Stiles slammed his laptop shut as he walked over to the widow, cracking it so he could speak to Summer. “H-hey… Uh… Whatcha doing?”
She gaped at him for a second. “How did you — you said you didn’t feel anything!” She flung herself at his knees, intending to knock him down and sit on him for obfuscating the truth. It didn’t quite work out that way; instead her hand hit his bare skin and she jolted away in a different direction, curling up around the lightning strike of lust that pulsed through her. “Fuck,” she spat, unintentionally.
Stiles pushed her off and scrambled across the floor. “What the fuck, Summer?! I didn’t! You could clearly feel what I was feeling. Jesus,” he said, clawing his way up the wall to stand. “What don’t you just go?!”
“You are a liar,” she snarled. “When I touched you a minute ago, you jerked back and went ‘what the hell was that’ just like you felt something. Besides — the other thing.” She shifted, starting to get up, and half-swallowed a moan at the way her jeans rubbed against her. It was ironic that it wasn’t even her shields that were keeping her forebrain in control right now; it was years of wanting and telling herself ‘no’. Swallowing hard, she muttered, “I cannot leave you alone like this.”