I looked at her standing there in that black lace robe, the late afternoon light slicing through the sheer fabric like a cinematographer who actively hated my self-control.
Every golden beam highlighted exactly what it was supposed to hide — the heavy, full curve of her breasts, the dark, hardened peaks of her nipples pressing insistently and invitingly against the delicate pattern, the soft dip of her navel, and the shadowed promise of ruin between her thighs where the robe had parted just enough to tease bare skin.
"I think we should take this to the living room," I said, forcing my voice to stay casual. "What do you think?"
She tilted her head, a small, deliberate movement that made the robe shift again.
The lace whispered against her skin, one side slipping another fraction lower so the inner swell of her left breast was now fully visible to my so much kin eyes, the weight of it soft and inviting under the golden light.
