He’s tries to hold back. The plan was to bring home, ice your hurt ankle, go behave himself around your lower body.

Your hand on his arm, pulling him back, and the way your touches roam on his open collarbone…that pleading look. doomed from the start.

“How come you’re allowed to do this, but not me?” he says, his eyes pinning your gaze in place. He can feel the control slipping when your eyes drop down his body.