He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t move a single muscle to give me space. And from my experience in the elevator…I know he won’t.

I guess things could be worse.

I let out a silent sigh and turn around slowly, holding my breath as I graze against his body. And my lungs almost implode in my chest when I feel a familiar protrusion against my lower back, hard and unapologetic.

My eyes flutter closed as my ass and the rest of my body lean forward and away from him as much as physically possible. My hips jut forward on reflex, pressing hard against the sink painfully. And that only makes my bladder take another hit.

I wince at the unbearable sensation, biting my lip to stop myself from hissing in discomfort. I’m grateful that there aren’t any mirrors in here. I can only imagine how I look right now, and I feel some sense of relief knowing that Frost can’t see all the timidity and discomfort in my reflection while he corners me from behind.

With a trembling hand I reach for the faucet, but before I can turn it on, his voice breaks through the silence.

“Roll your sleeves up,” he says with his lips by my ear, his warm breath caressing my skin with each word that leaves his mouth.

I don’t hesitate this time. I roll both sleeves, hiking them up my wrists impatiently.

“Higher,” he insists. “Past your elbows.”

I comply, rolling them all the way up, even though I want to roll my eyes all the way to the back of my skull as well.

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