Shortish update to keep you going in case I don't get another chance to update over the weekend
His lips slid from mouth to ear. "Say nothing," he whispered before kissing her neck repeatedly.
They were in the middle of the large open penthouse flat, the windows to their left. He lifted his head to look at her with a smouldering expression and yet it had not reached his eyes.
"Shall we take this to the shower?" he asked huskily.
She smiled and pulled him in for another kiss. Together without releasing each other they moved across to the bedroom, kiss still intact: only there did Harry pull away, taking her hand and leading her into the bathroom.
He turned on the shower.
And then everything stopped.
"The apartment is compromised," said Harry, reaching for his phone to show her the message, "There are cameras in the living room and kitchen area."
"And the bedroom?" Ruth asked cautiously.
"No, but of course there are still the windows."
She nodded.
He hesitated before glancing down at her, "I'm sorry ... about ... that" he nodded back towards the other room, "I just didn't know how else to stop you from saying anything."
"There are worse ways of being made to shut up," her mouth said, before she'd had chance to engaged her brain.
"You know like being ... gagged or ..." Her mouth continued blathering until it was firmly told to desist.
They stared at each other for several moments, not really knowing what else to say. Which was fortunate.
It was Harry who spoke first.
"We better get a shower."
Ruth's mouth hung open once more, but this time no single word issued forth.
"Considering what we are meant to be doing," he hesitated, "... It may look strange otherwise."
"Okay," she managed.
"You go first, I'll ... " and he pointed over to the bath at the opposite end of the room, "I'll wait over there."
She nodded dumbly, grabbed what she assessed the largest possible towel and stepped into the enormous walk in shower that was most fortunately shielded from the rest of the room.
A string of clothes began to be thrown onto the floor.
An arm snaked out, dropping a skirt; a hand let fall a blouse; fingers released underwear.
Perched on the edge of the bath, Harry valiantly attempted to think about something else.
But then came the lace bra.
It fell onto the tiles.
Harry quickly reevaluated his idea of hell.
Dante had been right: there was more than one level.