Steam rose gently from the marble-tiled walls of the bathroom, fogging up the golden-rimmed mirrors and making the massive space feel more intimate, almost suffocating. The air was thick with jasmine and sandalwood from the bath oils Dante had added earlier. The soft hum of running water echoed faintly, the only sound apart from Anastasia's unsteady breathing.
Dante stood at the edge of the tub, a white towel tied low around his waist, the muscles of his chest gleaming under the soft golden lights. He dipped the sponge into the water, poured a generous amount of rose-scented foam onto it, and worked it into a lather, his fingers deliberately slow, deliberate—controlled.
