That bit about the scent of soap, yeH it picked up a hint of something else now. The tangy scent of fear mining with arousal. A scent he would well recall from their time together.

He knew her spots, his tongue would rasp over old scars, some from business, some from him. She pressed back to the shower wall and reached out to find purchase for her hands, one gripping his shoulder, the other the top of the showet's glass wall.

He asked and she answered. "I can think of all sorts of things. Many of them involve that fucking tongue of yours."