The bathroom is small but functional, like everything else in the cabin.
What I don't expect is howintimateit feels to share this space with her. The domesticity of it all hits me sideways—her toothbrush next to mine, her hair tie on the counter, the way she bumps her hip against mine as we jostle for position at the sink.
She catches my eye in the mirror as we brush our teeth, and something playful sparks in her gaze. Before I can react, she flicks water at me from the faucet.
I blink, droplets running down my face. "Really?"
She grins around her toothbrush, completely unrepentant.
I lean down to rinse, then straighten up with water cupped in my hands. Her eyes widen.
"Don't you dare?—"
The water hits her square in the face. She sputters, laughing, toothpaste foam running down her chin.
"Oh, it'son," she declares, reaching for the tap.
What follows can only be described as warfare.
Water flies everywhere as we dodge and weave in the small space, slipping on the wet floor, trying to land hits while avoiding retaliation.
She's quick, but I have reach and tactical experience. When I finally corner her against the counter, we're both soaked and breathless with laughter.
"Surrender?" I ask, holding a handful of water threateningly above her head.
She looks up at me through wet lashes, chest heaving. "Never."
The playfulness in her voice hits me low in the gut. She's pressed between my body and the counter, skin flushed, hair dripping, wearing nothing but my t-shirt. My grip on the counter tightens as heat pools in my stomach.
Her eyes darken as she reads the shift in my expression. "Although... I might be persuaded to negotiate terms."
I let the water drop, forgotten, as my hands find her hips instead. "What did you have in mind?"
She rises on her toes, lips brushing my ear. "Shower first. Then we'll talk."
Before I can process that, she's ducking under my arm and heading for the shower, peeling off my shirt as she goes. The sight of her bare back, nearly shorts out my brain.
I follow her into the shower like I'm being pulled by gravity.
The space is tight, forcing us close as steam begins to rise around us. Water cascades over her shoulders, running in rivulets down her body. I trace one droplet with my finger, following its path from her collarbone to the curve of her breast.
She shivers. "If you keep that up, we're never getting clean."
"Maybe that's the point." I back her against the tile, bracketing her body with my arms. Water runs down my face as I lean in to kiss her neck, tasting the sweetness of her skin.
Her hands slide up my chest, nails scraping lightly. "Mmm... I thought you were all about efficiency, Mr. Bishop."
"Some things," I murmur against her pulse point, "are worth taking time with."
She gasps as I bite down gently, then soothe the spot with my tongue. Her fingers tangle in my wet hair, tugging me up for a proper kiss. The slide of her mouth against mine is intoxicating, steam and heat and need coiling between us.
I lose track of time, lost in the feel of her—wet skin against wet skin, hands exploring, breath mingling. When we finally break apart, the water's starting to run cold.
She laughs breathlessly. "Well, that was... thorough."
I reach past her to shut off the tap, trying to ignore how my body already misses her warmth. "Efficient enough for you?"
"Definitely." She steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel. "Although I think we might need to work on our water conservation skills."
