Bolder

She feels his fingers slip past the waistband of her shorts, and her breath stops entirely for a moment. His touch is warm, deliberate, finding her without hesitation. Her hips twitch, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she presses back against him instinctively.

"Oh god..."

Her voice is barely a whisper, her hand tightening around his wrist—not to stop him, but to anchor herself as his fingers explore her. Her head falls back against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

"You're... you're really doing this."

She says it like she's confirming it to herself more than to him. Her other hand reaches back, fingers threading into his hair, holding him close as his touch grows more intentional.

"Don't stop."

The words come out raw, honest, stripped of any performance. For once, she's not thinking about how she looks, how this plays, what it means. She's just feeling—his fingers, his chest against her back, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

"Please don't stop."

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