They both suddenly went still; the sound of ripping upholstery momentarily cooling their desire.
“What was that?” he asked. He eased his body off of hers enough that she could feel around the cushion with one hand.
“Oh shit.”
“What?”
“The button on my pocket caught the couch! My mom is going to kill me.”
“You know the solution, don’t you?” He caressed down her bare stomach until his fingertips brushed the top button of her jeans. She bit her lip, hesitating, then nodded.
The lemon sherbet melted all over the counter, forgotten.
Phoebe Darqueling 