Dont let it

Sweat trickled down Tryson's face—cold, beaded droplets racing down his skin. His breath hitched.

It wasn't the heat; it was her.

The mere thought of Angel's touch sent shivers through him, the imagined sensation of her warm skin against his finger setting his nerves ablaze.

He could almost hear it—the sharp, breathy moan she would release the moment his fingers grazed her.

"Tryson…" Her voice shattered the haze of his thoughts.

He blinked, lashes fluttering as he met Angel's gaze. Her eyes locked onto his, questioning, searching—why was he still standing there, lost in another world?

"Oh, actually—" he faltered, words slipping, his mind still tangled in forbidden daydreams.

He tightened his grip on the bag's handle, ready to move away, to escape before his thoughts betrayed him further.

But Angel moved too—unaware, uncalculated—stepping closer.

Then it happened.