"I'm still not explaining sexting to you, Parker! Ask Sophie."
"But I don't want to sext Sophie."
"That's why... Wait. What?"
"I don't know what sexting is, but it sounds like something I want to do with you not Sophie. Just like I want to kiss you, and I don't want to kiss Sophie. So would you explain it please?"
Eliot didn't reply, just stared intently into Parker's face, and usually she didn't like for people to look at her that way, but when Eliot's eyes met hers, it wasn't her habitual discomfort which made her drop her gaze from his, but a slight movement, a slight parting of his lips which drew her attention.
He still didn't speak; those parted lips did not presage speech. No, it was something else, something Parker recognised intimately. Those parted lips were the click of a tumbler, the turning of a lock, an invitation into a private space heretofore unexplored.
Parker never could resist that particular flavour of seduction. She pressed her lips to Eliot's, slid her tongue into his mouth as smoothly as a lockpick. The sound he made she trapped in her own throat; secret, and stolen, and hers.