Cramped space. Barely enough room to breathe, let alone think. The vent shaft groaned as we moved through it, metal warm under my palms, her body inches ahead of mine. Too tight. Too close. Every shift of her hips brushed against me. Every slow crawl forward made it worse.

I tried to focus—count the turns, watch for light, listen for the target below—but all I could feel was her. Her scent, her heat, her ass pressed against my thighs every time the shaft narrowed. She didn’t mean to. That’s what made it unbearable.

She shifted again—unaware, innocent—and my breath hitched. My hand gripped the edge too hard, knuckles white. The ache between my legs was brutal. Inescapable. I hated her for this. For making me want her when I shouldn’t. For making my thoughts crawl deeper than we were.

She paused. Hesitated. Stuck. The vent narrowed more ahead, and she had to press herself flatter. Which meant I had to press into her.

Fuck.

My chest was flush to her back now, hips snug against her ass, the fabric between us thin, worthless. I exhaled hard. She stiffened. She felt it. All of it. My body tight behind hers, my length hard and unmistakable between us.

Neither of us moved. My hand landed beside hers, bracing. I felt her tremble.

It wasn’t part of the mission. But I swear I could hear her heartbeat. Feel it. Her breath stuttered, like she didn’t know what to do, like she didn’t hate this as much as she should.

The heat between us was suffocating.

"You see anything?"