Steam billowed around Daisy like dragon's breath, hot and thick enough to blur the edges of reality. The shower's glass walls had fogged completely, cocooning her in a private world of heat and mist where nothing existed beyond the slick tile and drumming water. She tilted her face into the punishing spray, eyes squeezed shut as rivulets traced the contours of her neck, breasts, hips—each droplet following paths that Christian's fingertips had blazed just hours before.
God, she could still feel him. Still smell him. The memory of his touch lingered on her skin like a possessive ghost, refusing to be exorcised no matter how hot she cranked the water or how vigorously she scrubbed.
"Come on," she muttered, attacking her skin with the loofah until it bloomed pink beneath her ministrations.
