Touch, Tease... PLEASE!
Steam curled thickly throughout the bathroom, clinging to the mirrors and softening every edge, warm and fragrant. The scent of her candied-apple shampoo lingered in the air, sweet and familiar. Ariana closed her eyes for a moment, letting the steady heat of the water soak into her shoulders, chasing away the last threads of sleep.
Ari lingered under the spray, letting the water run longer than she needed, simply because she could. For once, no one was knocking. No one was calling her name. No tiny voice was demanding her attention with increasing volume and determination.
Her lips curved as she tipped her head back, eyes still closed. Experience had taught her better than to trust silence in this house, especially not when he was involved.
Jon could do quiet.
He just never bothered when it came to her.
She smoothed a hand absently over her arm, listening past the steady rush of water, half expecting the inevitable interruption. It was less a question of if and more a matter of timing.
Three… two…
The corner of her mouth lifted just slightly. There it was. That shift. Subtle, but unmistakable. The kind she’d learned to recognize without needing proof. A presence that filled the space differently, lie the air itself had decided to lean closer.
Of course.
Right on cue, the bathroom door opened.
She didn’t bother turning. There was only one man arrogant enough to interrupt her shower without knocking.
“If you woke Lily—”
“Relax,” he said easily. “I didn’t.”
Ari cracked one eye open and glanced over her shoulder.
He stood in the doorway, bare-chested, hair rumpled, still carrying sleep in the edges of him—but his eyes were already awake, focused, holding that familiar pull she knew too well.
“Where is she?”
“In her crib. Babbling like crazy.”
“To who?”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Who else? Meatball.”
As if on cue, Lily’s voice drifted through the monitor—soft, determined strings of nonsense syllables, punctuated by the rhythmic thump of something against the crib. Feet… or a tail.
Ari huffed a quiet breath, the corner of her mouth lifting.
Jon didn’t move.
His gaze had already dropped, tracing its way slowly down her back—unapologetic, unhurried.
Not subtle. Never subtle.
“Planning on just staring?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Haven’t decided.”
Her eyes flicked back to him, amused. “Gonna earn it?”
That was all the invitation he needed.
Jon stepped into the shower, the door clicking shut behind him, the sound swallowed instantly by the steady rush of water. Steam thickened around him as he lingered for a second beneath the spray, letting it run over his shoulders, through his hair, down his chest.
Ari felt him before he touched her—close enough to shift the air, to fill the space behind her without closing it entirely. It made her pulse lift, anticipation settling low and steady.
Her curls clung damply to her back, darkened by the water. He took in the shape of her—the gentle swell of her belly, the curve of her spine, the quiet ease in the way she stood.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low, softened in a way that had nothing to do with the steam.
“Took you long enough,” she replied, playful but warm.
He huffed a quiet laugh and stepped closer, slow enough to give her time, to leave the choice hers.
She didn’t hesitate.
She turned into him, meeting his gaze fully—green catching blue, something unspoken passing easily between them. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers brushing over familiar lines, tracing ink she already knew by heart before slipping into his hair, tugging just enough to draw him closer.
His hands settled at her hips, thumbs moving in slow, absent arcs against her skin—grounding, steady. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, taking his time like he always did when he meant it.
One hand drifted higher, resting lightly against her belly, instinctive and anchoring all at once.
For a brief moment, everything narrowed to that single point of contact—to the quiet understanding that didn’t need words.
Her breath caught as she closed the remaining space between them, leaning fully into him.
“If you’re going to hover,” she murmured, “at least commit.”
A low hum of amusement brushed against her skin. “Oh, I’m committing. I’m just pacing myself.”
“Then…” she prompted softly, rising onto her toes.
He answered with a teasing kiss along her jaw, deliberately unhurried, brushing just shy of where she wanted him. Testing.
She didn’t let him get away with it.
Her hands slid to the back of his neck, tugging him in with a playful insistence, tilting his head just enough to steal the advantage. A quick nip at his earlobe drew a quiet chuckle from him, his lips still grazing hers.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re setting expectations.”
“Then meet them.”
This time, he did.
The kiss deepened, the edge of play giving way to something heavier, more certain. He stepped in closer, heat and water amplifying every point of contact until the rest of the world blurred into steam and sound.
Ari shifted against him, lifting a leg to curve around his hip, pulling him in with a quiet, deliberate demand.
“Impatient?” he asked, voice rougher now, matching her energy.
His hand slid higher along her thigh, firm but measured. He gave her space to pull away if she wanted it.
She didn’t.
Instead, she drew him closer, meeting him with equal force.
Neither of them gave an inch.
“Efficient,” she said, unapologetic.
A soft laugh left him, but it didn’t last long.
The shower roared steadily around them as they moved together, unhurried and intertwined, the morning stretching out in that suspended, quiet way that only happened when nothing else mattered.
The glass fogged over completely, leaving them wrapped in their own small world—nothing beyond it pulling at them yet.
His lips traced along her collarbone, then up her neck, slow and intentional. She pressed her palm to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her hand, grounding herself in it.
His thumb moved in familiar circles at her hip as her fingers slid down his back, leaving faint, fleeting marks. Their breaths fell uneven, soft, drawing quiet smiles neither of them quite let surface.
Everything narrowed again—to the rhythm, to the closeness, to the steady, shared motion of it.
When it finally crested, it wasn’t sharp or chaotic—it was deep, consuming, the kind that stole the breath from her lungs before she realized it was happening. Her grip tightened against him, nails pressing into his shoulders as the moment rolled through her, slow and heavy.
Jon felt it immediately—the shift, the way she held onto him without thinking. His hand tightened at her hip, steadying, grounding. He didn’t rush. He stayed right there with her, letting it unfold completely, his breath rough against her skin.
“Jon—” she managed, barely.
That was enough.
He followed with a low, restrained exhale against her shoulder, his forehead dropping there as his composure gave just a fraction. His grip flexed once before easing, tension draining out of him in a way that felt deeper than just the moment.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved.
Just the sound of the water. Their breathing. The steady, shared quiet.
A faint shiver ran through her as his hand brushed lightly along her side.
Then—
A sharp bark.
Followed immediately by Lily’s squeals—bright, insistent, impossible to ignore.
Ari laughed softly into his shoulder. “We should probably dry off.”
“Give me thirty seconds,” he groaned, tightening his hold like he could bargain for the time.
“You’ve got about ten before she stages a full protest.”
She stayed where she was, fingers curled loosely at his nape, thumb tracing slow, absent circles. He rested his forehead briefly against her temple, lingering just a second longer, as if fixing the moment in place before everything else rushed back in.
There would be towels. Breakfast. A baby demanding attention.
A dog pacing impatiently in the hallway.
But for now, in the quiet space between one part of their life and the next, they stayed exactly where they were—arms wrapped, breaths mingling—holding onto it just a little longer.
Reluctantly, they separated, the cool air biting at damp skin. Ari reached for a towel, twisting her hair up as she caught his reflection in the fogged mirror.
He wasn’t subtle about it.
He never had been.
That look—familiar, steady, never old—still managed to send a small skip through her pulse.
She handed him a towel, their fingers brushing in that easy, practiced way. Jon scrubbed at his hair, water trailing down his jaw.
Her eyes dipped briefly, catching the path of a single drop sliding down his stomach.
“Ready for the circus?” she asked.
He grinned, slinging the towel around his neck. “Only if you’re the ringmaster.”
She rolled her eyes—but the smile came anyway.