"No. I can’t let him sleep like this," she muttered. "He’ll get sick."
With trembling determination, she walked to the bed and sat cautiously beside him.
She reached for the soaked shirt, hesitating again when her fingertips brushed his warm skin underneath.
Her heart jumped.
Then, slowly—very slowly—she began to remove the shirt.
Her hands shook as she lifted his upper body just enough to slide the fabric from beneath him.
Every movent felt like a dangerous mission.
Every breath he took made her pause, afraid she had woken him.
But Ross slept deeply, snoring without a care.
Sabrina wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. One shirt down.
His pants were next.
She closed her eyes for a mont, took a deep breath, and continued.
Sliding her fingers beneath his waistband, she eased the garnt down inch by inch, terrified she would disturb him.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
It took twenty long, agonizing minutes—minutes that felt like hours—for her to get Ross down to his last piece of clothing.
By the ti she finished, she was sweating more than he was.
And then she froze.
Her gaze dropped. Her mind stopped processing. Her mouth fell open.
His boxers—thin, stretched tight—did nothing to hide what was beneath.
Sabrina gasped soundlessly, her eyes widening so much it hurt.
"It’s huge..." she scread internally, her entire body going rigid.
Her face flad hot. Her ears rang. Her knees felt weak.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stop a noise from slipping out.
She had only intended to help him change. That was it. That was the plan.
But now?
She couldn’t look away.
Her heartbeat hamred uncontrollably, her thighs pressing together without her realizing.
Her breath grew shallow as she stared at the enormous outline straining against the fabric.
"What... what do I do?" she whispered shakily, her voice barely audible.
Sabrina swallowed hard, trembling from head to toe, caught between fear, embarrassnt, and an overwhelming curiosity that set her entire body on fire.
It took several long minutes before Sabrina’s heartbeat settled and her thoughts stopped spinning.
Her hands were slightly trembling as she pulled a blanket from the side of the tent and draped it over Ross’s sleeping form.
His skin was still warm from the alcohol and the earlier chaos of the night, and the scent of him—sweat, liquor, and sothing undeniably masculine—clung stubbornly in the air.
Covered or not, Ross still looked impossibly tempting.
The blanket did nothing to hide the outline of his chest or the powerful shape of his body.
Sabrina forced herself to look away.
"Get a grip..." she whispered to herself, as if scolding her own wayward mind.
She slipped out quietly and returned to her own tent. But the darkness offered no comfort.
The mont she lay on her bed, her body betrayed her—hot, restless, aching with a need she didn’t dare na.
Thoughts she had no business thinking flooded her mind: how close she had been to him, how heavy and thick his cock had looked even when soft, how easily her body reacted just by rembering.
Her breath ca uneven.
The heat between her thighs was unbearable.
She tried to fight it, but the more she resisted, the more vivid the mories beca.
She eventually gave in, using her hands to ease the ache.
Even then, it took a long ti for her to calm down, and after the trembling stopped, she lay there with her arm over her eyes, ashad and still wanting more.
Dealing with Ross the next day had been torture. And the day after. And every day that followed.
***
Another week passed, and Ross and Sabrina gradually fell into the habit of talking every day.
Sotis they discussed trivial things; sotis they spoke about supplies, the mission, or the walking dead zombies that seed to never run out of numbers.
But no matter the topic, Sabrina often found herself spacing out.
Her eyes drifted to Ross’s lips, his arms, his torso—anything she rembered touching or seeing that night.
She tried to hide it. She really did. But Ross wasn’t a fool.
One afternoon, as they sat a few feet apart, he suddenly tilted his head.
"Hey," Ross said, squinting slightly. "Is sothing wrong? You’ve been... distracted lately."
Sabrina’s fingers froze mid-motion as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Heat crawled up her neck.
Distracted? If only he knew what was running through her head.
"I’m fine," she replied too quickly. "Just tired, that’s all."
Ross didn’t look convinced. "If you’re tired, you should rest. Or..." He paused for half a second, his voice dropping into sothing gentler.
"Do you want to give you a massage? I’m actually pretty good at it."
A massage.
Sabrina’s entire body tensed.
She imagined his hands on her shoulders... on her back... those warm palms sliding over her skin.
Her imagination went too far too fast, and she had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady.
"M-Maybe so other ti," she managed with a small, forced smile.
Ross nodded, accepting it. He leaned back, relaxed, stretching his arms behind him.
The casual motion made his shirt lift just a bit, revealing a glimpse of toned lower abdon that sent Sabrina’s thoughts spiraling again.
They resud talking, but Sabrina barely absorbed anything.
She kept replaying the words massage in her head.
Her legs subtly pressed together to ease the pressure she didn’t want Ross to notice.
Ross, anwhile, simply continued speaking, unaware—or perhaps pretending not to notice—the storm of desire he had stirred inside her.
And Sabrina, flustered beyond belief, knew one thing for certain:
Another week like this might actually kill her.
***
Sabrina entered the washroom and closed the door quietly, leaning her back against it as though holding the whole world at bay.
Her breath ca shallow, uneven.
For a mont she simply stood there, staring blankly at the tiled floor, trying to calm the storm roiling inside her chest.
Finally, with trembling fingers, she pulled out her cellphone.
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