like that,” he murmurs, his lips inches from mine, “and I’m not gonna make it to the next question.”
My voice drops. “Maybe that’s the point.”
His hand lifts, fingers trailing from my hip up to my jaw, and suddenly I’m not breathing. Not thinking. Just burning.
“Last chance to stop me,” he says.
I shake my head, whispering, “Don’t you dare.”
And then he kisses me.
This time, it’s not sweet.
It’s all heat and want igniting in one heartbeat. His hands slide into my hair, mouth devouring mine, like he’s been starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy.
I arch into him, one hand gripping the front of his shirt, the other sliding under the hem to feel skin—hot, solid, alive.
There’s straw underfoot, the sharp smell of hay and leather in the air, but all I can feel is him. All I can think isyes.
And we haven’t even made it to the next question.
When we finally break apart, we’re both panting.
His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath ghost across my lips. His hands are still on either side of me, like he’s giving me space, even now. But that restraint? It's fraying.
“Next question,” I murmur, voice rough around the edges.
He huffs out a laugh, low and shaky. “You’re relentless.”
“You like it.”
He doesn’t deny it.
So I go for it. “Where do you like to be touched first?”
His inhale is sharp, eyes snapping to mine.
“Fuck, Charlie.” His voice is wrecked. “You’re not holding back at all, are you?”
I shake my head slowly, a smile tugging at my lips. “Not even a little.”
