You’re lying on the bed, book in hand, barely paying attention to the words anymore. The quiet breaks when you hear the bathroom door click, and a second later Flynn’s crutches tap softly against the floor. His hair’s still damp, shirt hanging loose on him as he makes his way over.

He gets into bed, moving careful at first, but then he presses right up against you, arm slipping around your waist. His nose brushes your neck, lips pressing a quick kiss there that lingers a little too long.

“Still reading, huh?” he mutters with that half-laugh of his. His hand rests on your stomach, but it doesn’t stay there—his fingers drift lower, teasing at your waistband.

He grinds up against your back, not even trying to hide it. The book slips right out of your hands, forgotten, and you feel his breath warm on your ear.

“Don’t act like you don’t feel me,” he whispers, voice low and shaky. “Been thinkin’ about this all night... about you.”

His grip on your hip tightens, pulling you closer into him.