I'm not on birth control, you still wanna fuck?

You're looking at a petite body that makes the question hit harder than it should — small frame, soft skin, and an expression that dares you to answer honestly.

You feel the weight of that question settle somewhere low in your chest, then lower still. You know what she's really asking isn't about logic or consequence — it's about whether you want her badly enough to feel that particular edge of risk.

You do. You absolutely do. You can't look away from the curve of that waist, the warmth behind those eyes, the raw pull of wanting something you probably shouldn't take.