Isolde's fingers hesitated mid-stroke as Adam's hand brushed against her thigh. Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing deeper.
"Hey... don't touch so casually," she murmured, her voice tight, embarrassed.
Adam's eyes remained closed, a lazy, content smile curving his lips. His fingers traced a slow, idle pattern on the fabric of her cloak, not quite groping, but not quite innocent either.
"I'm just touching a little," he murmured, his voice drowsy, teasing. "Your thighs are soft. It's comfortable."
Her pride screamed at her to move, to shove him away, but something softer, more treacherous, whispered 'stay.'
'This idiot...'
"I'm serious," she tried again, but her voice lacked conviction. She made no move to push his hand away. "If you weren't injured, I would have thrown you off by now."
Adam's smile widened, still not opening his eyes.
"Hehe. Lucky me."
