Just stumbled—not dramatically, but enough that his foot caught on a loose stone.
He righted himself fast, but not before Ming Ji's low chuckle reached his ears.
His face burned.
*Damnit. Damn him.*
He wanted to snap back, to throw some insult or threat like *"You wish"* or *"I'll make you beg first,"*—
But the truth?
His body already remembered every touch, every whisper, every time Ming Ji had made him lose control.
And worse—
He *wanted* it again.
*Damn him,* he thought.
His body still tingled.
The memories were still there, just beneath the surface.
He could still feel Ming Ji's touch like a brand.
It was all he could do to stay focused on the mission briefing as the others discussed strategy and potential threats in the breach zone—
But Ming Ji's gaze kept finding his.
And whenever their eyes met?
Heat coiled in his belly, his breath catching.
He was *so* screwed.
*Goddammit.*
