Page 31 of Zorro

His unspoken thought imprinted on her, the effect pulsating in her clit, and she had to clench her thighs. His T-shirt.

The one she had very obviously slept in.

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.

Someone snickered.

Gator grinned wide, elbowing Professor in the ribs without subtlety, Camarade…regarde ça. J’crois qu’y t’attendait.”

She wished she didn’t speak French. Buddy…look at that. I think she was waitin’ on you.

“Nice slogan,” Buck added, reading off the front of her shirt. “‘Lift. Run. Shoot.’ Very motivating, Doc. Is that what you guys did last night?”

D-Day, looking like this was some kind of payback, murmured. “Hey, Z…don’t you have a shirt just like that one?”

Zorro made a strangled noise, like a man choosing between death or dishonorable discharge.

“I’m sure mine isn’t the only T-shirt on the planet,” he managed.

Blitz snorted. “Right.” His eyes danced. “How much time does a medical doctor such as yourself go to the range?”

Professor snorted. “Neverly.”

D-Day coughed into his fist, very much not concealing a laugh.

Everly felt the floor could not open fast enough. Her cheeks were on fire, her hands gripped the doorframe so tight her knuckles were white, and Zorro, dear God, he looked like he wanted to devour her whole.

She found her voice, sharp and brittle. “Wow, you guys are so witty at five a.m.”

Blitz gave a courteous nod. “Just stretching our legs before training with BOPE.”

Zorro still hadn’t moved. His eyes were locked on her like she might vanish if he blinked.

She finally looked at him, really looked. There was no embarrassment in his eyes, just heat and wonder. Did anything catch him off guard? She swallowed, and something deeper. Something almost savage, possessive. Like he couldn’t believe she was really standing there. That she’d opened the door in his shirt. That she hadn’t hidden.

Her heart twisted.

Her armor shifted.

It shouldn’t have felt like a milestone. But it did.

Everly drew in a slow breath, held it, then, still barefoot, still mortified, tilted her chin up.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Joker said, “Move it.” His CO paused next to Zorro. “Five minutes or everyone does an extra thirty.”

“Copy that, sir.”

He moved as the team, throwing smirks over their shoulders, jogged off down the hall. Zorro moved up to her, grinning, and she wanted to pull him inside and do stuff that made her skin heat, stuff in her dream, her mouth aching for his skin, his lips, his dick.

“Wow. You look?—”

“Like a freaking wreck?” She shoved him with both hands against that hard chest. He didn’t move a muscle, her hands throbbed. “It’s your damn fault.” But she wasn’t done, and they spoke simultaneously.

“Hoo-yah. I’ll assume all the blame.”

He set his hands on her hips, then his lips parted. In a deep voice, so deep she almost lost her focus. “You don’t have on any underwear?”

She swallowed, her nipples hard as pebbles. “No, I didn’t want anything between me and you…your shirt.”

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