Lisa's POV: Steaming Off

The towels I pressed against my chest were still warm from the dryer as I walked toward the bathroom door. Steam billowed through the crack at the bottom, like a dragon's breath. Warm. Moist. Mysterious.

Someone was in the shower. Someone? David, who else. No reason for me to wait outside or turn around. I tentatively pressed my elbow against the handle. Not locked.

Rookie mistake :-)

I stepped inside. The sound of the shower was uneven, frantic. Not the steady splashing of someone just relaxing and letting the warm water run over their body.

I grinned. He had no idea I was there.

Behind the glass, I could see his silhouette, his arms in front of his body. He was standing with his back to me, his head tilted forward. I knew immediately what he was doing. He had no shame. No chance.

Perfect.

I put the towels down. Quietly. No sudden movements. Then I crept to the toilet, carefully lifted the lid, and slid my pants and the skimpy thong I had chosen that morning down to my calves. I sat down.

I didn't say a word. I listened to the splashing of the water. David's breathing quickened.

Seconds passed. Minutes. He began to sense that he was no longer alone—that creepy feeling that someone else was in the same room.

He turned around. Startled. Almost slipped in the wet shower. His hands reflexively flew to his groin. Too late, I had already seen everything. Not bad.

“Lisa!?” His voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”

I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hand.

“What does it look like? I'm peeing. Obviously. You really ought to lock the bathroom door behind you if you want some privacy. There's been a lot going on in this house lately.”

His expression was divine. His eyes widened. First confusion. Then disbelief. Then anger. He was practically steaming. Still dripping.

“You...” he growled. He made a move to turn off the water, then froze halfway.

Maybe he realized that the towel was out of reach. And he realized that I wasn't going to look away when he stepped out of the shower to dry himself off.

“Relax,” I said gently. “I've seen better. But I've seen worse.”

His jaw tensed. “Get out of here!”

I flushed the toilet. Got up slowly. Deliberately slowly. Turned my back to him and bent down—really low—to pull up my pants. Then I took all the time in the world to wash my hands.

The air was thick with steam and tension. And something else: the naked fact that he was no longer in control.

On my way out, I paused at the door. “Nele’s cute,” I said over my shoulder. “But she’s no match for me.”

Then I was gone. And I made sure the door closed properly behind me.