The tub is already half** full—the hot water foams as if it boils from my presence. There is a glass of sparkling wine on the edge, and in my hands is a sponge, which I slowly press to my chest 😍
The foam tickles my nipples, and I can't resist running it even lower—over my stomach, around my navel, all the way to the curving line. When I step into the water, goosebumps run over my skin: the hot touch of the water against the cold air in the room is like you're caressing first and then biting. I lift my leg, place it on the edge of the tub, and the water trickles down, leaving shiny trails on my thighs. My fingers slide between them, gently pushing them apart, and I feel how each drop becomes a small tongue that whispers your name. I close my eyes and imagine you sitting across from me, watching me lather up, the foam enveloping my curves. Maybe **you couldn't stand it and would have followed me into the water without letting a drop of passion cool down? And I would open my eyes, and the water would turn into your breath, into your **warmth **🤤

How_ would you wake** me up**__ after such a _bath? 💘