...maybe

"Lean into what?" I snapped, my voice cracking embarrassingly. My pulse was hammering where her fingers lingered, betraying me. "You think this is my fantasy? You think I'm into this?" I jerked my chin toward where she still straddled me, her stupid cat leggings stretched tight over her thighs.

Sanah's laugh was low, knowing, as she tilted her head. "Ohhh, so you have thought about me pinning you down before." Her fingers drummed lightly against my collarbone—*tap tap tap*—like she was counting my rapid-fire heartbeats. "You're such a bad liar. Your ears go all red."

I opened my mouth to fire back, but she suddenly shifted her weight, pressing her palm flat against my chest. My breath hitched—*fuck*—and Sanah's eyes lit up like she'd just won the lottery. "See?" she crowed, triumphant. "You're so into this. God, you're lucky I'm cute enough to put up with your denial." Her free hand flicked my forehead playfully before I could even process the insult.

"Tell me," she purred, leaning down until her lips hovered dangerously close to my ear, "what else do you think about? When you're sulking in your room pretending you hate me?" Her teeth grazed my earlobe—just enough to make me jerk—and I hated how my stomach flipped. "Bet you imagine me sitting on your lap during lunch," she whispered, "or maybe holding your hand in the hallway—"

"I don't—" I choked out, but she cut me off with a laugh, her fingers tangling in the collar of my shirt.

"Liar," she breathed, nudging her knee between my thighs with terrifying precision. The couch groaned beneath us as I instinctively arched away—right into her waiting grip. Sanah's grin turned downright feral. "Your brain's loud, idiot. You think about me all the time." Her thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I realized, with dawning horror, that she was right—and worse, she knew.