clandestine love was electrifying. Sneaking around upped the pleasure quotient. I’d find myself restrained against a wall one moment, Jack’s warm breath on my neck, his body pressed against mine. Then, at the sound of footsteps—that sweet chance of getting caught—we’d let go of each other, turn in opposite directions, and casually rejoin the group as nonchalantly as if we’d merely been getting something, lip balm or a novel, in our rooms, confident that no one had noticed our absence.
