It happened late—after the city was calm, the suits were hung up, and the adrenaline had finally started to fade.

The bathroom was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft flicker of a candle on the sink. Steam curled lazily in the air, and the water in the tub was still hot, swirling gently around your legs.

Then Helen stepped in.

Wrapped in a towel, hair a little damp from the shower she never quite finished, she gave you a look—half teasing, half tender. “Room for one more?”

You didn’t answer.

Just opened your arms.

She smiled knowingly and let the towel drop. Every movement of hers was unhurried, confident—the kind that came from knowing exactly who she was and how it made your pulse skip. Her curves moved with every step, soft and powerful all at once. When she slid into the water, she did it with a sigh—low and breathy, sinking into the heat and your body like she belonged there.

Because she did.

She settled between your legs, back resting against your chest, her thick thighs folding beneath the water as her hips pressed gently against yours. Your arms wrapped around her waist instinctively, palms brushing over smooth, warm skin.

“Mmm,” she hummed, tilting her head back to nuzzle your jaw. “Now this is how to end a day.”