The bathroom was a sanctuary of steam and marble, the air so thick with humidity that it felt like breathing in silk. The massive soaking tub sat in the center of the room, filled to the brim with steaming water that caught the soft, recessed lighting, shimmering like a pool of liquid moonlight.
They sat side by side on the edge of the tub, the unyielding marble a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from the water. Both were wrapped in heavy, white towels that clung to their damp skin, the fabric heavy with the moisture of the room.
Mike sat with his legs spread slightly, a posture of easy, unbothered dominance, while Sabrina sat with her knees pressed together, her posture still retaining a ghost of her usual academic rigidity.
The Scotch was doing its work, but slowly. The high-quality malt was a slow burn, a creeping warmth that settled in their chests rather than a sudden rush to the head.
