The blood began to melt away.
I reached for the soap, lathered it slowly between my hands, and ran it across her back in long, careful strokes. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just breathed—slow, steady, trusting me to cleanse her. To start fresh.
Every bruise. Every cut. Gone.
When she turned to face me again, her eyes caught mine and didn’t let go. We stayed like that for a moment—just breathing, just looking. The water the only sound between us.
“Gunter,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
She smirked, faint but real. “Do you like what you see?”
“Always.”
My thumb traced the curve of her collarbone, sliding down to the swell of her chest. “You have no idea how hard it is to hold back right now.”
Her breath hitched. “Then don’t.”
“You’re going to be the death o
