Steam still clings to her skin, droplets tracing slow paths down the curve of her chest before disappearing into soft shadow. Her towel sits low, barely committed to its job, framing everything it pretends to cover.

You notice the flush first — that particular warmth that lingers after hot water, spreading across her collarbone, pooling in the hollow between her breasts. Hair damp, cheeks bright, she looks freshly undone in the best possible way.

She isn't posing so much as pausing, caught between the bathroom and whatever comes next — and right now, your eyes are making a very strong argument for staying exactly where she is.