In the semi-darkness of the alley, Ivan pushed open a door with a barely discernible sign. Steam enveloped him, and the dim light picked out naked figures from the fog.
He froze in the doorway. One of the women slowly turned around, her wet hair streaming over her shoulders, drops of water glistening on her skin. Her gaze wasn't angry, it was full of playful mockery.
She holds huge kitchen knife in her hand.
"I think you've got the wrong door, — she said softly, and her voice slid over my skin like silk.
Ivan felt the blood rushing to his face, but he couldn't take his eyes off it. There was something in her gaze that made my heart beat faster. He mumbled an apology, but before he left, he caught her half—smile, promising and teasing.
He tossed and turned in bed all night, coming back to that moment over and over again., <lora:h41ry:.8>
