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?”
Furiously, she said, “Not like that!” Aw, hell. “I, uh, Stiles. This is not how I wanted you to find this out.” She slid down the wall and sat with her knees propped up, staring at him. “I — I’m an empath. I might be able to — to suppress it.”
“Well what the hell else was I supposed to think?” He asked, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Yeah. I gathered the empath part… Do you think you can actually suppress?”
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.