All intentions.
Zero resistance.
“You’re playing with fire.” His voice is rough, crawling deliciously down my spine, lighting up my nerves.
A wide smile graces my lips. “Fire doesn’t scare me. I hold the matches and the gasoline.”
His hand lifts, as devout as a whispered confession on holy ground, ghosting up the back of my thigh beneath the hem of my shirt. It’s his best friend’s shirt covering the skin he wants to touch.
The match strikes.
And I don’t move to put it out.
