[Meredith].
I stayed close to Draven as we stepped out of the tub, the steam still clinging to our skin.
We drained the water together, then moved under the shower, where the world narrowed to warm spray and quiet touches.
We lathered each other without hurry—my hands smoothing soap over his arms and back, his palms steady at my waist—then rinsed the foam away beneath the showerhead until our skin was clean and warm again.
Afterwards, we dressed in silence and returned to the bedroom. But Draven had another unspoken request.
He sat down and looked up at me. And I smiled softly and moved behind him, guiding him to sit comfortably. Then, my fingers slid into his long, damp hair, and I began the massage slowly—circling his scalp, easing the tension at his temples.
A low sound escaped him.
