I wantedher.
And that was a problem I no longer had the strength to ignore.
For several long minutes, I convinced myself she was just shifting in her sleep. That the little wiggles of her hips were innocent. That the small, dragging movement of her hand across my thigh was a coincidence. A twitch. A dream reaction. Something harmless.
But the next time she moved, it was slower and more deliberate.
A timed slide of her palm across the outer seam of my pants before curling back toward her chest, as if she realized she’d done it and tried to pretend she hadn’t.
My breath caught.
She wasn’t asleep.
Not fully.
Maybe not at all.
“Sienna,” I whispered.
No answer.
Oh God.
She knew.
She definitely knew.
Every rule we’d set, every professional boundary we had sworn up and down to maintain, every warning I’d whispered to myself about lines we couldn’t cross, they all began to collapse like wet paper.
Her hips shifted again, this time brushing along my thigh with a slow, subtle grind that stole my breath. Heat coiled low in my stomach, sharp and immediate. My hand twitched at my side before I forced it into a fist.
“Are you doing that on purpose?” I whispered, barely able to get the words out.
A soft exhale.
Not denial.
Not innocence.
“Sienna,” I tried again, and it came out far too rough. “You’re freezing. You need to stop moving.”
“I’m trying,” she murmured, but the way she said it, low, warm, threaded with something undeniably intentional, made my pulse slam against my ribs.
She definitely wasn’t trying, and she definitely wasn’t cold anymore.
She curled deeper into the shared bag, her body fitting against mine with impossible precision. Her hair brushed the underside of my jaw. Her hand drifted, accidentally again, sure, back across my thigh.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
She heard it.
Of course she did.
I could sense that tiny half-smile appeared as she whispered, “Still just physics?”
I shut my eyes. “Sienna…”
“Yes?” she whispered sweetly.
