Daphne finally pulled back, breaking the kiss with a soft sigh. She kept her arms loosely looped around his neck as she caught her breath.
The smirk that found her lips was different from her usual ones. Softer. Less calculated.
"We should make a habit of this," she murmured. Her voice had that unhurried quality it only got after she’d thoroughly exhausted herself.
"No objections from ," Zaeryn responded. Spend more ti with her? Hell yeah. He didn’t even have to think about it.
He pressed a light kiss to her wet temple, his arms wrapping loosely around her waist.
She let out a quiet, contented breath, planting a kiss on his chest as the hot water beat down on them, washing away the sweat and the ss. They stood there for a long mont, just enjoying the heavy, comfortable silence.
Eventually, Daphne pulled back just enough to reach for the bottle of soap sitting on the slate shelf.
"Turn around," she told him. The words were a command, but her tone was entirely soft. "Let wash your back. It’s the least I can do after you did all the heavy lifting."
Zaeryn let out a dry, easy chuckle and turned, letting the heavy rainfall hit his chest. The slick, soapy drag of her palms over his broad shoulders and down his spine felt incredibly good. Her touch was slow and deliberate.
Once they finally stepped out of the shower, the gnawing emptiness in Zaeryn’s stomach made itself impossible to ignore. He grabbed a towel, knotted it loosely at his waist, and headed straight for the kitchen.
The kitchen was exactly what the rest of the house promised: clean lines, dark stone countertops, and appliances that looked like they cost more than his entire yearly allowance.
Zaeryn stood in front of an open cabinet, still damp from the shower. He’d considered hunting for his clothes, then decided the effort wasn’t worth it. He stared into the pantry, desperate for sothing solid to eat, but was profoundly disappointed by what he found.
Protein supplents. A box of sothing grain-based with a na he couldn’t pronounce. Two kinds of tea. What appeared to be a single, incredibly expensive jar of honey.
He opened the next cabinet. More tea.
"She actually lives here," he said to nobody in particular.
Daphne appeared in the doorway. She’d changed into simple black leggings and a tight crop top that showed off her bare midsection. The thin fabric clung heavily to her large breasts, her hard nipples threatening to poke right through the material. The leggings hugged her curves beautifully, and her blue hair hung damp and loose around her shoulders.
She looked softer like this, relaxed and unhurried.
Her eyes landed on him: the towel wrapped low around his hips, the broad, bare chest, and the expression of profound betrayal aid at her pantry. Her mouth curved.
"That looks better on you," she said, nodding at the towel.
Zaeryn glanced down at himself, then back at her. "Everything does. I’m handso."
She gave him a soft smirk, shaking her head. "I can’t argue with that."
"Of course not. You can’t argue against the truth." He nudged the cabinet shut. "Seriously though, are my clothes dry yet? Please tell my clothes are dry."
"They’re dry." She crossed to the counter, leaning back against the dark stone. "You don’t have to put them back on, though." She walked into his space, resting her hands flat on his bare chest, and leaned up for a lingering kiss. "I wouldn’t mind if you had even fewer clothes on."
Zaeryn smirked against her mouth. "What a sha. I like how I look with clothes, so if you want this towel to drop, you’ll have to do the sa,"
Daphne arched a single blue eyebrow, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips.
"You make a lot of demands for a man who was not long ago going to be my research subject," she teased, stepping back just an inch.
But she didn’t back down from the challenge. Instead, she crossed her arms, catching the hem of her tight crop top in her fingers. With slow, deliberate eye contact, she pulled the thin fabric up and over her head, carelessly tossing it onto the pristine marble island.
Her heavy breasts spilled free, swaying slightly with the motion before settling. The cool air of the massive kitchen instantly made her dark nipples pebble into tight, hard peaks.
"There," Daphne murmured, her voice dropping a fraction as she stood before him, completely unapologetic and confident in her half-naked state.
Her violet eyes dragged down to the knot of the towel at his waist, flashing with a renewed, predatory heat. "Your turn. Unless, of course, you’re too starved to keep up?"
Zaeryn’s gaze dropped to her bare chest, her flawless boobs staring back at him and begging to be touched. A slow, appreciative look spread across his face. "Never."
He reached down, his fingers hooking around the knot of his towel. But just as he was about to pull it loose, a sharp, rhythmic vibration buzzed against the marble.
Daphne sighed, glancing down at the sleek comm strapped to her wrist. The predatory heat in her eyes dialed back, replaced by a spark of quiet amusent. "I ordered you sothing," she said.
As if on cue, a soft hum cut through the kitchen. A small delivery drone glided through an open panel above the window and hovered at counter height, a compact package secured beneath it. It beeped once, dropped the parcel onto the island, and was gone.
Zaeryn stared at the sleek package. Then at her.
"You did that before the shower."
"I did that when we were on the way here," Daphne said, her tone perfectly even. She pushed off the counter and moved toward the refrigerator, pulling it open to grab one of the purified waters. "You were going to need sothing to sleep in. And sothing for the morning. It seed obvious."
Zaeryn picked up the package, weighing it in his hand. "You planned ahead."
"I always plan ahead." She glanced back at him over her bare shoulder, a wicked gleam catching in her violet eyes. "Especially when I’ve already decided I’m not letting you leave until tomorrow. Now open that, and let’s hope the steakhouse drone gets here before you actually starve."
Zaeryn tore the seal on the sleek packaging. Inside rested a pair of dark, incredibly soft sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt for tonight. Underneath those were his clothes for tomorrow: a fresh pair of black boxer briefs, dark pants and a fitted henley.
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