The next few hours were a blur of scattered emotions, clothes, caresses, kisses, and a shower that was less water and more of everything else. I lay in bed, my hair slightly damp, my eyes focused on the door to the bathroom where Florian was.
My heart skipped a small beat as the door knob opened, and he walked out, his phone in his hand. I knew he had been taking a call in there, and I appreciated that despite me knowing how this would end, he was still so keen on protecting my feelings while he prepared for the eventual end.
His hair was damp and pulled back to the nape of his neck, his eyes slightly thin as he walked to the dresser. He was wearing nothing but a towel dangerously low on his waist, his body on show like he was some exhibition at an art gallery.
I watched every step like
