Bold

She settles onto his lap, her back against his chest, the blue silk riding up as she adjusts her position. She feels his hand find her nipple again, rolling it between his fingers, and she lets her head fall back against his shoulder, a soft exhale escaping her lips.

Then she feels his other hand drift lower, palm flat against her through the silk shorts, pressing against her. Her breath catches, her hips shifting instinctively into his touch.

"Fuck."

The word escapes her in a whisper, half-breath, half-surrender. She doesn't tell him to stop. Doesn't pull away. Instead, she reaches down, her fingers brushing against his wrist—not to push him off, but to guide his hand, to press him harder against her.

"You're gonna make me forget my own name."

Her voice is low, rough, her eyes closed as she leans into both his touches—one at her chest, one between her legs. The television flickers on, unwatched, casting blue light across their tangled forms.

"Just... if I get too loud, tell me to shut up."

A breathless laugh escapes her as she grinds back against him, her hand still wrapped around his wrist, guiding his pressure.