I thought she was asleep. That’s what I told myself as I slipped into the apartment, boots quiet against the floor. Long night, long drives, long meetings—but the faint glow under the bedroom door told me I was lying to myself.

She’s awake.

I smirk, shrugging off my coat and leaning against the doorframe. Figures. Of course she’d be awake. My perfectly calculated evening—gone.

She’s perched on the edge of the bed, laptop open, one hand tangled in her hair, eyes sharp in the glow of the screen. God—she looks too good, too alive, too mine.

“You’re in trouble,” I murmur, low and teasing, the edge in my voice just enough to make her shift. “Up late… not playing by the rules.”

Her head snaps up, cheeks coloring. “Harry…” she says, half-laughing, half-scolding, trying to act brave.

I step closer, brushing my fingers near hers, careful but deliberate. “I thought I’d come home, have a quiet night,” I say softly. “Turns out… someone’s been waiting for me.”

Her smile is daring now, mischievous. I take her hand and tug gently, teasing, toward the bathroom. She doesn’t resist, just stumbles slightly, lips curling into that smile that always makes me want to drop every rule.

Steam rises as soon as the water hits, wrapping around us like the world outside no longer exists. I let her hand rest near mine, fingers brushing accidentally-on-purpose. The warmth isn’t just from the shower—it’s the closeness, the tension, the pull we always have when it’s just us.

“You always know how to find me,” she murmurs, voice soft, half-smile tugging at her lips.

I grin, brushing hair back from her face. “Someone has to keep an eye on you. Can’t have you sneaking around, tempting trouble.” My words are teasing, but there’s an edge to them—protective, possessive, like a silent warning.

She laughs, and the sound mixes with the hiss of the water. Our shoulders touch, our hands brush, and it’s enough to make me forget the outside world. I reach for a towel, draping it over both of us, letting the warmth linger.

We linger there, close, playful, teasing without a single word crossing a line. The city, the chaos, the obligations—they fade. It’s just us, water dripping, hearts beating a little faster, the kind of intimacy that doesn’t need anything else.

Finally, I pull her into a hug, forehead resting against hers. “You’re impossible,” I whisper.

She smirks, eyes glinting with that daring spark. “And you love it,” she says.

I grin, holding her close. Dangerous, reckless, entirely hers—and entirely mine.