"Soorin," he finally manages.
And his voice is wrecked.
"We can't—I don't have—"
"I know," she cuts him off gently. "But there are other ways I can help. If you want."
Her hand moves lower. Palm pressing against his erection through the fabric.
The sound he makes—half groan, half curse—sends a thrill through her entire body.
His head drops back against the door with a soft thunk.
His eyes squeeze shut.
"We really shouldn't," he says.
But even as the words leave his mouth, his hips press forward into her touch.
"You don't have to—"
She strokes him again. Firmer this time. Feeling the heat of him even through the layers of fabric.
He groans louder. Biting his bottom lip to try to stay quiet.
"You started this," she reminds him. Gaining confidence from his obvious reactions. "And now you're backing off?"
His eyes open. Dark and desperate.
"I don't have a condom. I forgot to bring—"
