The tension between them thickened with every passing second. The only sounds in the room were the gentle splash of water, their breathing, and the distant murmur of the Spire preparing for war outside.
Zeyra leaned closer. Her breasts, still covered by the thin fabric, brushed against his arm as she reached across his chest. The contact sent a visible shiver through her. She continued downward, washing the ridges of his abdomen with painstaking care, her fingers lingering on the long scar across his stomach.
Sol's hand rose from the water, catching her wrist gently but firmly.
"Zeyra…" His voice carried a warning, low and rough. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," she interrupted softly. Her dark eyes met his, fierce and vulnerable at the same time. "Let me take care of you. Just for a little while."
