The way she touches her own hair, then his shirt, it sends a bolt of tension coiling down his spine. It settles low in his stomach, a burning ember of want that’s been simmering since the moment she arrived. He hasn’t wanted to bring any expectation into what they’re building, but he would be lying to say he hasn’t wanted her.

“My turn,” he agrees, letting Joyce take control of unbuttoning his shirt. When it’s open, he shrugs the material off his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.