Rain hammered the rooftop greenhouse, glass fogging as steam rose from their tangled bodies among the vines. Her sundress was hitched around her waist, petals clinging to her skin. He tasted like strawberries and mischief, tongue tracing the sweat between her breasts.

“You said we were coming here to water plants,” she moaned.

“I am,” he grinned, thrusting deeper. “You’re blooming beautifully.”

Thunder cracked. Lights flickered.

She gasped—another silhouette outside the foggy glass.

The groundskeeper didn’t turn away.

He unzipped his coat, watching.

She bit her lip, hips rocking harder.

“Let him watch,” she whispered. “We’re wild things.”