Call him crazy, but this whole thing's giving him a fresh appreciation for skirts. The way hers bunch up automatically as her legs part, the wealth of skin suddenly made available to him — his hands ghost along her thighs, palm their way underneath the fabric, rucking it up even further near her waist. Still harmless, still arguably chaste — he doesn't go dipping between her legs, his fingertips don't skirt underwear lines, but they do dig gently in just beneath the swell of her ass.

It's lips that go exploring, venturing down from hers, seeking her neck. Finding her throat. Gentle, open-mouthed, warm and wet along the place between ear and shoulder. Maybe he's crazy, maybe he's out of his mind, but for a second there he could swear he tastes heartbeat. For an even more fleeting second, he wants to do terrible things to it — but that manifests only as a gentle, quick nip of teeth.