She leaned down to put her palms on his knees for momentary support and knelt in the dirt between them, an array of tiny rocks presenting an immediate annoyance. Taylor ignored them.

“And think of this,” she said, dropping the irritation and volume of her voice, “once someone gives you some decent head, it might help you decide whether it’s something you’re willing to go without. For the long term.”

Taylor knelt upright and they were almost eye to eye. Ian had done nothing to back away or get her out of his space. When her eyes flicked down between them, she noted a new shape to his cargo shorts that was neither a phone nor a wallet.

This isn’t fair. You know he’s not thinking straight right now.

She put a selfish hand on the top of his thigh and scooted a few inches closer. “And Ian.” He blinked at her and she leaned in, letting her next words go quietly at his ear. “I’m good at it. I like it.”

When she pulled away, it wasn’t as far back as she’d been before, and they sat there, still, teetering on the edge in the immense silence of the desert. Eye contact was too much. They both focused instead on her splayed fingers resting on his leg. She could hear him exhale.

“OK.”

The assent was so tiny, as if he meant to hide it even from himself. And Taylor knew better. Oh, did she know better. But some mistakes were too good not to make.

It was almost as if they both thought his OK alone would set things into motion and, for a long moment, neither moved a muscle.

Well? You started this.

Taylor’s hand slid further up his thigh, moving over the fabric of his shorts until her thumb hit a speedbump. He inhaled at a hiss and they still couldn’t lock eyes.

“Ian.”

Pounding heartbeats. She felt him twitch against her thumb.

“One of us is going to have to unbutton you.”

They watched his fingers come up to nudge his tee shirt out of the way and fumble the copper button undone. He left the zipper, perhaps wanting her to take the last step as a way of absolving himself from blame.

The metal tab was between her fingers and she insinuated her upper body closer to his, her ear at his cheekbone, lips set to conspire in secret where there was no one around to hear.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispered, the last exit before the Point of No Return.

“Don’t.”

Her breath seized. She let go the zipper. Pulled her fingers back an inch.

“Don’t stop.”