Jake finished dressing, his heart pounding.
It'd taken him five minutes after Angela's departure to get himself under control, every nerve in his body screaming for him to take matters in hand and duck into the washroom before going out on patrol.
He decided not to on principle—he had more self-control than that.
Even for Angela.
Especially for Angela.
He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of pushing him over the edge with nothing more than a tickle of her finger and a sly come-hither look.
And he knew she'd know.
One look at his face the next time they met, and she'd know he'd raced into the bathroom stall and grabbed himself, stroked himself to completion over the memory of their brief meeting and the promise of more to come.
No, he snarled internally. I need to show her I
