After the shower turned into another round of filthy indulgence, Derek and Stiles finally washed properly—soap-slick hands roaming gently now, rinsing away the evidence of their morning excesses. He shampooed her long hair with care, massaging her scalp until she purred like a kitten, and she returned the favor, tracing the lines of his muscles under the warm spray. They stepped out, skin flushed and steaming, and dried each other off with soft towels, stealing kisses and playful gropes.

Stiles slipped into one of his oversized white button-up shirts—nothing else. The fabric hung loose on her tiny frame, sleeves rolled up, hem skimming the tops of her thick thighs, the top few buttons undone so her deep cleavage spilled out. She looked impossibly domestic and sinful at the same time. Derek pulled on just a pair of black shorts, the waistband low on his hips, showcasing the V-line that made her mouth water.