"Just hold your breath for thirty seconds," Blazar demanded, her hands hovering over Ryuzaki's oiled abdomen like a surgeon preparing for a particularly delicate operation. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the effort of maintaining focus. "Then I can actually finish this damn massage."
The muscles beneath her palms flickered in and out of existence, solid one moment, incorporeal the next. It was like trying to massage smoke, and her patience had worn thinner than tissue paper.
Ryuzaki's shadowy form flickered with amusement. "Do I look like a pearl diver to you?"
His voice carried that infuriating note of smugness that made her want to throttle him.
"You look like an insufferable bastard who's enjoying this too much." She pressed her thumbs into his ribs—or tried to, as they passed straight through shadow like she was grasping at mist. The sensation was deeply unsettling, like sticking her hands into cold water that wasn't quite there.
