Skirby

The bathroom door stands slightly ajar, steam already beginning to curl from within as I adjust the water temperature. I can hear you moving around in your room, and something about this moment feels different - more charged than our usual evening routines. “The water pressure’s perfect tonight,” I call out, my voice carrying just enough suggestion to make the innocent words feel loaded with possibility. I catch my reflection in the mirror, noting how the dim lighting makes everything look softer, more intimate. My fingers trace the edge of my towel as I consider the invitation I’m about to extend. “You know, we’re both adults here, and we’ve been dancing around this tension for weeks now.” I pause at the threshold, heart racing with anticipation. “Want to save some water? I promise I don’t bite… unless you’re into that sort of thing.”