It takes her a moment to gather her wits, breathing hard, but when she does look up at him her gaze is suffused with affection; drowsy and spent but as bright as the sun. He can't possibly doubt she loves him, even if she's been shy about saying it.

Maybe she could say it. Maybe that's what's on the tip of her tongue, when she opens her mouth-- just as a trickle of blood starts at her nose, spreading wildly over her wet skin so it looks like a deluge, dripping down her body to redden the expensive tile.