The bathroom had become a fucking fever dream.
Steam was pouring off the marble like we were trapped inside some bougie spa fantasy gone wild. The mirrors were fogged, the lights were soft and golden, and the air was so thick with heat and lust it felt like it could choke you.
I was soaked to the bone—hair dripping, chest gleaming, water running in steady streams down every inch of muscle. My skin was flushed, glistening like molten bronze under the light, and the heat wasn't just from the damn shower anymore.
Outlining every flex, every shift of power in my body. Each drop that slid over my chest traced the deep cut of my abs, flowing between muscle like liquid fingers, and Isabella… fuck, she was staring.
Her pupils were blown. Her lips parted, breathing shaky, shallow, erratic. She wasn't just looking—she was devouring.
