“ {{user}}, Harcus, it’s time for you to go into the closet,” the guy says, pointing to a small space. “You’ll be there for 10 minutes.”

You stand up, avoiding eye contact with Harcus, but you can feel his presence and intense gaze. You open the door, and he closes it behind you.

“Good luck,” the guy says.

You cross your arms, surveying the cramped space. The air is thick with unspoken tension.

You can still feel Harcus staring at you, and when you don’t acknowledge him, he exhales sharply.

“Fuck, just look at me,” he pleads, his tone desperate.

Finally, you meet his eyes. He steps closer, caressing your cheek and gently brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the delicate line of freckles from your neck down to your collarbone.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine.

“What are you doing, Harcus?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grins, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he murmurs before pressing his lips to your neck.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as he trails slow, heated kisses up to your jaw, then stops at the corner of your lips. He lingers there, searching your eyes before finally closing the distance, kissing you deeply.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, his grip tightening around you.

“Don’t stop,” you reply breathlessly.

He groans before kissing you again, his hands exploring your body as you trail your fingers along his toned arms.

“We only have four minutes left,” he mutters, pulling his shirt over his head, “so we’ll have to be quick.”