He gets turned on by this

“I think they’re still searching,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. Her heart was still slamming against her ribs. The gold dress clung to her skin with sweat, the short hem trapped between their bodies. She tried to ease sideways, to create even an inch of space, but the closet was too narrow. His soft stomach pressed harder into hers with every small shift.

“Name’s Cody,” he said after a few seconds, voice low and thick. “You’re… Emily, right? From the soccer team?”

She gave the barest nod in the dark. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted out.

Cody shifted his weight. The movement dragged his chest across her breasts, the soft bulk of him molding against the curves the tight gold fabric couldn’t hide. He felt the press of her—full, warm, yielding under the thin material—and something low and hot stirred in him. She was hotter up close than she’d looked downstairs. The way the dress hugged her, the way her body was forced against his, every soft swell and narrow waist… he couldn’t stop noticing. His mind kept circling back to the shape of her, the heat of her skin through the fabric, the way her thighs brushed his whenever either of them breathed.

Emily felt it the moment it happened.

A firm, unmistakable pressure against her lower stomach. Hard. Growing. She stiffened, disgust rising sharp and immediate in her throat. He was getting hard. From this. From being crammed against her in a closet that smelled like sweat and old laundry.

Cody’s breathing changed. He tried to adjust, but the space left him no choice. His erection settled more firmly against her, the thick outline obvious even through his jeans. He could feel the curve of her hip, the slight give of her stomach, the way her breasts shifted against his chest every time she inhaled. The contact sent a slow, heavy pulse through him. She was soft in all the places that mattered, and the forced closeness made it impossible not to feel every detail.

Emily’s face burned with revulsion. She turned her head as far as the hanging shirts would allow, trying to put even a few more inches between her nose and his. The sour smell of him mixed with the heat of his body made her stomach turn. She wanted to shove him back, but there was nowhere to shove him to.

Cody’s hand—thick, damp—brushed the side of her waist as he braced himself against the wall. The contact made him shift again, and this time the movement was deliberate. A slow, grinding roll of his hips that dragged the hard length of him across her lower belly and the top of her thigh. The gold dress rode up another inch under the pressure. He felt the heat of her through the fabric, the shape of her curves trapped against him, and the friction sent a thick rush of pleasure through his gut.

Emily’s breath caught. Disgust flooded her, cold and sharp. She could feel exactly what he was doing—rubbing against her, using the cramped space as an excuse to press that erection into her over and over. Every small motion made it worse. His soft stomach squashed against her ribs; his hard cock dragged along the front of her dress. She felt trapped, pinned between the wall of shirts and a body she wanted nothing to do with.

“Stop,” she whispered, voice tight with revulsion.

Cody didn’t stop. He rolled his hips again, slower this time, grinding the full length of his erection against the soft give of her lower body. The sensation of her curves—breasts crushed to his chest, hips forced against his, the short dress offering almost no barrier—made him harder. He could feel every contour of her, and the forced closeness only fed the heat building in him. She was right there, soft and warm and pressed tight, and he couldn’t make himself pull away even if the closet had allowed it.

Emily’s skin crawled. The rubbing was deliberate now, a steady, sticky friction that left no room for doubt. She was disgusted by the feel of him, by the damp heat of his body, by the way his cock kept dragging across her through the thin gold fabric. Her earlier confidence, the way she’d felt in the dress downstairs, had curdled into something sour and trapped. She wanted the door open. She wanted space. She wanted him gone.

Cody’s breathing had gone heavier. He pressed in once more, grinding against the curve of her hip and the soft plane of her stomach, feeling every inch of her body forced against his. The closet stayed dark and close and reeking of sweat. Emily stayed pressed to the back wall, every muscle tight with discomfort, the hard evidence of his arousal rubbing steadily against her while the house outside remained silent.