Theo wipes condensation from the glass with his thumb, then lifts it to his raspberry lips. My ovaries start the tug-of-war again, the primitive thrill of arousal in the highest gear, tingling at the backs of my thighs. He might not realize what he’s doing, but I’m burning up as he grazes his thumb across his lower lip. He’s lost in thought for a moment before he drops his hand back to the glass, blissfully unaware of my wild thoughts.
