The bathroom air hung heavy with steam, enveloping Miranda as she watched Nolan unbutton his shirt with deliberate patience. Each movement revealed another inch of skin, drawing her gaze upward with magnetic intensity.
Despite the warm bath already heating her skin, it couldn't compare to the fire building within her chest as she watched him. Nolan's eyes never wavered from hers—not hungry or impatient, but focused with that singular attention that made her feel like the center of his universe.
The shirt fell away, followed by his belt, then his pants. Each piece removed without theatrics, revealing his body in quiet confidence. He was sculpted perfection—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles defined from years of discipline rather than vanity. A masterpiece of masculinity.
"Move forward," he instructed softly.
