He looked at her sideways for exactly one second.
Whatever was in his eyes during that second traveled from his face to somewhere low in her stomach and stayed there, warm and settled and very certain of itself.
She kept her hand where it was.
She moved her fingers.
Slowly. Deliberately. Learning the shape of him through the fabric, feeling him respond under her palm, and the sound he made that time was quieter than the first one and far more controlled, the kind that came from someone actively refusing to give more than they had to.
It didn't help him.
"Soorin." Her name came out rough at the edges. Not sharp. Just rough, like it had been pulled from somewhere lower than his usual register.
"Mm?"
"If you don't stop—"
"You'll what?" she said. Genuinely curious.
He said nothing for a moment.
Then: "I'll pull over."
She looked at him.
He kept his eyes on the road with the focus of a man whose entire remaining dignity depended on not looking at her.
