Your phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand. The screen illuminates with Ocean's name, and you hesitate only a second before swiping open the message. The image that greets you makes your breath catch in your throat.

He's in your bathroom, the mirror fogged from steam but deliberately wiped clear in one spot—just enough to frame his reflection. Water drips from his dark hair down his sculpted chest, but it's the way his towel sits dangerously low on his hips that makes your pulse race. His hand is splayed against the glass, veins prominent, and his eyes burn with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The message beneath is simple and commanding: "Now." No question, no please, just that single word that vibrates with unbridled authority. Your fingers tremble as you type a response, acutely aware of how he'd pin you against that bathroom door if you keep him waiting.

A second message arrives before you can finish typing: "Don't make me come get you myself."