...
Cold water could never extinguish such restless agitation; if anything, memories only poured fuel onto the flames.
A half hour passed, yet the blood in his veins still pulsed hot and unruly.
Adrian lowered his eyes, glanced down at his own tense, insistent desire, and cursed under his breath in irritation.
Another half hour drifted by before Adrian shut off the water, lazily wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped out of the bathroom.
He changed into home clothes, slipped into his slippers, and opened the door, only to see his mother, Beatrice Bishop, seated on the living room sofa.
He called softly, "Mom," and sat down across from her.
Beatrice seemed lost in thought; it was only when Adrian spoke that she returned to herself. Her gaze swept quickly over him, then she reached to open a porcelain jar on the tea table and ladled out a bowl of sweet osmanthus and sweet potato glutinous rice balls.
