Olivia Martins

The water was cooling, but I didn’t want to move.

I was warm, not just from the heat of the bath, but from him. From Caspian’s arms, steady and familiar around me, the slow rhythm of his breathing against my back, the soft brush of his fingers as he washed the last of the pine needles from my skin. I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve protested more, said something stronger than this isn’t proper, but the words had crumbled the moment he ...