Crying.
Not loud, not broken sobs. Just soft. Fragile. Like she’s trying to smother it under the splash of water. But I hear it anyway, every quiet catch of her breath cutting through me like glass.
There could be a million reasons she’s crying.
Hell, I’m probably a few of them.
Wait—is this because she kissed me?
No. That’s fucking dumb.
Oh, shit—she thinks I’ve sullied her. Robbed her of her purity or dignity or whatever medieval nonsense her priest of a father shoved in her head.
Like fuck.
Don’t think about it, Trey. You’re trying to help.
She’s paid in blood and scars her whole life—like me.
No. This isn’t about me.
But, Jesus, I want to rip that door open, scoop her out of the bath, tell her she doesn’t have to cry anymore. But this isn’t mine to fix. It’s hers to face. Her moment. Her covenant.
So, I slide down the wall, knees up, arms resting heavy on them, the cool plaster against my back. My head tips forward, eyes shut. I try not to listen.
The crying fades. First soft, then gone.
Water shifts—gentle waves lapping against porcelain. The heater hums. Outside, traffic hums a dull, low, city pulse.
It’s too peaceful. Too quiet. My brain doesn’t know what to do with quiet anymore.
The door opens. She steps out, damp curls sticking to her cheeks, robe loosely tied. She moves like someone who’s never been allowed to move freely—every step measured. My pulse spikes.
Stay calm. Keep your hands in check.
Then my lungs just stop working.
What the fucking, fucking, actual fucking fuck do I even do with this?
I take a breath—try to.
There’s no way to describe what I’m seeing that doesn’t sound like a man begging to be struck down by lightening. But here we go.
You know that scene inTwilightwhere Bella walks into class, and Edward just…gasps?
Yeah. That.
That’s me.
Except, instead of sparkling, I’m trying not to get a hard-on.
Seraphina.
Holy Hell.
The robe hangs open just enough to question every good decision I’ve ever made. Her skin glows soft from the heat, curlsclinging to her neck, steam still drifting around her like a damn halo.
Then my eyes, traitors, slide lower. Legs. Thighs.
