The next night the house felt heavier, like it was holding its breath. Angel waited until the clock ticked past one a.m. before she slipped into the bathroom. She turned the water on hot—let steam fill the small space until the mirror fogged over and the air turned thick. She left the door unlocked. Wide open, actually. An invitation she didn’t need to speak.
She stepped under the spray. Water pounded her shoulders, ran in hot rivers down her breasts, her stomach, between her thighs. She lathered soap between her palms—slow, deliberate—then cupped her breasts. Fingers circled her n*****s, slippery and teasing, pinching lightly until they pebbled tight. She arched her back a little, letting the water cascade over her curves, knowing exactly what she was doing.
She heard the floor creak ou
