The bathroom was a perfumed chaos of steam and foam, a scene of excess and desire that greeted me with a brutal blow to the chest. Steam filled everything, fogging the mirrors and tinting the air with a humid heat that clung to the skin. The foam had overflowed from the bathtub and spread across the floor like a white tide, climbing up the marble and hiding the traces of what had happened in there. It still bubbled, rebellious, as if the water itself was laughing at my fury.
And in the middle of that disaster, there she was.
My Luna.
Her body emerged from waves of foam, as if she had been sculpted to provoke me. The aroma of champagne mixed with that of her skin, sweet, intoxicating. The empty bottle rested nearby, witness to the excess. Her eyes, blue and bright, were dilated, with that drunken gleam that knew no limits or caution. She laughed, dizzy, unaware of what she awakened in me.
