AN: Happy Fri-Yay to you all.
My jaw is clenched so tight it aches. The simple knot in the leather lace is a maddening puzzle, every loop pulled taut by Tyr's frantic yanking.
Her back is a long, tense plane of muscle under my fingertips, the skin warm and smooth. Every failed attempt to loosen the lace sends a fresh wave of her clean scent right into my head.
"How hard did you pull?" I ask, my voice rough.
"I don't know," she breathes out, and the sound is strained. "I was in a hurry. Maybe... maybe we should wait for them to come."
"I can do it," I say to her. I try again, my fingers slipping. The frustration is a live wire under my skin, buzzing in time with my heartbeat. This is absurd.
We are trapped in this ridiculous, intimate stalemance because of a piece of string. I exhale, trying to push down the heat coiling in my gut, the one that has nothing to do with annoyance and everything to do with the woman standing, partially dressed and vulnerable, in front of me.
