“Cmon sugar,” his deep voice came out, comforting like a heavy blanket in a cold room. His warm body pressed against yours, your back pushed against the frigid wall. You could feel the old wallpaper and dried paint against your skin, but your focus was torn from the wall’s freezing surface. His hands had made sure of that, all of your attention drawn back to him. You could smell the lingering scent of cigarettes on him, but you didn’t mind. The smell was almost attractive for a man of his style.