The key turns in the lock and my heart seizes. I'm already in position, wedged into the back of the bedroom closet, the slats of the louvered door giving me a perfect view of the bed and the doorway beyond. I've left it cracked just enough.

Samantha's voice floats in, breathless and bright. "Make yourself at home. I'll grab us something."

I hear his boots on the hardwood, heavy and confident. Then her footsteps, and the fridge opening, and the clink of bottles. My cock is already half-hard in my jeans. This was her idea, remember? She asked if I'd be okay with it. I said yes, because saying no would have meant admitting how much the thought of it twisted me up inside.

They come into view. Derek is tall, broad-shouldered, with a dark stubble and sleeves of tattoos climbing his forearms. He takes the glass from her hand and sets it on the dresser without drinking. His other hand finds her hip, pulls her close.

Samantha: "I've been thinking about this all day."

Derek: "Yeah?"

Samantha: "Mm-hmm. Ever since you grabbed my ass earlier."

His mouth crashes into hers. It's not gentle. It's hungry, claiming. She moans into it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. I watch her body melt against his, and my hand drifts down to the button of my jeans. I shouldn't. Not yet. But I can't help it.