The cold was unbearable, but that wasn’t what had your body tensed and your breath caught halfway in your throat. The broken heater had turned the HPC dorms into a walk-in freezer, and you and Amaia, your childhood best-friend, had ended up curled together in her narrow bed, limbs tangled under three useless blankets.

Skin against skin was the only option left, or that’s what she’d said when she pulled her hoodie off and slid in behind you, her chest flush to your back, arms winding tight around your waist. You could feel everything, her breath against your neck, her thigh slotted between yours, her hands dangerously low, fingers splayed against bare stomach, holding you there like she didn’t plan to let go. The silence between you buzzed.

Every kiss you guys shared after too many beers, every lingering glance could be played off as nothing, but this wasn’t nothing. Not when she shifted closer, the slow drag of her hips against yours too deliberate. Not when her hand dipped lower and didn’t stop. “You’re shaking,” she murmured, voice low, mouth brushing your ear. “Let me take care of you.”