The shower was a glass box and the door stayed open, the way he had said.
She turned the water hot enough to sting and stood with her hands on the tile. Not between her legs. The rule was a shape in the steam. No car. No card. Ten days if she came without being touched, and she had not even reached tonight's cast. The assistant's moan was still in her head. Elias telling a man to wait. The wet line on her ankle he had looked at and not wiped.
She lasted until the water hit the ache.
One pass. She told herself it was washing. The second pass found her c**t and stayed. She was swollen, soaked under the soak, and the relief was so mean she had to bite her wrist. Two fingers. Not in. Circles. The glass fogged. She rocked once and came in a short, guilty pulse, forehead to the tile, his name
