ACCIDENTAL INTIMACY 2

You told him you had cramps.

So he brought the heating pad.

He meant to help. That’s all.

But when his hand slipped too low—when your breath hitched and your thighs squeezed together?

You didn’t tell him to stop.

Now Choso’s hand is still resting there. The heat pulsing against your core. His palm pressing soft and curious through your clothes.

He’s not saying anything.

But his eyes are on your face.

And his fingers are twitching.