The warmth of the shower no longer scorched their skin – it soothed it. Their bodies still pulsed with the memory of the moments before, but now something else had crept into their movements: slowness, intention. Intimacy untouched by urgency.
Lennox reached into the corner of the shower and pulled out a sponge – soft and slate-blue, large enough to fit snugly in his palm. He dipped it into the body wash and began to lather it gently, his eyes never leaving Sloane. She stood with her back to him, her hair – still wet, heavy in thick strands – falling to her waist. Lennox stepped closer, and with slow, almost reverent movement, he first touched her shoulders, then began to wash her skin with the sponge.
The foamy surface glided softly down the curve of Sloane's spine. Lennox used small, c
