The shape of the bun gives Trixie’s tired skull the relief she’s been craving - it’s a pillow, Katya’s a mattress - and she closes her eyes once more, shuts off the faucet with her toes. She sighs; Katya’s hands are everywhere, rubbing away the lines, the indentations that her panties have left in her hips, along with trailing up to her stomach, tapping rhythmically around her navel.

It’s as soothing as the calming water, as intoxicating as the scent of Sicilian lemons flooding her nostrils, and Trixie exhales raggedly with each touch that works deeper, coaxes out the ache of her cramps.

“Tell me about your day-”. Trixie mutters.

“-Please?”. She adds.