“Everything alright?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Maren—”
“The situation is being handled.” I enter the room and sit on the edge of the bed to remove my shoes. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” she says, watching me as if she’s not entirely convinced, but accepting.
I go to the bathroom. The shower itself takes four minutes, but I’m standing under the water thinking about the Dushku intelligence summary when I hear the soft click of the door.
She comes into view.
“Get in here.”
“I already showered.”
“I know.”
“So I don’t need to?—”
“You’re not getting in to shower,” I explain, holding her gaze. “Get in, Elizabeth. Before I come out and drag you in.”
She bites her lip, hesitating for a split second before pulling the hem of her sleepshirt over her head.
The sight of her is overwhelming. I have not adjusted to it. I don’t think I ever will.
She steps in.
I pull her forward, one hand at her waist, drawing her against my chest. She takes a sharp breath at the contact, her skin on mine, the water moving over both of us.
I kiss her slowly.
I want to take my time with her mouth.
Her hands find my chest. She doesn’t push. She holds.
The kiss changes.
A whimper leaves her, and I press her closer, my hands moving to her thighs, lifting until her legs wrap around me. I turn. Her back meets the tile.
My hand slides between us.
She’s wet for me.
“Why,” I growl against her jaw, “are you already like this?”
“It’s the water.”
I position myself. “I don’t think so.”
I slide in slowly, watching her face — the inhale, the way her lips part.
Her legs tighten around me. “Rolan?—”
“I know,” I say.
The rhythm builds. Her nails find my back, dragging down. The sensation moves through me.
