Dorsey pulled at her thigh again, palming the inner part near the knee, then stretching it over his middle. In the dark, there was no seeing, only feeling. She must have felt his erection. God, he was metastatic with desire for her. It had started in his fingertips hours ago. Now, it was everywhere. She exhaled hotly on his cheek. There was no top clearance, so her breasts pressed flat against his chest.

Had a body ever arranged itself so well onto his? It was perhaps not the best idea to pull her nearly on top of him, thighs sprawled, just to prove a point. It wasn’t lost on Dorsey now that in their current position, if he pushed her down just a little, the head of his penis would be at her hot center, with nothing but blue jeans and Italian wool between them.

Liza, if you move, I’ll move.

“It’s more than a nudge.” Dorsey’s voice sounded foreign and harsh.

Liza pulled herself off him devastatingly slowly.

Safe choice.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” Liza’s voice had also taken on a husky quality. Can she feel it too? The danger we’re in?

“A dick?” Dorsey massaged himself.

“Exactly. It’s just external stimuli, Dorsey. Or are you surprised to have a biological reaction to someone other than Ms. Venezuela?”

Aha, there it is. So she had thought about his stupid little comment as much as he had. She’d had her little ego bruised and wanted to get a trophy hard-on out of him. The joke was on her; lately, well-buttered buns could get a hard-on out of him.

“We can test your theory, Liza. We can test my biological reaction.” His voice was a low promise. “Or you can stay on the other side of the line.”

He heard her kiss her teeth as she turned her back to him. After hearing Liza’s deep and rhythmic breathing, Dorsey toyed with the idea of heading to the bathroom and rubbing one out just to get the tension out of his neck. But freezing in the men’s bathroom with his balls out did not appeal to him. He ran his hand over his chest where she had lain. Once. Twice. Finger lightly running over his nipple. He turned to her again, her figure silhouetted like a cello in the dark. What would it feel like if she reached for him? Allowed him to play her chords? No one would have to know but them. This pod was their universe. Dorsey felt himself relax.

Daylight stabbed Liza in the eyes. But she refused to wake up. She was an old pro at burrowing under the covers when her mother rolled the curtains open. She buried her head into a cushion.