The spray hit the glass door in a syncopated rhythm, a percussion section warming up while the bathroom filled with steam.
Yue Ling stepped in first, letting the heat trace a path down her spine, chasing away the chill of the office and the fluorescent-lit commute.
She exhaled, long and slow, rolling her shoulders as the water plastered her dark hair to her neck.
Lu Tian leaned against the sink, arms crossed, watching her through the glass. He always did this—waited, let her settle, let the anticipation build.
It was a small act of restraint that he wielded like a weapon.
"You going to stand there all night, or are you going to join me?"
She called over her shoulder.
He didn't answer.
Instead, she heard the soft click of the bathroom door locking.
Footsteps, the whisper of fabric.
Then the shower door slid open, and the heat shifted, doubled, became charged with the scent of him—cedar soap and something darker, hungrier.
