NATH
"Thirty minutes! Halfway point!"
The emcee's voice feels like an intrusion, but it also serves as a reminder of what this is supposed to be—a competition, not foreplay. But when Winter shifts in my lap again, when I feel the evidence of how this is affecting me and know she can feel it too, the line between performance and reality blurs completely.
She's kissing me like she means it. Like this isn't just strategy or game-playing, but something she actually wants. And God help me, I want it too.
My lips trail down her throat, tasting the salt on her skin, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath my mouth. She tilts her head back, giving me access, her fingers gripping my shoulders like anchors, her lips against my palm.
"Forty minutes!"
We're past the point of
