She's pushed into the closet. The door shuts behind them. Through the darkness, his lips brush her neck. His scent fills her nose. She bites back a gasp, as his hands travel up her legs and into her skirt.

"The contest is in" – a moan escapes this time – "two minutes."

He chuckles, his breath hot against her skin, his sultry voice making her knees weak. "Our round isn't until another hour, though, Soledad."

"Harley-"

Any further protest is stopped with his mouth on hers. She kisses him back, her fingers entangling themselves in his hair. His thighs are around her waist. Her back is against the wall. Their bodies move together. Nothing else is said.

After all, an hour isn't something to be wasted with words.