The water ran hot, turning the glass foggy and the air thick with steam. Lily stepped under the spray first, closing her eyes as the warmth cascaded over her shoulders. She didn't hear the door open — but she felt him.
Ethan’s hands slid around her waist from behind, his chest pressing gently to her back. His lips brushed her wet shoulder before he whispered, “I couldn’t wait.”
Lily leaned into him, her head tilting slightly as his hands moved slowly — one tracing the outline of her hip, the other brushing damp hair from her neck. She shivered, but not from cold.
“You always know where to touch,” she murmured.
Ethan smiled against her skin. He turned her around, their eyes meeting through the rising mist. His thumbs stroked softly along her waist as he leaned in for a kiss — slow, warm, and lingering. Their wet skin slid together, intensifying every touch, every breath.
He pressed her gently against the cool tiles, one hand behind her head, the other exploring the curve of her back. Her fingers ran through his soaked hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
Every movement was unhurried — like time itself had melted away with the water.
Their hands spoke the words they didn’t need to say: I want you. I trust you. I feel you.
As the steam swirled around them, they held each other longer, not just for passion, but for connection — a kind of closeness that went deeper than heat.
When the water finally cooled, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the moment linger like warmth on skin.
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