“You’re killing me.”
“Really?” Her voice was hazy, flirtatious in a way that should never have been allowed in zipped-together sleeping bags. “Because you’re very warm. And very… steady.”
“Don’t,” I warned, because my control was hanging by a fraying thread. “Don’t start something you don’t want finished.”
Her hips moved again, slow and deliberate.
Right against me.
“Maybe I want to,” she breathed.
My heart nearly stopped.
This wasn’t accidental.
This wasn’t a half-asleep instinct.
This was her.
Teasing.
Testing.
Trying to see how close she could get before I broke.
“Rules,” I managed, though my voice was failing. “We made rules.”
She hummed softly. “We make a lot of rules.”
“And we’re bad at all of them.”
She shifted again, rolling her shoulders, arching slightly back into the curve of my body. The sleeping bag shifted with her, the fabric brushing heat across places I definitely didn’t need heat.
“You’re the one who said we were terrible at rules,” she whispered.
I exhaled shakily. “I didn’t mean this.”
“Liar.”
Her hand slid along my thigh again, not lingering, not grabbing, but enough to ignite every nerve I had. Enough to make my restraint wobble dangerously.
“We’re not really married,” I reminded her in a hoarse whisper. “We’re pretending.”
She let out a quiet laugh against my chest. “So? Pretending can be fun.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
She tilted her head slightly, her lips brushing the barest ghost of breath against my jaw. “Maybe I like fire.”
I swallowed hard. “Sienna…”
“Yes?” She whispered, light and teasing.
The sound of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
“If you don’t stop—”
“You’ll what?” she whispered, turning her head a fraction more so her cheek grazed my chin. “Lose all your self-control?”
