Three days of hell. Tim's body was a ticking bomb.
He sat alone in the training hall, blade forgotten on the table. Every muscle ached with a different kind of tension—the kind that had nothing to do with combat.
In the bathroom, Nina turned the shower handle. Steam billowed instantly, fogging the mirror.
She stepped under the spray with a sigh, letting heat pound against her shoulders. Water cascaded down her body—over her neck, between her breasts, down the curve of her stomach.
She looked like those luxury perfume commercials—all slow motion and glistening skin, steam curling around her like silk.
Her hands worked shampoo through her hair, suds sliding down her back. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, finally relaxing after days of tension.
Jenny appeared in Tim's doorway.
Just a towel. Hair wet. Body glistening like she'd stepped out of a Baywatch reboot.
"Still fighting it?" she asked.
Tim's throat went dry. "Go away."
"No." She crossed the room with that Gal Gadot confidence—warrior goddess energy mixed with red carpet sex appeal. The towel clung where it was damp, leaving nothing to imagination.
Nina's hands traced down her sides, soaping her curves. The glass door fogged completely, her silhouette soft and sensual behind the mist—like those Kim Kardashian fragrance ads, all curves and shadow.
Water streamed over her breasts, making her nipples peak from the heat. She arched slightly, one hand braced against tile, lost in the warmth.
Jenny stopped in front of Tim. Close enough to smell—jasmine and heat.
"Three days you've been torturing yourself," she whispered. Her hand found his chest. "For what? Discipline? Control?" Her fingers traced lower. "You're not a monk, Tim. You're a man."
His breath caught. "Jenny—"
"You've been watching me all week." Her towel loosened at the knot. "The way I stretch. The way I move. You think I don't notice?" She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "You look at me like I'm Megan Fox in that car wash scene."
Nina soaped her stomach, her thighs, moving with deliberate slowness. Steam wrapped around her like a lover's touch. She sighed softly, fingers working lather across her skin.
The shower spray pounded her chest, water running in rivulets down her body. She looked peaceful for the first time in days.
Heat exploded through Tim. His cock went steel-hard.
"Stop," he managed, but his hands were already on Jenny's waist.
"Make me." Her towel hit the floor.
Tim's control shattered. He grabbed her hips, pulling her onto his lap. She gasped, straddling him, her wet hair falling around them like a curtain.
Nina turned under the spray, water streaming down her back now. Her hands slid over her own curves, relaxing into the heat. She had no idea what was happening outside.
Tim's hands roamed—up Jenny's sides, across her back, finally finding her breasts. Jenny moaned, grinding down on him through his pants. She moved like she was in a music video—all rhythm and heat and deliberate friction.
"Yes," she breathed against his mouth. "Finally—"
Her lips crashed into his. Hungry. Desperate. She tasted like sin and salvation mixed together.
The bathroom window shattered.
Glass exploded inward. Nina's scream cut through steam and pleasure both.
Tim froze. Jenny's eyes went wide.
Another scream—terror, not pleasure.
Tim shoved Jenny off, surging to his feet. His cock still throbbed, pants straining, but adrenaline hit harder than lust.
He grabbed his blade and ran.
Tim burst through the bathroom door. Steam billowed out like fog.
Through it, he saw Nina—completely naked, water streaming down her body, eyes wide with absolute terror.
A masked figure in black held her against the tile wall. One gloved hand clamped over her mouth. The other pressed a blade to her throat—so close the edge dimpled her skin.
Nina's chest heaved with panicked breaths. Her whole body trembled. Water from the still-running shower mixed with the tears streaming down her face.
The blade pressed deeper. A thin line of red appeared on her throat.
Nina's muffled scream died behind the hand covering her mouth. Her eyes locked on Tim—pleading, terrified, desperate.
The figure said nothing. Just stared at Tim through the mask, blade steady against Nina's neck.
One move. One wrong step. And Nina would bleed out on the bathroom floor.
Tim's blade hung useless at his side. His body locked. His mind raced through a thousand scenarios, each ending with Nina's throat opening.
Behind him, Jenny appeared—still naked, weapon raised—but she stopped when she saw.
Nina's naked body pressed against the tile. The blade at her throat. The blood already trickling down.
Steam swirled between them all like a curtain about to fall.
The masked figure tilted their head slightly.
Waiting.