Mars Solo straddles Rob Denali’s chest, her thighs bracketing his face like the jaws of a vise, while Andi Wild perches on his shoulders, her weight pressing into his face. The air between them is thick with the heat of exertion and something darker - something that makes Mars’s usual detachment crack. She doesn’t do this. Not like this. Not with the way her pulse hammers against the inside of her skin, not with the way his breath, ragged and warm, slides over the damp fabric between her legs. This isn’t just a job. This is enjoyment.
