I’m so lost in the slow glide of our tongues, the caress of his thumb on the back of my hand, that I don’t notice the door to the tree house opening until I hear “Sweet Jesus.” I bolt upright, bashing my head into Charlie’s, holding the top of my jumpsuit closed. Sam stands in the doorway, his eyes on the ceiling. He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I really should have known better.”
LMAO
