[WARNING: Mature Content. Skip to the next chapter if you can't handle heat.]
Lanse wasn't demanding. He wasn't asking out of lust. It was reverence — the way someone asks to hold something fragile. Something longed for. Something sacred.
Tess didn't look away. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Then look."
She opened her robe — only slightly, trembling — then quickly clutched it closed again, breath quickening. Her cheeks burned with sudden shyness.
He didn't rush her. Just reached out, slow as breath to gently draw the robe from her shoulders. But his hands faded through the fabric like a ghost. So she let it fall, her body revealed beneath soft folds of cloth.
She didn't hide that time. She just looked at him — exposed, nervous, and stunning.
He stared, breath stolen.
Her breasts were beautifully plump, not in an exaggerated way, but full—supple, natural—like something meant to be cradled in warmth and reverence. The roundness of it drew his eyes.
