It was late afternoon when the rain turned heavier, the steady hush on the windows deepening into a soothing drumbeat. The light in the apartment had gone soft and gold. Andy glanced up from the book he'd returned to reading, its spine splayed open across one hand, and let his eyes rest on Summer where she sat curled under a throw blanket, her gaze turned out the window.

  The thought bloomed slow and unhurried, like something indulgent rather than suggestive. He set the book down gently and leaned toward her. "Hey."

  She looked over, blinking back from wherever her mind had wandered. "Hmm?"

  "Come bathe with me."

  She tilted her head. "Together?"

  He nodded, a lazy smile touching his mouth. "The soaking tub's huge. I had it installed after one particularly icy winter and a week of strained muscles."

  Summer raised a brow, amused. "Of course you did."

  "I'm very committed to drama and comfort," he said solemnly. "But mostly, I'd like to share that comfort with you. No pressure. Just hot water. Maybe a little scented oil if you want. Quiet."

  In the bathroom, the tub began to fill, water steaming and fragrant with the citrus and bergamot oil Andy added without asking. He lit a candle or two — not for mood, but for peace — and dimmed the overhead lights.

  When he turned to her, Summer was holding her hair up with one hand, looking around for a clip. "Let me," Andy murmured. She paused, then slowly turned to him, dropping her arm. He stepped close, fingers gentle and unhurried as he gathered her hair, combing through it with reverence. It was so long — copper silk, impossibly soft — and he marvelled again at how natural this felt, this act of intimacy that had nothing to do with performance.

  "I like doing this," he said, twisting her hair into a loose coil and pinning it with a few clips he'd stolen from her toiletry bag. "Helping you get ready. Not for the world. Just for us."

  Summer looked at him in the mirror, smiling faintly. "You make the smallest things feel like poetry."

  Andy leaned down and kissed the slope of her shoulder. "That's because with you, they are."

  They undressed slowly, comfortably — no theatre to it this time, no game. Andy helped her step into the tub first, and then followed, easing in with a contented groan as the heat wrapped around them. He settled behind her, her back to his chest, arms wrapped gently around her middle, legs entangled under the water.

  Summer breathed out slowly, like everything inside her had just let go. They didn't speak for a long time. Just the water. The rain. Her breath steady beneath his palms. Andy closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her damp shoulder.

  The water lapped gently against the sides of the tub, steaming slightly in the cooler air of the bathroom. The scent of citrus and bergamot lingered like a secret. Summer relaxed more fully against Andy's chest, her head tucked under his chin, the rise and fall of her breath perfectly matched to his.

  Andy let his hands drift — fingertips tracing idle patterns across her skin. Along the line of her arms, the soft inside of her elbows, across her ribs where the water kissed just below her breasts.

  His hands moved like someone memorizing. Reverent.

  Summer sighed softly, tilting her head just enough that he could nuzzle the curve of her jaw. His lips brushed her skin, warm and unhurried. He slid one hand down, fingers skimming the slope of her stomach, the shape of her hips under the water. He heard her inhale, felt the way her body responded, not with tension, but with trust.

  After a while, she turned her head slightly, just enough for her voice to carry. "You're thinking."

  Andy smiled into her skin. "Always."

  "What about?"

  There was a long breath before his answer came. "How strange and wonderful it is that I've done so much, performed so much, and yet..." His voice dropped, intimate and quiet. "I've never done this."

  Summer looked down at their bodies, twined and half-draped in water. "You've never bathed with someone?"

  "I've bathed next to someone," he said, brushing her damp shoulder with his lips, "as part of some elaborate scene or fantasy. I've posed in tubs. Let people wash me. Let people watch me." He kissed the place where her neck met her collarbone. "But this? Teaching someone I adore how to be touched in stillness? No. Never this."

  She didn't speak — just let the weight of his words settle. It humbled her, that he could say such things and mean them. That for all the masks he had worn, this part of him was untouched, unoffered.

  His hands moved then, slowly, reverently. "This is yours," he said quietly, brushing his fingertips along the inside of her thigh, just under the water. "Not mine. Not anyone else's. Just yours. I want to teach you how it can feel, without expectation."

  Summer's breath caught. "You think I don't know?"

  "I think you've always had to know," he murmured. "And now I want you to feel. With someone who sees you. Loves you. I've never touched someone this way just... because I wanted to feel their skin, to know what they felt like when they were safe and quiet." His hand trailed lightly up her side, his palm splaying over her ribcage. "Not as part of an act. Not as the prelude to performance."

  Summer reached up and touched his face, fingers catching on his lips. "You can touch me however you want, Andy. You never have to perform here."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He kissed the tips of her fingers, his breath catching slightly. "That's the part that scares me. That I don't have to. And somehow I still want to make it magic for you."

  "You already are," she whispered.

  His hands found her again, moving now with deeper intention — but still slow, still reverent. Tracing the lines of her thighs, her waist, the dip of her collarbone. She arched slightly into his touch, her breath warm against his throat. Andy closed his eyes and held her closer, the ache in him tender, not urgent. She wasn't a fantasy he was creating. She was the truth he got to hold.

  He explored her with slow, infinite patience, painting pleasure not in peaks and heat, but in presence — the way the pads of his fingers circled and pressed, the way his palms cradled her, the way he murmured words against her skin that weren't about sex, but about her. About how she softened in his arms. About how her breath quickened and caught. About how he loved every flutter of her pulse, every sigh.

  Summer's head fell back against his shoulder as her body slowly surrendered to it — the warmth, the stillness, the current of knowing that ran from his hands into her. She felt suspended in something sacred.

  When she did finally tremble apart in his arms, it wasn't sharp or frantic — it was like sinking deeper into herself, deeper into him. And Andy simply held her through it, lips to her temple.

  They lay in the bath for what felt like a small eternity, the water still warm, though cooling slowly, the world beyond the bathroom fading into nothing but dim light and breath and the occasional soft splash.

  Summer had drifted somewhere between lucid and languid, her body humming from the kind of intimacy that wasn't meant to impress but to connect. She'd never felt so utterly undone in quiet.

  Andy had gone still behind her, arms still wrapped around her, cheek resting at the top of her spine. His breathing was steady, but she could feel tension in the way his fingers had curled slightly against her belly. Not greedy. Not demanding. Just there.

  After a while, something subtle shifted.

  Summer blinked, slowly registering the rhythm — barely-there pressure, the gentle, unconscious way his hips were moving against her backside. Not thrusting. Not pushing. More like rocking. A slow, restrained friction, like someone trying not to need too much.

  She smiled faintly and tilted her head back against his shoulder, speaking into the soft steam curling around them.

  "Andy?"

  "Mmm?"

  "You know I can feel you doing that, right?"

  His breath caught. Just a little. Then he chuckled, sheepish and rich, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her back.

  "Was hoping you might not mention it," he murmured.

  Summer turned slightly in his arms, just enough to glimpse his face — his flushed cheeks, his amused, guilty smile.

  "Why not?" she teased, voice warm. "You're allowed to want."

  "I do want," Andy said, brushing his lips over her temple. "But you looked so soft. So at peace. I didn't want to rush the stillness away."

  She turned fully now, twisting in the tub so she could face him, arms looping around his neck. "You gave me something I didn't know I needed. Let me return the flavor."

  He searched her face then, those impossibly blue eyes full of reverence and affection — and something hungrier now, darker at the edges.

  "I wasn't performing," he said, voice low. "You know that, right?"

  "I do," she whispered, leaning in. "And neither am I."

  Andy's breath hitched as she kissed him, slow and deep, water lapping gently around them. When she drew back, her voice was teasing, but threaded with sincerity.

  "You're allowed to lose control sometimes, my lord."

  His answering grin was crooked, wicked, and full of surrender.

  "Oh, sunshine," he murmured, drawing her closer. "You may regret granting me that."

  Summer's breath caught at the sound of his voice — that low, velvet drawl that curled around her like smoke. Something about it, the rasp at the edges, the restrained hunger behind the words, made her shiver despite the warmth of the water.

  Andy noticed. Of course he did.

  His eyes softened even as the corner of his mouth curved in that knowing, wicked smile. "There she is," he murmured, thumb brushing along her cheekbone. "My radiant girl, all fire and softness at once."

  Summer leaned in again, kissing him harder this time, her fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. She shifted in his lap, the warm water swirling around them, and Andy let out a low groan against her mouth, hands instinctively finding her waist.

  She drew back just far enough to look at him — his lips parted, his pupils wide, his breath quickening. "Let me," she whispered.

  Andy's hands tightened, not to stop her but to anchor himself.

  With gentle guidance, he helped her straddle him, her knees settling on either side of his hips, the heat of the water rising in gentle ripples between their bodies. It was slow, a reverent dance — his hands holding her, his voice in her ear, soft words meant only for her.

  It wasn't just about urgency — it was closeness, surrender, a rhythm that spoke more of trust than need. And Andy, usually so composed, let the edges of his control slip, murmuring her name like a prayer.

  Summer moved with him, slow and fluid, water rippling around their joined bodies. Every rise of her hips, every fall, sent small waves spilling over porcelain and skin. Her copper hair had loosened, damp strands clinging to her shoulders, and he watched her through half-lidded eyes like someone witnessing a miracle.

  "God, Summer," he whispered, voice hoarse and awed. "You feel like poetry I'll never write well enough."

  Her answer was a sound — part breath, part moan, all him — fingers tightening at the nape of his neck, anchoring herself as their rhythm deepened. The warmth wasn't just from the water now, but from the fire curling low in both of them, from the look in his eyes, from the way he gave her everything — every gasp, every tremble, every unguarded word.

  Her breath hitched as he kissed between her breasts, as he whispered fragments of praise that barely made sense — scattered petals of thought, of need, of love.

  And when she shattered again in his arms, he followed her like a shadow, like a tide pulled by moonlight — silent, rapturous, undone.

  Summer shifted slightly in Andy's lap, water lapping gently around them, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone, soft and playful. Her lips lingered there, smiling against his skin as she murmured, "That was you holding back?"

  Andy chuckled, low in his chest. "Mmm. Somewhat."

  She tilted her head, eyes dancing with mischief, cheeks still flushed from heat and closeness. "So what happens when you actually lose control?"

  He stilled, just for a moment — then looked at her with a gleam that made her stomach flutter. Not predatory, not greedy. Just... promise.

  "Oh, sunshine," he said, brushing his knuckles along her damp jaw, "you really want to find out?"

  Summer bit her lip, pretending to consider it, though her smile gave her away. "Maybe."

  He laughed again, husky and warm, then leaned in to kiss her slow and deep, the kind of kiss that wasn't a question but a pledge. When he pulled back, his voice was just above a whisper, rich with affection and anticipation.

  "Tomorrow," he said. "Tonight, I wanted to make you feel cherished. Worshipped. Known."

  She softened at that, fingertips brushing along his cheek. "You did."

  Andy's grin turned a touch darker, more teasing. "And tomorrow, I'll make you feel wrecked."

  Summer flushed all over again, breath catching as a wave of heat that had nothing to do with the bath spread through her.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, tucking her under his chin. "Three days left," he murmured. "Plenty of time for both."

  She snuggled in closer, content and thrilled all at once, and let herself drift in the quiet promise of everything still to come.