The night air had just started to cool when the first raindrop kissed my skin. Then another. Then hundreds. Within seconds, the street outside the bar shimmered under a soft, silvery downpour. Neon lights blurred in the reflections, turning the pavement into a dream. He looked up at the sky, then quickly back at me, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Oh no... Eva, it's raining. Come on, let's get in the car before you catch a cold."
He opened the door, holding it wide for me, ever the gentleman. But I didn't get inside. Instead, I stepped forward—and with a soft laugh, I looped my arms around him, my fingertips lingering on the edge of his sleeve as I tilted my face up to the sky. The rain kissed my skin, cold and electric. My lips curled into a mischievous smile. "No, Mr. Husband," I said with a teasing smirk, "I'm not getting in the car." His brows lifted, and that slow, dangerous smile returned—the one that always made my heart skip and my knees feel untrustworthy. He tugged me closer by the waist, our bodies inches apart, rain sliding down our faces like a blessing.
"Then what are your intentions, baby?" he asked, his voice dipped in playful seduction. I stepped back just enough to point to a row of rented bicycles standing under the flickering neon of a nearby shop. "Tonight," I said, grinning, "I want to get wet in the rain... and ride a bicycle with you." His head tilted, that slow smile curving across his lips like sin itself. "Your wish," he murmured, "my Command."
We ran through the puddles like kids escaping time, Laughter echoed between us, hearts racing faster than the storm. He sat on the seat and I slipped onto the back, wrapping my arms around his waist, and resting my cheek against his damp back.
And we rode.
The rain became our music. His heartbeat, my rhythm. The city blurred around us—lights smeared by raindrops, wind brushing against our skin. I felt his warmth through the cold, his pulse beneath my hands, steady and wild. Our laughter melted into the night, tangled with the whispers of the rain.
"Having fun back there, Mrs. Spy?" he asked over his shoulder, his voice thick with affection.
"Mm-hmm. You're surprisingly good at this." I tightened my grip around him, the scent of rain and him intoxicating. This moment—wasn't just fun. It was dangerously intimate. By the time we circled back to the place we started, our clothes clung to our bodies like second skin. My hair was soaked, my breath light, but my heart felt full… and so, so alive.
We arrived at the hotel just as the sky outside turned a deep shade of twilight. The moment we stepped into our room, I felt it—a soft, comforting energy. Warm lights, clean lines, a cozy bed, and the quiet hum of the city muffled behind thick curtains. There was a tremble in the air, thick with unspoken words and invisible weight. Our eyes met, and I felt it instantly—a shiver running down my spine, my heartbeat quickening like a drum echoing inside my chest. I sat down on the soft couch, trying to calm myself. Then he walked over with a white towel in his hands, his eyes never leaving mine. Without a word, he sat beside me, close—so close—and gently began drying my hair. His touch was so tender, it made me close my eyes without even thinking. Each stroke of the towel, each brush of his fingers, was slower than time. I was lost in him. Then he broke the silence with a playful smirk. "Why don't you take a shower?" he said. I blinked, caught off guard. "W-why a shower?" He chuckled, deep and teasing. "W-what do you mean 'why'? You're soaked, sweetheart. That's why." Embarrassed, I laughed nervously. "Ah… yeah, you're right. I should." He suddenly leaned forward, placing both hands gently on my shoulders, his face inches from mine. "Unless," he said in a lower voice, eyes glinting with mischief, "you were thinking of something else?" My cheeks burned. "N-no! Not at all!" He smiled, and before I could react, he lifted the towel and lightly covered my eyes. "Go on," he whispered near my ear, his voice soft and warm. "Take your shower. I'll be waiting."
Heart pounding, I stepped into the bathroom. It was stunning—modern, luxurious, and filled with soft golden light. A round marble bathtub stood in the center like something from a dream. I turned the taps, letting warm water flow as steam began to rise. I slipped out of my wet clothes and wrapped the towel around me, feeling the heat of the room settle against my skin. On the shelf near the bath, I found a few scented candles—vanilla and rose. I lit them one by one, placing them around the tub. Their flames flickered softly, casting a golden warmth that wrapped the room in quiet intimacy. I spotted a bowl of fresh roses nearby and gently plucked the petals, letting them drift down onto the water's surface, each one a tender whisper of color softening the stillness. The scent of warm water, flowers, and soft candlelight filled the room like a dream. But just as I leaned forward to adjust one of the candles, one of the candles slipped—and a drop of hot wax landed on my hand.
"Ah!" I cried out, recoiling in pain.
The door burst open.
"Eva?!" His voice was tight with worry. He rushed to me, eyes scanning my face. "What happened?". "It's nothing," I said quickly, cradling my hand. "Just… a little hot wax. I'm okay." He took my hand delicately, "You should pour cold water on it. It must be burning." Before I could respond, he guided me gently under the shower, turning it on. Cool water cascaded down over us both, sending a chill down my spine. I shivered, but the look in his eyes warmed every inch of me. Then, playful mischief took over. I scooped some water in my hands and splashed it right onto his face. He froze for a second, blinking through the water—then smiled. "Careful, sweetheart," he growled softly, stepping closer, "you'll have to pay for that." I laughed, breathless. But my laughter faded when I met his gaze. There was something in his eyes. Something magnetic. Something that pulled me in deeper than I was ready for—but completely willing to explore.
He stepped under the shower with me, water dripping from his lashes, his shirt clinging to him before he slowly unbuttoned it, one button at a time. My fingers moved before my mind could catch up. I touched his chest, trailing my hands down slowly, feeling the strength beneath. My breath caught as I slid his shirt off entirely, letting it fall to the floor.
"Eva," he whispered, his fingers brushing my cheek, trailing to my jawline with a reverence that made my heart ache. He whispered, voice thick with desire: "You know… the way you're looking at me, the way you move… the way your body responds to my touch—like that, I don't think I can keep pretending to be a gentleman." I looked up through half-lidded eyes, a teasing smile curving my lips as I whispered back: " What ifI don't want you to be one tonight…"
He leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just above mine, eyes burning with something deeper than desire. "Then you'd better be ready… because I won't hold back." And in that moment, the world faded. There was only the sound of water, the soft flicker of candlelight outside the glass, and the closeness of two hearts finally giving in to what they had both been aching for. His lips brushed against mine under the cold spray of the shower—light at first, like a question. The kind of kiss that made the air between us vanish, the type that spoke in a language only skin and soul could understand. Water streamed down his back as his hands slid over my waist, pulling me against him. I melted into the warmth of his body, the cool water making every inch of contact feel electric. My fingers tangled in his hair as his lips trailed from my mouth to the curve of my neck, where he kissed slowly like he never wanted to stop.
Without another word, he slipped his arms beneath me. Effortless. Commanding. I gasped softly as he lifted me, like I weighed nothing at all, and held me against his chest—my skin against his warmth, my heartbeat syncing with his in that breathless silence between us. As he carried me toward the bathtub, his lips brushed against the shell of my ear. "It seems like you planned this, huh?" he murmured, his voice a teasing mix of suspicion and desire.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
I was already melting into him—melting into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the strength in his arms, the heat radiating from his bare skin. I let my cheek rest against his chest, eyes fluttering shut as the warm scent of him pulled me deeper. He stepped into the tub, the water rising around us, and lowered us both in—body sinking beneath the surface.
The water wrapped around us like silk, and so did his arms. One arm looped tightly around my waist, the other wandering—slow, unhurried, wickedly gentle. His hands began to explore me, brushing over my skin, sliding over the curves of my body as if memorizing every inch.
Every place he touched… burned.
His lips found the hollow of my neck. Soft. Lingering. They stayed there—kissing, tasting, breathing me in. My breath caught.
"Mmm," he growled lowly, his voice barely a whisper against my skin.
"You're so beautiful… Do you even know what you're doing to me?"
He continued to kiss my neck, each press of his lips followed by a light flick of his tongue that sent waves of shivers through me. His fingers slid down, trailing my thighs underwater, drawing lazy circles that tightened my stomach. The water rippled around us with each teasing movement, like it too had fallen under his spell. Then—his mouth moved up again. His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered:
"You know I can't resist you, sweetheart…"
His voice was low and rough—dangerous and needy.
"The way you respond to me…it's unraveling my sanity."
I was trembling—his hands, his voice, his mouth—everything was too much. Too good. I whispered back, a breath against his lips:
"Then what if you don't need to resist…?"
He stilled for a moment. And then, with a quiet growl, his hands gripped my hips, pulling me tighter against him. His fingers dig into my flesh, drawing a moan from me. He gently pushed me back, guiding me against the smooth curve of the bathtub. His body followed, pressing into me.
Pinning me. Surrounding me. His eyes met mine—dark, hungry, drowning in need.
"Look at you…" he said his voice like velvet over steel.
"All wet. All mine. And so damn wanting."
I couldn't breathe.
"At this moment, you're a vision—so effortlessly, achingly beautiful," he whispered, his lips hovering just above mine.
"I can feel how badly you want me. You're trembling with desire, sweetheart. You try to hide it…"
His thumb traced along my bottom lip.
"…but your body is already confessing everything to me."
I opened my mouth to speak—but no words came. Only a broken sigh escaped me, heavy with everything I couldn't say. He leaned in closer, lips ghosting over mine but never quite touching. The anticipation was chaos. The silence between us was louder than thunder. The room spun—not from movement, but from emotion. From tension. From the unbearable craving building between us.
"Say it," he breathed. "Say you want me too."
"I want you," I whispered, my voice barely audible—more breath than sound, but enough to ignite something dangerous between us. His eyes darkened, and in the next breath, his lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was deep, wild, and consuming—as if he wanted to drink every part of me. I melted into him, the world fading away until all that remained was his taste, his scent, and the rhythm of his breath merging with mine. I finally broke the kiss to catch a desperate breath, my chest rising and falling like waves after a tide. He smirked, brushing a strand of wet hair from my cheek.
"Let's go inside," he murmured, his voice deep, heavy with promise.
We stood, tangled in each other, and I slipped into a robe, wrapping a towel around my soaked hair. He walked to the small bar and poured glasses of wine, the crimson liquid glistening under the dim lights. He leaned against the couch, watching me with hooded eyes as I stood in front of the mirror and slowly unwrapped the towel from my hair. It fell around my shoulders in a cascade of damp waves, drops of water tracing down my back.
Then suddenly—he was behind me. So close, his body almost brushing mine, his presence like a whisper against my skin.
My wet hair brushed against his cheek. "Oh—sorry," I said softly, turning my head. He laughed, that low, husky sound that made something melt inside me. "Don't apologize," he murmured, his fingers sliding across my back, warm and gentle. "Let me dry your hair." He picked up the hairdryer and motioned for me to sit on the edge of the bed. I did, and he stood behind me, gently combing his fingers through my hair as the warm air blew across my scalp. His touch was tender—almost reverent—each movement slow and intimate. I closed my eyes, letting out a content sigh.
And when he was done, he switched off the dryer and set it aside, his hand brushing my cheek. "Thank you," I said softly, smiling at him.
"A thank you?" he teased. "That's all I get?" He leaned in, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. "You could reward me, you know," he teased.
I looked at him playfully, tilting my head, a slow grin forming.
"Hmm… and how exactly would you like to be rewarded?" I whispered, slipping one side of my robe from my shoulder, letting it fall just enough to make his breath hitch.
"Like this?"
In one swift motion, he pushed me back onto the bed, his body hovering above mine, every inch of him radiating heat and hunger.
"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, voice thick with want, "and I don't plan on stopping tonight."
He kissed me again, but this time it was slower—deliberate. His lips trailed a scorching path down my throat, lingering, tasting, claiming. I gasped as his hands found mine, fingers threading through mine, pinning them gently above my head. His bare skin pressed against mine, and the heat between us sparked like lightning just beneath the surface.
"You're mine," he whispered against my collarbone, voice rough and full of promise.
And in that moment, time disappeared.
There were no missions.
No enemies.
Beyond that room, the world ceased to exist.
Just the warmth of his skin.
The sound of his heartbeat.
And the feeling that I had fallen—not just into his arms—but into something far more dangerous.
Something called love.