The rough denim of his jeans rub her in all the right places; causing a friction that she’d only relinquish for the feel of his hands, of his skin... sliding, slippery wet down her body in a tub that isn’t yet full.

But they can’t wait and she won’t let him.

Multiple shirts cling to his chest; stopping small hands from getting to where they want to be.

A second thought and liquid sloshes out onto the tiled floor as displacement wavers and strong arms hold gentle features up to stand.

“It’ll be easier like this.”

Quickly, clothes are shed and thrown into a heap beside the tub; finally filled.

Moving away, suddenly afraid, she asks a question, “What if this doesn’t work?”

Smiling and trailing a wet hand down her smooth face, he answers, “Do you trust me?”

It’s all the reassurance she needs.