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

Your hand on her arm, pulling her back, and the way your touch roams on her open collarbone…that pleading look. doomed from the start.

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