I washed her there with the same thorough attention I gave everything else. My fingers slid through slick folds that had nothing to do with soap and water. She was still swollen from earlier, still sensitive, and when I brushed her clit she jolted like I'd electrocuted her, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Her hips bucked against my hand, seeking more contact, more pressure.

"Satori..." My name came out strangled. Desperate. A prayer and a curse rolled into one.

I could feel her starting to lose it. Her legs were shaking. Her head fell back against my shoulder. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on my forearms, nails digging in, leaving crescent-shaped indents that matched the ones already scattered across my body. Her breathing became erratic, short little gasps that steamed in the hot shower air.

Just as she was about to come apart, I pulled back, removing my hand despite her desperate attempt to hold it in place.

"Easy, Princess." I pressed a kiss to her temple, ignoring her frustrated whine. "We've got a ferry to catch, remember? And I don't trust myself not to take you again right here against the wall."

"I hate you." The words held no venom, just a desperate frustration that made me want to give in and finish what I started.

"No, you don't." I smiled against her wet hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—something expensive and floral that I couldn't name.

"I really, really do." She squirmed against me, trying to create friction where she needed it most.

"Liar." I let my hands rest safely on her hips, keeping her still despite her attempts to move.

She spun in my arms, glaring up at me with those stunning purple eyes. Water streamed down her face, making her lashes stick together in dark spikes. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower and her own arousal. She looked like some kind of pissed-off water deity, beautiful and dangerous and completely irresistible.

Then she kissed me.

Hard. Biting my lower lip, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees want to buckle. Her hands tangled in my wet hair, pulling just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain down my spine. When she pulled back, she was smirking, a look of satisfaction on her face as she took in my stunned expression.

"There. Now we're even."

She wasn't wrong. I was in physical pain right then, harder than I'd ever been in my life. It took every ounce of willpower not to lift her up and finish what we'd started, ferry be damned.

We finished the shower without any more teasing, which took more self-control than fighting that gorilla construct had. I washed her hair, working the shampoo through the long purple strands while she made these contented humming sounds that were absolutely going to haunt my dreams. The silky feel of her hair between my fingers was oddly intimate, more so even than the sex we'd had. There was a trust in letting someone wash your hair, a vulnerability that Natalia Kuzmina would never have shown the old Satori.

She returned the favor, her small fingers massaging my scalp in a way that felt way too good to be legal. Her nails scraped lightly against my skin, sending shivers down my neck despite the hot water. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy it, this quiet moment of peace before we had to face the real world again.

By the time we stepped out and wrapped ourselves in towels, the bathroom was thick with steam. The mirror was completely fogged over, our reflections just vague, ghostly outlines. Water pooled at our feet on the tiled floor, creating small puddles that would probably annoy Kimiko later. Natalia grabbed a smaller towel and started working on the tangles in her hair, cursing softly when she hit a particularly stubborn knot.

"Shit—ow! How do you always manage to get my hair so knotted?" She glared at me accusingly, but the effect was ruined by the way her lips kept trying to curl upward.

I was about to offer to help when a new scent wafted up from downstairs, cutting through even the lingering smell of soap and shampoo.

Miso soup.

Freshly cooked rice.

The unmistakable smell of grilled fish and the subtle, sweet scent of tamagoyaki.

The unmistakable smell of a traditional Japanese breakfast.

My good mood evaporated like the steam around us, replaced by a cold dread that settled in my stomach like a stone.

Kimiko.

She should have been at her friend's house until this evening. That was the whole reason we'd chosen last night for our first time. The house to ourselves. No chance of discovery. A perfect plan now ruined by her early return.

Natalia noticed the change immediately. Her towel-drying hand stilled, and she lowered the towel, turning to look at me with those perceptive eyes that missed nothing. The playfulness drained from her expression, replaced by concern.

"What is it?"

"Breakfast is ready."

The simple phrase carried the weight of our shared problem. Kimiko was home. Kimiko, with her terrifying maternal intuition. Kimiko, who had been watching us like a hawk since she caught us in the living room that day.

Natalia came up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her damp skin pressed against mine through the thin towel. Rested her chin on my shoulder, and we both stared at our reflections in the slowly clearing mirror. Her purple hair was darker when it was wet, almost black. My red looked like blood in that light. We made a striking pair—too striking to hide what we were to each other from anyone with eyes.

"Don't worry about her." Her voice was soft, reassuring, her breath warm against my ear. "We have a plan, remember? The fake breakup. The public animosity. It's going to work."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that Kimiko was probably ten steps ahead of us, playing chess while we were still figuring out how checkers worked. That mothers had an instinct that transcended logic. That there was no way in hell Kimiko hadn't noticed the change in our dynamic, the electricity that sparked between us whenever we were in the same room.

"You're right."

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